"The dear fellow!" I murmured. "He has come down expressly to meet me, and to resign Daphne to me."
As our vessel drew alongside the pier I waved my hand to him, but at this greeting he instantly vanished. This was certainly a surprise. Why did he not await my landing?
I was the first to quit the steamer, and, emerging from the inspection of the Revenue officials, I looked eagerly around for my brother. He was not to be seen on any part of the pier.
Was I mistaken as to the identity? The figure, the face, the very carriage—all seemed to be his. Stay! Was this an ocular illusion! Had my mind been dwelling so earnestly on my brother as to stamp on the retina of my eye an image that had no corresponding objective reality outside myself? Would this account for the peculiar manner in which the figure had vanished?
I would soon put this theory to the test. If George had come by train from London, the servants at the station would surely retain some remembrance of him. If others had seen the figure in the grey cloak, it would be a proof that my sense of sight had not deceived me. I entered the station and sought knowledge from the first porter I met, a tired-looking youth, with a sprig of holly stuck in his buttonhole, who gaped vacantly at my questions till the glitter of a silver coin imparted a certain degree of briskness to his faculties.
"A military-looking gent, sir? Yes, there was one on the platform a few minutes ago."
"Describe him," said I bluntly, as my fellow passengers from the boat began to crowd into the station. "What was he like?"
I was desirous of drawing a description of the "military-looking gent" from the porter's unassisted memory rather than of suggesting personal details, to which, in his half-sleepy state and in his desire to get rid of me, he would doubtless subscribe assent.
"Well, sir, he wasn't very tall—at least, not for a soldier; but then Bonaparte wasn't——"