In a handsome private parlor at the Continental Hotel a man of about forty-five years of age sat in an easy-chair. He was of middle height, rather dark complexion, and a pleasant expression. His right foot was bandaged, and rested on a chair. The morning Daily Ledger was in his hand, but he was not reading. His mind, judging from his absorbed look, was occupied with other thoughts.
“I can hardly realize,” he said half-aloud, “that my boy will so soon be restored to my arms. We have been separated by a cruel fate, but we shall soon be together again. I remember how the dear child looked when I left him at Fultonville in the care of the kind inn-keeper. I am sorry he is dead, but his widow shall be suitably repaid for her kind devotion.”
He had reached this point when a knock was heard at the door.
“Come in!” said Mr. Granville.
A servant of the hotel appeared.
“A lady and a boy are in the parlor below, sir. They wish to see you.”
Though Mr. Granville had considerable control over his feelings, his heart beat fast when he heard these words.
“Will you show them up at once?” he said, in a tone which showed some trace of agitation.
The servant bore the message to Mrs. Brent and Jonas, who were sitting in the hotel parlor.
If Mr. Granville was agitated, the two conspirators were not wholly at their ease. There was a red spot on each of Mrs. Brent's cheeks—her way of expressing emotion—and Jonas was fidgeting about uneasily in his chair, staring about him curiously.