[CHAPTER XIX.—Unknown Kindred Ties.]
ITTLE dreaming that he was approaching the home of his mother, her birth-place, and that of her mother before her, the home from which she had fled that, to her, fatal Christmas eve, Will Raymond drove up to the hitching-rock and sprang out of his buggy.
A gentleman sat upon the piazza, smoking a cigar and reading a paper, but arose at his approach.
"Good-morning, young gentleman," he said pleasantly, and then his eyes became riveted upon Will's face. He was a man of fifty perhaps, with noble countenance, tinged with sadness, and a look of anxiety.
"My boy, who are you?" he said, quickly, before Will could speak.
"Is this Mr. Rossmore?" asked Will.
"Yes, my son."
"My name is Will Raymond, sir, and I am a special officer of the New York Secret Service, sent to see you upon a matter of interest to you."