g
inquiry. "Nothing," said he, "that is, nothing more;" and rose as if to
leave.

But Mr. Sylvester put out his hand and stopped him. "There _is_
something," said he. "I have seen it in your face ever since you entered
this room. What is it?"

The young man drew a deep breath and leaned back in his chair. Mr.
Sylvester watched him with growing pallor. "You are right," murmured his
nephew at last; "there is something more, and it is only justice that
you should hear it. I have had two adventures to-night; one quite apart
from my conversation with Mr. Stuyvesant. Heaven that watches above us,
has seen fit to accumulate difficulties in my path, and this last,
perhaps, is the least explainable and the hardest to encounter."

"What do you allude to?" cried his uncle, imperatively; "I have had an
evening of too much agitation to endure suspense with equanimity.
Explain yourself."

"It will not take long," said the other; "a few words will reveal to you
the position in which I stand. Let me relate it in the form of a
narrative. You know what a dark portion of the block that is in which
Mr. Stuyvesant's house is situated. A man might hide in any of the areas
along there, without being observed by you unless he made some sound to
attract your attention. I was, therefore, more alarmed than surprised
when, shortly after leaving Mr. Stuyvesant's dwelling, I felt a hand
laid on my shoulder, and turning, beheld a dark figure at my side, of an
appearance calculated to arouse any man's apprehension. He was tall,
unkempt, with profuse beard, and eyes that glared even in the darkness
of his surroundings, with a feverish intensity. 'You are Mr. Sylvester,'
said he, with a look of a wild animal ready to pounce upon his prey.
'Yes,' said I, involuntarily stepping back, 'I am Mr. Sylvester.' 'I
want to speak to you,' exclaimed he, with a rush of words as though a
stream had broken loose; 'now, at once, on business that concerns you.
Will you listen?'

"I thought of the only business that seemed to concern me then, and
starting still farther back, surveyed him with surprise. 'I don't know
you,' said I; 'what business can you have with me?' 'Will you step into
some place where it is warm and find out?' he asked, shivering in his
thin cloak, but not abating a jot of his eagerness. 'Go on before me,'
said I, 'and we will see.' He complied at once, and in this way we
reached Beale's Coffee-Room, where we went in. 'Now,' said I, 'out with
w