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“What do you expect to do?” asked Burr of Ellis.

“Anything just now that will make me forget,” answered the countryman, quickly. “So there’s enough of it is all that I ask. I’m going to get a little more education first. Sometime I’ll study law–that is, if I’m here ‘sometime.’ I’ve got to be where there’s life and action. I’ll never end by being common.” He paused a moment, and on his face there formed the peculiar heavy look that had confronted Clayton; a mask that hid a determination, which nothing of earth could shake. He finished slowly: “I’ll either be something, or nothing.”

Biographers leave the impression that at this time Burr was devoid of prestige on earth. Politically, this is true; but respecting his standing with the legal fraternity, it is wholly false. He had influence, and he used it, securing the stranger a place in a New York office, where his risk depended only upon himself. More than this, he gave Ellis money.

“You can pay me any interest you wish,” said he when the latter protested.

Ellis had been settled a week. One evening he sat in the back room of the city office, fighting the demon of homesickness with work, and the light of an open fire. It was late, and he had studied till Nature rebelled; now he sat in his own peculiar position, gazing into the glow, motionless and wide-eyed.

He started at a tap on the door, and the past came back in a rush.

“Come in,” he called.

Burr entered, and closed the door carefully behind him. Ellis motioned to a chair.

“No, I won’t sit down,” said Burr. “I’m only going to stay a moment.”

He came over to the blaze, looking down on the other man’s head. Finally he laid a hand on Ellis’s shoulder.

“Lonesome, eh?” he inquired.

The student nodded silent assent.

“So am I,” said Burr, beginning to pace up and down the narrow room. “Do you know,” he burst out at last, “this town is like hell to me. Every hand is against me. There’s not one man here, beside you, whom I can trust. I can’t stand it. I’m going to leave the country. Some day I’ll come back; but now it’s too much.” There was the accumulated bitterness of months in his voice. “My God!” he interjected, “you’d think these people never did anything wrong in their lives.” He stopped and laid his hand again on the other man’s shoulder.

“But enough of this–I didn’t come to make you more lonesome. I want you to meet my friends before I go. You’ll go out with me to-morrow afternoon?”

There was silence for a moment.

“If you wish. You know what I am,” said Ellis.

Burr’s hand rested a moment longer.

“Good-night,” he said simply.

Some eight or ten miles north of the beach, on the island of Manhattan, stood Jumel home; a fine, white house, surrounded by a splendid lawn and gardens. A generation had already passed since its erection, and the city was slowly creeping near. It was a stately specimen of Colonial domestic architecture, built on simple, restful lines, and distinguished by the noble columns of its Grecian front. Destined to be diminished, the grounds had already begun to shrink; but from its commanding position it had a view that was magnificent, overlooking as it did, the Hudson, the Harlem, the East River, the Sound, and upon every side, miles upon miles of undulating land.

On the way, and again upon the grounds, Burr related the history of the old landmark, telling much with the fascination of personal knowledge. The tale of the Morrises, of Washington and of Mary Philipse was yet upon his tongue, as he led Ellis through the broad pillared entrance, into the great hall.

Things moved swiftly, very swiftly and very dreamily, to the countryman in the next few hours. Nothing but the lack of ability prevented his vanishing at the sound of approaching skirts; nothing but physical timidity prevented his answering the greeting of the hostess; nothing but conscious awkwardness prompted the crude bow that answered the courtesy of the girl with the small hands, and the dark eyes who accompanied her–the first courtesy from powdered maid of fashion that he had ever known. Her name, Mary Philipse, coming so soon after Burr’s story, staggered him, and, open-mouthed, he stood looking at her. Remembrance came to Burr simultaneously, and he touched Ellis on the arm.