The little steamer Neptune plowed through the water, sweeping past lovely scenes of green verdure and jutting rocks, almost making her passengers regret that their journey’s end was so near. And, in truth, the approach to Dalton did form a most delightful close to a journey of some forty miles from one of the principal cities on the New England coast. The trip could be made by rail, but the Neptune had been fitted up by a company of enterprising men, who offered comfort and pleasure in opposition to speed and dust. The project succeeded well, the little steamer receiving its fair proportion of passenger traffic.

On she sped, cutting the water cleanly, and rapidly drawing near the wharf.

Two young men stood on the deck in a position where they could best view the town. One of them was a trifle below the medium height, but his form was well proportioned, and his features indicative of individuality and character. His complexion was rather light, and so was his hair, but his eyes were black, deep-set, and luminous. He had a frank expression, which was marred, however, for the moment by a look of uneasiness and a shade of sadness.

His companion was a fair sample of the young American of the present day. He was a trifle taller than his companion, well built, with brown hair and blue eyes, a dark mustache overhanging a well-cut mouth, erect in carriage, deliberate in his motions, his general appearance designating him to the casual observer as a “man of business.” You would naturally feel that he would be equal to any emergency—that his self possession would not be likely, even under trying circumstances, to desert him. Very different in this respect was he from his companion, who was plainly excitable, and whose total “make-up” suggested that he might not at all times be master of himself.

The latter spoke:

“Idon’t know how my uncle will receive me, Leonard,” he said. “Ialmost tremble at going into his presence.”

“Nonsense!” said the other. “Ishould not tremble at all. All you have to do is to tell your story, and then, if he doesn’t behave himself, quietly bid him good-day.”

“Ah, Iknow that would be your way,” was the reply, “but Icould not do it. He is my father’s brother.”

“Yes, and a model brother, too. His course has entitled him to so much respect that Ishould think you would be considerate of his feelings.”

The tone was impatient and ironical.

“But Iam here for reconciliation, you know. They have been like strangers so long—never holding any communication with each other—and on his dying bed my father enjoined me to go to him and tell him how it all came about—how Geoffrey Haywood produced, by his lies and misrepresentations, an estrangement between two brothers that had always been so fond of each other. They were both passionate, and neither would seek explanations. Haywood was cool and calculating, and knew how to approach both of them.”

“And Haywood now lives in Dalton?”

“Yes; he still keeps on the right side of Colonel Conrad, and, Isuspect, owes all his prosperity to his influence and aid.”

“When did your father discover that Haywood had been the means of the feud?”

“Nearly a year ago. His health was at that time poor, and he was unable to leave Europe, where he was traveling. He wrote to his brother, but the letter came back unopened. My father never grew better. He thought that, if Icould see my uncle and lay the case before him, he might go down to his grave without the old hate rankling in his heart.”

The youth grew excited, and paced up and down the deck. Then he continued:

“Iam to see this savage monster—this irate beast, as Ihave learned to regard him—and run the risk of hearing the memory of my father reviled, and his name insulted. It seems as if Icould not bear it. His living face is yet too fresh in my memory. But the mission is intrusted to me, and Imust fulfill it. Iwill tell him the facts, and my duty will have been done.”

Leonard Lester looked upon his cousin as he spoke, and smiled a pitying smile.

“It is rather tough,” he said, “to be obliged to get down on your knees to such an individual as Iimagine your, or, rather, our uncle, to be—for Isuppose he must be my uncle, since you and Iare cousins, although Ihave never seen him. But Ibelieve Iam to accompany you, and if he lets off too much steam, Iwill let off some, too. Ican do it, when there’s occasion.”

His eyes proclaimed the truth of what he said.

Leonard Lester and Carlos Conrad were distant cousins, and cherished a strong regard for each other. Carlos was the son of Anthony Conrad, who, years before, had married a Spanish girl. Her dark beauty had won the affection of the American, and they had lived together ten years, when she died. The only fruit of the union was a boy, whom they named Carlos. He inherited the warm and voluptuous nature of his mother, and the firm and stable, though somewhat passionate, character of his father. And there was within him a vein of delicate sensibility, peculiarly his own, which added to the refinement of his nature, though it might at times render him weak and irresolute. Aconsiderable portion of his life had been spent in Europe, near the home of his mother, and in other portions of the Continent.

His father had died but a few weeks before the time at which this chapter opens, and had charged Carlos with a mission which, as we have seen, he was about to undertake.

Leonard Lester was connected with a large importing house in New York. He had been abroad on business for the firm several times, and had met Carlos in Paris, Vienna, Berlin, and other places. The cousins seemed to gravitate toward each other, and a warm affection sprang up between them.

On this occasion they were going together to the residence of Anthony Conrad’s brother, Colonel William Conrad, whose home was in the suburbs of the beautiful village of Dalton.

The steamer bumped against the dock, making everybody give an involuntary pitch forward, and was soon fastened to her moorings. The plank was thrown out, and the passengers thronged ashore.

Leonard and Carlos stood looking about for a moment, endeavoring to decide which way to turn.

