"Very well; I should like to hear what they have to say."
"You shall hear them. I will go down and bring them up," he added, rising from the chair.
He had hardly got up before the door was darkened by what to me seemed to be an apparition. It was a gentleman with an overcoat thrown loosely over his shoulders. He wore no other coat, and no vest. I saw that his left arm was suspended in a sling. His face was very pale, and he looked very much like my excellent friend Mr. Gracewood, though a second glance assured me it was not he. When he discovered me, he started back, and was disposed to retreat.
"You have company, Mr. Lynch," said the pale gentleman. "I will come another time."
"Come in, Mr. Gracewood. Come in!" replied Lynch, placing the rocking-chair for the visitor, who was evidently an invalid.
Mr. Gracewood! It certainly was not my kind friend; but the resemblance was strong enough to assure me that he was a relative, if not a brother.
"Is this the way you keep my secret?" said the pale gentleman, reproachfully, as he retreated a pace into the entry.
"O, it's all right here. This is Phil Farringford, of whom I spoke to you," added Lynch.
"So much the worse!" exclaimed the invalid, impatiently.