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, I will 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. A pleasant 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:
“I believe 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.
Prev.
Back
Top