“Shall we go to a hotel?” asked Leonard.

“Yes, by all means,” quickly responded Carlos. “We will not intrude on his hospitality until we know what our reception is to be.”

“It will be all right, Iwill venture,” said Leonard, cheeringly. “If you have proofs of what you are about to say, he surely will not be so unreasonable as to turn you off.”

Carlos sighed, but did not reply, as they stepped into a hack. They were driven rapidly through the lively streets of the busy village, and conveyed to a hospitable-looking hotel. Apleasant room, which commanded a fine view of the ocean in the distance, was placed at their disposal.

After an hour’s rest and a good supper, they approached the hotel clerk, Leonard saying:

“Ibelieve that Colonel Conrad is a resident of this place?”

“Yes, sir, he is,” replied the clerk.

“Can you inform me where he lives?”

“He lives on his place—Elm Grove—about a mile out of the village.”

“In what direction is Elm Grove?”

“Straight north, on this street—Main street it is called.”

“Thank you.”

And the cousins stepped aside.

“Iwonder what they can want of Colonel Conrad?” mused the clerk, staring after them.

After discussing the matter, Carlos and Leonard determined not to visit their uncle until the next morning. So, after spending an hour in rambling about town, and by the shore of the bay, they returned to the hotel and retired at an early hour.

The next morning they set out for Colonel Conrad’s residence. The walk was dusty at first, but soon merged into a pleasant avenue, shaded on either side by ancient and noble trees. Then there was a gentle ascent, a slope downward, and a short distance farther, situated on a rise of ground, was Elm Grove, the residence of Colonel Conrad.

The heart of Carlos beat nervously, his step was hurried, and his motions were quick. Not so with Leonard. He was cool and composed, and, as the two passed through the open gate, and up the broad gravel walk, he said:

“Come, now pick up courage. Think of your father, be a man, and defend him from insult, whoever it comes from.”

The words had their desired effect. Alook of resolution came into Carlos’ face, which Leonard regarded with satisfaction.

They ascended the steps and rang the door-bell.

Aservant appeared.

“Is Colonel Conrad at home?” asked Carlos.

“Ithink he is,” replied the servant. “Shall Itake your names?”

They handed him their cards. Carlos’ was edged with black. Soon the servant returned, and said that Colonel Conrad would see them.

They were ushered through a wide hall, on the left side of which was the room where Colonel Conrad awaited them.

The servant bowed them in.

The room was not a large one, but it was fitted up with elegance and taste. On one side was a row of shelves, on which were ranged books of all sizes and colors.

It was the colonel’s library, and a choice one it was, too, valuable principally for the age and rarity of some of the volumes.

There was a fire-place, a writing-table, a closed desk, heavy, rich, and antique in pattern, a huge clock, reaching from the floor to the ceiling, a smaller case of book-shelves near it, a couch, and a few chairs.

All this was taken in at a glance, as was also the figure of the proprietor of the mansion, seated in an easy-chair, with an open book lying on the table beside him.

Never were two persons more surprised than were the cousins at the appearance of Colonel Conrad. They had expected to see in their uncle a large, frowzy, ferocious-looking monster in human form, with a face expressive of malice, and that peculiar expression that always belongs to lips given to invective and denunciation.

Instead, there sat before them a man not above the medium size, with hair thickly tinged with gray, and a careworn, studious, thoughtful face. His eyes were blue, and, in contrast with his appearance otherwise, were bright as those of a youth of twenty. His brow was wrinkled irregularly, suggesting inward conflict and mental anxiety.

He sat and looked at his nephews steadily without speaking. Carlos gazed earnestly and apprehensively into his face, while Leonard stood in an easy attitude, apparently not in the least discomfited.

At length the uncle bent his gaze more particularly on Carlos. It was impossible to tell the thoughts that occupied his mind. Finally he said:

“You’re his son?”

“Iam your brother’s son,” replied Carlos.

“Isuppose it is unnecessary to ask what that means?” said Colonel Conrad, holding up the card edged with black.

“You can readily imagine,” said Carlos, with difficulty controlling his emotion.

The old man bowed his head for an instant, and then looking up again, said, impatiently:

“Well, well, why don’t you be seated? What are you standing up for? There are plenty of chairs.”

The cousins smiled, and acted on the hint thus conveyed.

“I’m a wonderfully forgiving man,” began Colonel Conrad; “if Iwere not, Iwouldn’t so much as suffer your presence in sight of my house.” He was addressing himself to Carlos. “You know the old saying is that the sins of the fathers shall be visited on the children, and Iought to visit the sins of your father on you; for you know how he deeply wronged me, or at least you ought to know it, for if he didn’t confess it on his dying bed Ishould have but little hope for his future——”

“Colonel Conrad,” interrupted Carlos, endeavoring to control himself so as to appear calm, “you must not talk in that way. I’ll not hear it—no, not even from you. Your dead brother was a good man, andI, his son, will not hear his name traduced.”

