“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.  For an instant Clarence forgot himself and his personal wrongs in the shock of indignation he felt at this potent addition to the ranks of his enemies.  He saw his wife’s eyes sparkle with pride over her acquisition, and noticed that Pinckney cast a disturbed glance at the newcomer.

The stranger ascended the few steps to the balcony and took Mrs. Brant’s hand with profound courtesy.  “Introduce me to my colleagues—­distinctly and separately.  It behooves a man at such a moment to know to whom he entrusts his life and honor, and the life and honor of his cause.”

It was evidently no mere formal courtesy to the stranger.  As he stepped forward along the balcony, and under Mrs. Brant’s graceful guidance was introduced to each of the members, he not only listened with scrupulous care and attention to the name and profession of each man, but bent upon him a clear, searching glance that seemed to photograph him in his memory.  With two exceptions.  He passed Colonel Starbottle’s expanding shirt frill with a bow of elaborate precision, and said, “Colonel Starbottle’s fame requires neither introduction nor explanation.”  He stopped before Captain Pinckney and paused.

“An officer of the United States army, I believe, sir?”

“Yes.”

“Educated at West Point, I think, by the government, to whom you have taken the oath of allegiance?”

“Yes.”

“Very good, sir,” said the stranger, turning away.

“You have forgotten one other fact, sir,” said Pinckney, with a slightly supercilious air.