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Updated: June 14, 2025
She looked intently into her visitor's face for a moment, as though with an inward monition that something was wrong. "But," she resumed, after a brief pause, "do you know my husband? I can't remember as I ever seen you before. You don't live in New York: I can see that. I guess you come from the West." Then Mrs. Savareen felt that some explanation was necessary.
Savareen been a student of Moliere, the fitting reply to such a question under such circumstances would doubtless have risen to her lips. But I shrewdly suspect that she had never heard of the famous Frenchman, whose works were probably an unknown quantity in Millbrook in those days. After a momentary hesitation she fenced with the question, and put one in her turn.
Such was Reginald Bourchier Savareen, and if you have never come across anybody possessing similar characteristics always excepting the scar your experience of your fellow-creatures has been more limited than might be expected from a reader of your age and manifest intelligence.
It was further resolved that that gentleman should accompany Lapierre to Millbrook after breakfast in the morning, and that Mrs. Savareen's father should be made acquainted with the known facts. It was just possible, after all, that Jack Randall might be Jack Randall, and not Savareen, in which case it was desirable to save the lost man's wife from cruel agitation to no purpose.
There could be no reasonable doubt that Randall and Savareen were one. Since there was just the shadow of doubt, and the want of absolute certainty, made it impossible for Mrs. Savareen to leave the matter as it stood. She felt that she must know the whole truth. A course was finally decided upon. Father and daughter would start for New York without delay and probe the matter to the bottom.
In the early spring of the year 1854 a letter reached Savareen from his former home in Hertfordshire, containing intelligence of the sudden death of his father. The old gentleman had been tolerably well off in this world's gear, but he had left a numerous family behind him, so that there was no great fortune in store for Reginald.
It was absolutely certain that Savareen was at Stolliver's because he could not possibly have avoided meeting Lapierre if he had not called there. It was Lapierre's business to find him and take him home. Accordingly the landlord of the Royal Oak turned his horse's head and cantered back up the road till he reached the front of Stolliver's place.
It was easy to see from his face that this was no mere perfunctory call. Evidently he had news to tell. "Something has happened, father," said Mrs. Savareen, as calmly as she could. "Well, yes, something has happened. It is nothing very dreadful, but you had better prepare yourself to hear unpleasant news." "It is that man he has come." "Yes, he has come to town." "Is he at the door?"
Savareen slowly ascended one flight of stairs after another, she began to wonder if she had not done an unwise thing in venturing alone into a house and locality of which she knew nothing. Having reached the third story she found herself in total darkness, except for such faint twilight as found its way through a back window.
Savareen, and hide it away in some safe place till to-morrow morning that's my advice." "And very good advice it is, Jonathan," was the response. "I'll act upon it without more words. Good night!" And so saying, Savareen continued his course homeward at a brisk trot.
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