“Mr. Whacker,” he began, with a grave smile, “I beg you a thousand pardons. There are certain parallelisms in life—I mean that you inadvertently touched a chord that quite overmastered me for the moment. Forgive me.” And, taking my grandfather’s hand, he bowed over it with deep humility. Turning then to Charley, who, the reader will bear in mind, had not heard the words of Mr. Whacker that had wrought the explosion, the Guest, to Charley’s great astonishment, grasped both his hands with a fervid grip, but averted look; then abruptly dropping his hands, he seized his hat and strode out of the door; leaving our two friends in blank amazement. They stood staring at each other with wide eyes. At last, Charley raised his hand and tapped his forehead with his forefinger, then went to the door and looked out. “By Jove,” cried he, “he is making straight for the river!” And, hatless as he was, he sprang to the ground and started after him, at a run—for the Guest was swinging along with giant strides. Charley’s heart beat quick, when the stranger, reaching the shore, stopped suddenly, stretching out both his arms toward the opposite bank with wild, passionate gestures. The pursuer was about to cry out, when the pursued, turning sharply to the left, moved on again, as rapidly as before. It was then that, either hearing Charley’s hurrying steps, or by chance turning his head, he saw that he was followed. He stopped instantly; and, coming forward to meet Charley: “I must ask pardon again,” said he, with extended hand. “I should have told you that I was going out for a good long walk. I shall be back before dinner.” “All right!” The Guest doffed his hat and began to move on again; but Charley, seized with a sudden remnant of suspicion, stopped him with a motion of his hand. “Remember,” said he, going close up to him, and speaking in a low but earnest tone,—“remember, you have two good friends yonder.” And, with a toss of his upturned thumb, he pointed, over his shoulder, towards the house, which lay behind them; and young Frobisher, feeling that he had said much, cast his eyes upon the ground, bashful as a girl. “I believe you,” said the guest; “and,” he added with earnestness, “the belief is much to me—_much_,—see you at dinner.” Charley, returning, found Mr. Whacker standing on the lawn, awaiting, with some anxiety, his report. “It’s all right, I think. Look at him! See how he is booming along the bank! But, Uncle Tom, how on earth did you and Mr. Smith manage to get up those theatricals?!”