Having written a hurried letter to Quackinboss acquainting him with the causes which should prevent him from keeping his rendezvous at St. Louis, and informing him how he had met with his father, he briefly mentioned that they were about to return to New York with all speed, in the hope of coming up with Winthrop before he sailed for England. “Come what may,” he added, “we shall await you there. We long to meet you, and add your counsels to our own.” This letter he addressed to St Louis, and posted at once.

It was ten days after this they reached New York. Their journey had been delayed by a series of accidents,—a railroad smash at Detroit amongst the number; and when they arrived at the capital, it was to learn that the “Asia” had sailed that very morning for Liverpool, and at the agent's office they found that Mr. Harvey Winthrop was a passenger, and with him a certain Mr. Jacob Trover.

“Trover!” repeated Alfred, “he came out in the same ship with us, and it was in his company Quackinboss went down to the South, fully convinced that the man was the agent in some secret transaction.”

As he stood looking at the name on the agent's list with that unreasoning steadfastness that in a difficulty often attaches us to the incident which has first awakened us to a sense of embarrassment, he heard a well-remembered voice behind him exclaim, “What! sailed this mornin'? Well, darn me considerable, if that ain't takin' the ropes of us!” He turned, and it was Quackinboss. After the heartiest of greetings on both sides, Alfred presented his father to his friend.

“Well, sir,” said the Colonel, impressively, “there ain't that man livin' I want to shake the hand of as I do yours. I know you, sir, better, mayhap, than that youth beside you. I have studied your character in your writin's, and I 'm here to say there ain't your superior, if there be your equal, in your country or mine.”

“This opinion will make our intimacy very difficult,” said the old man, smiling. “I can scarcely hope to keep up the delusion, even for twenty-four hours.”

“Yes, sir, you can,” replied the Colonel; “jest talk the way you write.”

“You have seen this, I suppose?” said Alfred, pointing to the list of the lately departed passengers, and desirous of engaging his friend in another theme.

“Yes, and gone with Winthrop too,” said the Colonel. “You would n't believe how he doubled on me, that man Trover. I thought I had him too. We were a-travellin' together as thick as thieves, a-tellin' each other all our bygones in life and our plans for the future, and at last as good as agreed we 'd go partners in a mill that was for sale, about three miles from Carthage. But he wanted to see the water-power himself, and so we left the high-road, and set out to visit it. At our arrival, as we was gettin' out of the wagon, he sprained his ankle, and had to be helped into the house.

“'I am afraid,' said he, 'there's more mischief than a sprain here; have you any skill as a surgeon?'

“'Well,' said I, 'I ain't so bad about a fracture or dislocashin, and, what's better, I 've got a note-book with me full of all manner of receipts for washes and the like.' It was your journal, Dr. Layton, that I spoke of. It was, as you may remember, filled with hints about useful herbs and odd roots, and so on, and there was all about that case of a man called Hawke as was poisoned at Jersey,—a wonderful trial that had a great hold upon me, as your son will tell you another time,—but I did n't think of that at the moment; but turnin' to the part about sprains, I began to read him what you said: '“You must generally leech at first,” says he,' I began; '“particularly where there is great pain with swellin'.”'

“'Ah! I thought so,' sighed he; 'only how are we to get leeches in a place like this, and who is to apply them?'

“'I 'll engage to do both within half an hour.' said I; and I put on my hat and set out.

“Now, I war n't sorry, you see, for the accident. I thought to myself, 'Here's a crittur goin' to be laid up ten days or a fortnight; I'll have all the care o' him, and it's strange if he won't let out some of his secrets between whiles. I 'm curious to know what's a-brought him out here; he's not travellin' like one afraid of being pursued; he goes about openly and fearlessly, but he's always on the sharp, like a fellow that had somethin' on his mind, if one could only come at it. If there's anythin' one can be sure of, it is that a man with a heavy conscience will try to relieve himself of the load; he's like a fellow always changin' the ballast of his boat to make her sail lighter, or a crittur that will be a-movin' his saddle, now on the withers, now on the croup, but it won't do, never a bit, when there's a sore back underneath.' It was reflectin' over these things I fell into a sort of dreamy way, and did n't remember about the leeches for some time. At last I got 'em, and hastened back to the inn.

“'There's a note for you, sir, at the bar,' said the landlord. I took it, and read:—

“'Dear Colonel,—Thinking a little fresh air might serve me, I have gone out for a short drive.—Yours, till we meet again,

“'J. T.'

“Yes, sir, he was off; and worse, too, had carried away with him that great book with all the writin' in, and that account of Hawke's poison in'. I started in pursuit as quick as they could get me a wagon hitched, but I suppose I took the wrong road. I went to Utica, and then turned north as far as Albany, but I lost him. Better, perhaps, that I did so; I was riled considerable, and I ain't sure that I mightn't have done somethin' to be sorry for. Ain't it wonderful how ill one takes anythin' that reflects on one's skill and craftiness?—just as if such qualities were great ones; I believe, in my heart, we are readier to resent what insults our supposed cleverness than what is an outrage on our honesty. Be that as it may, I never came up with him after, nor heard of him, till I read his name in that sheet.”

