“You see,” said the lawyer, “We’ve had the management of the estates for more than fifty years—all the old lord’s time. It was a bad business when young Lord George and his brother fell in love with the same woman. It seems that Captain Henry and Miss Venton—that was the lady’s name—had settled the matter to their own liking; but the lady’s father favored Lord George because he was the heir and so Captain Henry was forced to see himself supplanted by his brother. Soon after a terrible quarrel that took place between the young men, Lord George was found dead, shot in the back through the heart. The Captain was arrested, tried and convicted of the crime. I remember the trial well, and that my sympathy was all with the accused. He was a bonny and gallant gentleman—the captain. Let me see——” and the old man paused a moment to collect his scattered thoughts.
“Let me see—Wait—Yes, he escaped from prison and fled to America. The lady? Why come to think of it she married a nephew of the old lord.”
“And was the guilty party never found?”
“No—I think—In fact, a lot of money was spent on detectives by the old lord trying to clear his favorite and lift the stain from the family name; but to no purpose. Lord George cannot live many months longer, he is eighty-five now, but he thinks that Captain Henry may have married in America, and if so, he wants his children to inherit. For some reason he has taken a strong dislike to his nephew, who, by the way, is living in the southern part of the United States. If you go, your mission must remain a profound secret, for if he lives, Captain Henry is yet amenable to the law which condemned him. Here—read these papers; they will throw more light on the subject, and while doing that make up your mind whether or not you will go to America and institute a search for the missing man.” So Maxwell started for America.
“Heavens, what a flash!” exclaimed the young man, aroused from the reverie into which he had fallen. “Ah, what is that yonder?” Before him was a large wooden house with outlying buildings standing back from the road.
“Whoever dwells there will not refuse me shelter on such a night. I will try my luck.”
Urging his tired horse forward, in a moment he stood before the large rambling piazza which embraced the entire front of the establishment. From the back of the house came the barking of dogs, and as he sprang to the ground the outer door swung open, shedding forth a stream of light and disclosing a large, gray-bearded man with a good-natured face. Around the corner of the house from the direction of the out-buildings, came quickly a powerful negro.
“Well, stranger, you’ve took a wet night fer a hossback ride,” said the man on the piazza.
“I find it so,” replied Warren with a smile. “May I have shelter here until morning?”
“Shelter!” exclaimed the man with brusque frankness, “that’s what the Grand Island Hotel hangs out a shingle fer. Western or furrin’s welcome here. I take it from your voice you don’t belong to these parts. Come in, and ’Tavius will take yer hoss. ’Tavius! Oh, ’Tavius! Hyar! Take the gentleman’s hoss. Unstrap them saddle-bags and hand ’em hyar fus’.”