When coffee was being served on the veranda, the Major drew Roderick aside. They were seated alone at a little table.
“Roderick, my boy,” Buell Hampton began, “I want to see you tonight at my home—all alone. Come about eight o’clock. I have several matters of importance to communicate. During the afternoon I’ll be busy—I have some banking business to transact, besides I wish an hour or two with your uncle before my talk with you tonight. I am sorry to leave such a happy gathering, but am sure”—this with a gentle glance in Gail’s direction—“that the time will not hang heavily on your hands. Until eight o’clock then;” and with a tap on Roderick’s shoulder the Major crossed over and spoke a few words to Allen Miller, the two taking their departure a few moments later.
Roderick was mystified—less by Buell Hampton’s actual words than by his grave look and manner.
Meanwhile Gail had risen and entered the drawing room that opened by French windows off the veranda, and the sound of her voice at the piano broke him from his momentary reverie. He rose and joined her.
CHAPTER XL—BUELL HAMPTON’S GOOD-BY
RODERICK was prompt to the minute in keeping his appointment. He found the Major seated before a bright log-fire, and his first glance around the old familiar room showed the progress of some unusual preparations. The open lid of a traveling trunk revealed clothing and books already packed; the violin in its case rested on the centre table.
Buell Hampton interpreted his visitor’s look of wonderment.
“Yes, Roderick,” he said with a smile that was both tender and serious, “I am going away. But let us take things in their order. Sit down here, and let us smoke our pipes together in the old way—perhaps it may be for the last time in each other’s company.”