Though startling at first to both father and daughter, the manner of the intruder was such as to forbid any further alarm than was incidental to his first abrupt appearance. His conduct was respectful and distant—closely observant of the proprieties in his address, and so studiously guarded as to satisfy them, at the very outset, that nothing improper was intended. Still, his entrance without any intimation was sufficiently objectionable to occasion a hasty demand from Colonel Colleton as to the meaning of his intrusion.
“None, sir, is intended, which may not be atoned for,” was the reply. “I had reason to believe, Colonel Colleton, that the present melancholy circumstances of your family were such as might excuse an intrusion which may have the effect of making them less so; which, indeed, may go far toward the prevention of that painful event which you now contemplate as certain.”
The words were electrical in their effect upon both father and daughter. The former rose from his chair, and motioned the stranger to be seated; while the daughter, rapidly rising also, with an emotion which gave new life to her form, inquired breathlessly—
“Speak, sir! say—how!”—and she lingered and listened with figure bent sensibly forward, and hand uplifted and motionless, for reply. The person addressed smiled with visible effort, while slight shades of gloom, like the thin clouds fleeting over the sky at noonday, obscured at intervals the otherwise subdued and even expression of his countenance. He looked at the maiden while speaking, but his words were addressed to her father.
“I need not tell you, sir, that the hopes of your nephew are gone. There is no single chance upon which he can rest a doubt whereby his safety may be secured. The doom is pronounced, the day is assigned, and the executioner is ready.”
“Is your purpose insult, sir, that you tell us this?” was the rather fierce inquiry of the colonel.
“Calmly, sir,” was the response, in a manner corresponding well with the nature of his words; “my purpose, I have already said, is to bring, or at least to offer, relief; to indicate a course which may result in the safety of the young man whose life is now at hazard; and to contribute, myself, to the object which I propose.”
“Go on—go on, sir, if you please, but spare all unnecessary reference to his situation,” said the colonel, as a significant pressure of his arm on the part of his daughter motioned him to patience. The stranger proceeded:—
“My object in dwelling upon the youth’s situation was, if possible, by showing its utter hopelessness in every other respect, to induce you the more willingly to hear what I had to offer, and to comply with certain conditions which must be preparatory to any development upon my part.”