“Come in,” he said. “Come in.”
The door opened, not as Halberd was wont to perform an act so simple, and Adam was conscious that a stranger had intruded upon him. He looked up, winked his eyes and looked more intently, as if absolutely incredulous that he was awake and sane.
His visitor was Edward Randolph.
“Mr. Rust, I am glad to see you again in Boston,” said the man, coming forward in a tentative manner and smiling by sheer force of effort. “You didn’t expect me, but I have taken this early opportunity of calling, to say I know what a great wrong I did you in the past, and to make what reparation I can.”
“The devil could do no more,” said Adam, looking him over calmly. “And I doubt if the devil ever had your impertinence.”
“You do me wrong,” Randolph assured him, meekly. “I could do no less than to come here and tender what apologies I may, and to do you a small favor. I was grossly misled, concerning your worth and your courage, by spiteful persons who had, as I now understand, some personal grudge.”
“As I knew but two men in the town, when first I had the honor of appraising you for a rascal,” said Adam, “your tale pleases me but indifferently well. As for favors, I have none to ask of you, and none to grant.”
“Yet, if only in a Christian spirit,” the fellow insisted, “you must permit me to beg your pardon for my errors of the past. I have long regretted my grievous mistake of judgment, and for that long I have desired an opportunity of showing my mortification and doing you the one kindness in my power.”
“In the spirit of the Christian crusaders,” said Rust, “I feel that I could deny you little. You would do well, sir, to retire in good order while my indisposition to throw you through the window is still upon me.”
“But, my dear Mr. Rust, you don’t know what an injury you are doing to yourself,” the visitor went on. “If you knew how cruelly we were both wronged, almost at the same time and by the same person, you would listen, if only for that one compassion.”