X-----, whose house was
only a square or two off.
This resolution I proceeded at once to carry out. A short walk brought
me to the house, half buried in its shrubbery; but as I approached I
saw a carriage was standing before the house.
Should I make my visit then, or postpone it? Mr. X----- evidently had
company. Or had the carriage brought a visitor to some other member of
the household? Mr. X----- was only a boarder, and I might be mistaken
in supposing that _he_ was engaged at the moment.
As these thoughts passed through my mind, I approached the gate in the
iron railing. The carriage was half hidden by the shadow of the elms,
which grew in a row along the sidewalk. On the box sat a motionless
figure. The vehicle and driver were as still and silent as if carved
out of ebony.
"Decidedly I will discover," I said, and opening the gate I turned into
the winding path through the shrubbery, which led toward the rear of
the house; that is to say, toward the private entrance to the room of
Mr. X-----.
Suddenly, as I passed through the shadowy shrubs, I felt a hand on my
shoulder. I started back, and unconsciously felt for some weapon.
"Don't shoot me, colonel!" said a voice in the darkness, "I am a
friend."
I recognized the voice of Nighthawk.
"Good heavens! my dear Nighthawk," I said, drawing a long breath of
relief, "you are enough to make Alonzo the Brave, himself, tremble? You
turn up everywhere, and especially in the dark! What are you doing
here?"
"I am watching, colonel," said Nighthawk, with benignant sweetness.
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