“His theft of that book, connected with his companionship with Winthrop, suggests strongly the thought that his business here is the same as our own,” said the doctor.

“That's the way I reasoned it too,” said the Colonel.

“It is not impossible, besides, that he had some suspicion of your own object in this journey. Did the name of Winthrop ever come up in conversation between you?”

“Yes. I was once describin' my brother's location down in Ohio,—I did it a purpose to see if he would show any signs of interest about Peddar's Clearin's and Holt's Acre,—and then I mentioned, as if by chance, one Harvey Winthrop.

“'Oh, there was a man of that name in Liverpool once,' said he, 'but he died about two years gone.'

“'Did he?' said I, lookin' him hard.

“'Yes,' said he,—' of a quinsy.'

“It was as good as a play the way we looked at each other arter this. It was jest a game of chess, and I said, 'Move,' and he said, 'It ain't me to move,—it's your turn.' And there we was.”

“The fellow was shrewd, then?”

“Yes, sir, arter his fashion.”

“We must follow him, that's certain. They will reach Liverpool by the 10th or 12th. When can we sail from this?”

“There's a packet sails on Wednesday next; that's the earliest.”

“That must do, then. Let them be active as they may, they will scarcely have had time for much before we are up with them.”

“It's as good as a squirrel-hunt,” said Quackinboss. “I 'm darned if it don't set one's blood a-bilin' out of sheer excitement. What do you reckon this chap's arter?”

“He has, perhaps, found out this girl, and got her to make over her claim to this property; or she may have died, and he has put forward some one to personate her; or it is not improbable he may have arranged some marriage with himself, or one of his friends, for her.”

“Then it ain't anythin' about the murder?” asked the Colonel, half disappointedly.

“Nothing whatever; that case was disposed of years ago. Whatever guilt may attach to those who escaped, the law cannot recognize now. They were acquitted, and they are innocent.”

“That may be good law, sir, but it's strange justice. If I owed you a thousand dollars, and was too poor to pay it, I 'm thinkin' you 'd have it out of me some fine day when I grew rich enough to discharge the debt.”

Layton shook his head in dissent at the supposed parallel.

“Ain't we always a-talkin' about the fallibility of our reason and the imperfection of our judgments? And what business have we, then, to say, 'There, come what will tomorrow of evidence or proof, my mind is made up, and I 'm determined to know nothin' more than I know now'?”

“What say you to the other side of the question,—that of the man against whom nothing is proven, but who, out of the mere obscurity that involves a crime, must live and die a criminal, just because there is no saying what morning may not bring an accusation against him? As a man who has had to struggle through a whole life against adverse suspicions, I protest against the doctrine of not proven! The world is too prone to think the worst to make such a practice anything short of an insufferable tyranny.”

With a delicacy he was never deficient in, Quackinboss respected the personal application, and made no reply.

“Calumny, too,” continued the old man, whose passion was now roused, “is conducted on the division-of-labor principle. One man contributes so much, and another adds so much more; some are clever in suggesting the motive, some indicate the act; others are satisfied with moralizing over human frailties, and display their skill in showing that the crime was nothing exceptional, but a mere illustration of the law of original sin. And all these people, be it borne in mind, are not the bad or the depraved, but rather persons of reputable lives, safe opinions, and even good intentions. Only imagine, then, what the weapon becomes when wielded by the really wicked. I myself was hunted down by honorable men,—gentlemen all of them, and of great attainments. Has he told you my story?” said he, pointing to his son.

“Yes, sir; and I only say that it could n't have happened in our country here.”

“To be sure it could,” retorted the other, quickly; “the only difference is, that you have made Lynch law an institution, and we practise it as a social accident.”

Thus chatting, they reached the hotel where they were to lodge till the packet sailed.

The short interval before their departure passed off agreeably to all. Quackinboss never wearied at hearing the doctor talk, and led him on to speak of America, and what he had seen of the people, with an intense interest.

“Could you live here, sir?” asked Quackinboss, at the close of one of these discussions.

“It is my intention to live and die here,” said the doctor. “I go back to England now, that this boy may pay off a long load of vengeance for me. Ay, Alfred, you shall hear my long-cherished plan at once. I want you to become a fellow of that same University which drove me from its walls. They were not wrong, perhaps,—at least, I will not now dispute their right,—but I mean to be more in the right than they were. My name shall stand upon their records associated with their proudest achievements, and Layton the scholar, Layton the discoverer, eclipse the memory of Layton the rebel.”

This was the dream of many a year of struggle, defeat, and depression; and now that it was avowed, it seemed as though his heart were relieved of a great load of care. As for Alfred, the goal was one to stimulate all his energies, and he pledged himself fervently to do his utmost to attain it.

“And I must be with you the day you win,” cried Quackinboss, with an enthusiasm so unusual with him that both Layton and his son turned their glances towards him, and saw that his eyes were glassy with tears. Ashamed of his emotion, he started suddenly up, saying, “I'll go and book our berths for Wednesday next.”