"
"Is there no GENTLEMAN to introduce him? Must we take him on the word
of a common trader--by Jove! a whiskey-seller?" continued the previous
voice sneeringly.
"On the word of a lady, Mr. Brooks," said Captain Pinckney, with a
slight gesture towards Mrs. Brant--"who answers for both."
Clarence had started slightly at his wife's voice and the information
it conveyed. His fellow-passenger, and the confidant of MacNiel, was
the man they were expecting! If they had recognized him, Clarence, would
they not warn the company of his proximity? He held his breath as the
sound of voices came from the outer gate of the courtyard. Mrs. Brant
rose; at the same moment the gate swung open, and a man entered. It WAS
the Missourian.
He turned with old-fashioned courtesy to the single woman standing on
the balcony.
"My fair correspondent, I believe! I am Judge Beeswinger. Your agent,
MacNiel, passed me through your guards at the gate, but I did not deem
it advisable to bring him into this assembly of gentlemen without your
further consideration. I trust I was right."
The quiet dignity and self-possession, the quaint, old-fashioned
colonial precision of speech, modified by a soft Virginian intonation,
and, above all, some singular individuality of the man himself, produced
a profound sensation, and seemed to suddenly give the gathering an
impressiveness it had lacked before.
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