“Y-o-u’-l-l not h-e-a-r his name tr-a-d-u-c-e-d!” repeated Colonel Conrad, in a prolonged, contemptuous tone, staring at Carlos with his piercing eyes. “I’d like to know what you are going to do about it?”

“I’ll defend him, sir, with my right arm,” said Carlos, rising to his feet. “I’ll call out the first man who dares to slander him. He was a good and true man, and Iam here to prove it.”

“You had better sit down, young man,” said the colonel. “Isuppose you have come here begging, but you’ll not gain anything by such behavior, Ican tell you.”

“Iam no beggar,” retorted Carlos, angrily, “and Iwill accept none of your money. But Ihave an errand to do, and after it is performed, Iwill leave you. It is a message from my father.”

“Well, Carlos,” said his uncle, suddenly assuming a nonchalant manner, “Isee you have pluck, and Ilike you for it. But too much pluck is not always a good thing. Ihave had too much of it in my day, so has your father, the vil—but no, I’ll not call him names now; let him rest in peace.”

After a pause and a moment’s dreamy silence, he resumed:

“Ihave seen much sorrow in my time, boys, and have gone through some hard experiences. There was that quarrel with my brother—we were both hasty, and have not seen each other since. There was my wife—bless her memory!—who died many years ago, leaving me no children. Yes, Ihave passed through some sad experiences, and all Ihave to do in my old age is to sit still and think about them. Itinker a little with one thing and another—bother my head over machinery and philosophy—and that is about all Ihave to relieve the tedium of my life. But no, there’s Florence—she’s a good girl.”

The last words he spoke rather to himself than to his listeners.

“You have a nephew living in Dalton, have you not?” said Leonard, who had as yet taken no part in the conversation.

“Anephew? Oh, yes—Geoffrey Haywood, Isuppose you mean. He is a very good man—very pious and very honest. He has met with great success in his business. Yes, Geoffrey is my best friend.”

He glanced up, as he spoke, in a slightly defiant manner, as if he expected to be contradicted; but seeing no such purpose on the part of his auditors, he ceased speaking, and drummed nervously on the table.

“Well, Colonel Conrad,” said Leonard, “Carlos has come here on an errand, and he wishes, though he dreads, to open the subject. It is from your dead brother, Anthony. Carlos knows of the enmity that existed between you and him, but he hopes and Ihope that you will hear him through.”

The old man shook his head.

“No good can come of any talk about my dead brother,” he said, sadly; “but he may speak. Iwill hear what he has to say, for if his father left with him a message, it is his duty to deliver it.”

“Thank you for those words, uncle,” said Carlos, “for now Ican go on and tell the story untrammeled. It is a tale of deep wrong, which should bring curses on the perpetrator. The quarrel between you and my father was the work of a villain, whose heart must have been black and rotten—whose sordid desire for wealth must have made him forget all that was noble and manly within him.”

Carlos then began at a period dating years back, giving the details of a plot that had separated Anthony and William Conrad, filling them with hate and venom toward each other. There was one who had caused it all—who had studied his plans well, and carried them out with fiendish precision; and who was now reaping the harvest of his mischief by living near Colonel Conrad, enjoying his friendship and—his gold.

“Need Imention the name of the villain?” asked Carlos. “Is not one, and only one, person brought to your mind, and that Geoffrey Haywood? Stop! do not interrupt me now. Imust finish, and then Iwill go or stay, as you bid me. My father learned all the facts a year ago. He wrote to you, but the letter was returned unopened——”

“Inever received it,” said Colonel Conrad, huskily.

“Ah! that is some more of Haywood’s work. My father’s health was poor, and he never left Europe after writing the letter. But a few weeks ago, on his dying bed, he told me about it, and charged me to come to you and inform you how you had both been wronged. He gave me this package to deliver to you, which he says contains convincing proofs. He died reconciled to you in his heart, and wished you to forgive him while he yet lived on this earth. Take the package and examine it impartially, for the memory of the love which you once cherished for your brother.”

Carlos laid the package down and ceased speaking. He had performed his duty.

Colonel Conrad’s head was bowed, and he appeared to be in deep thought. Ahard, impenetrable look came across his features, and he said, in a perfectly calm voice:

“Carlos, your story is a strange one. If true, it is indeed a terrible record of wrong. You have done your duty, and Icherish no ill-will toward you. But Iam lost and perplexed. Don’t you think it would stagger any man? Imust think. You must leave me for the rest of the day—or rather Imust leave you, for you will, both of you, be my guests. Imust shut myself up. Iwill read the papers contained in the package, for that will be no more than an act of simple justice.”

“Thank you, my uncle,” said Carlos. “But Ishall not consent to share your hospitality at present. As yet, you are my father’s enemy, and may continue to be so. We will remain at a hotel until you have investigated the matter and rendered a decision.”

“Yes,” said Leonard, “Carlos is right. For the present our abiding-place shall be the hotel.”

Colonel Conrad was not in a condition to dispute their decision or urge them to stay. His mind seemed to be under a cloud, and he made no reply to their remarks.

He did not rise, nor speak, but simply bowed, as they bade him good-day and took their departure.