Sir Stuart
was eagerly awaiting his arrival, and his first question was, "Have you
the papers?"
Quincy took the package from his pocket and placed it on the table
before him, remarking as he did so, "It must not be opened until
to-morrow morning, and then by the young lady herself."
The old man pushed the package away from him and turned a stern face
toward Quincy. "I yield obedience," said he, "to your wife's command,
but if one man or two stood now between me and my darling's child, I
would have their lives, if they tried to keep her from my arms for one
instant even."
After a little reflection he apologized for his vehement language, and
sought his room to think, and hope, and wait--but not to sleep.
The next morning, a little before nine o'clock, a carriage containing
two gentlemen stopped before a modest brick dwelling in West Forty-first
Street. A servant admitted them and showed them into the little parlor.
The room was empty. Quincy pointed to a sofa at the farther end of the
room, and Sir Stuart took a seat thereon. Quincy stepped into the entry
and greeted Celeste, who was just descending the stairs.
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