Something was wrong here, and he meant to see what it was.
He had no scruples about entering. He did not consider himself in the
least an intruder. This was his uncle's house, and his uncle and his
cousin were far away.
The door made no sound as it swung back, and soundless, too, was Dick as
he stepped within. It was dark in the big hall, but as he stood there,
listening, he became conscious of a light. It proceeded from one of the
rooms opening into the hall on the right, and a door nearly closed only
allowed a narrow band of it to fall upon the hall floor.
Dick, believing now that a robber had indeed come, drew a pistol from his
pocket, stepped lightly across the hall and looked in at the door.
He checked a cry, and it was his first thought to go away as quietly as
he had come. He had seen a man in the uniform of a Confederate colonel,
sitting in a chair, and staring out at one of the little side windows
which Dick could not see from the front, and which was now open. It was
his own uncle, Colonel George Kenton, C. S. A., his gold braided cap on
the window sill, and his sword in its scabbard lying across his knees.
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