CHAPTER V.
Geister’s Return.
THE receipt of this letter produced the greatest inquietude and dissatisfaction in my breast. I was now firmly convinced, that, however difficult his task, Geister, by his indomitable perseverance, would, in all human probability, successfully accomplish it. Yet, though he had escaped death by fever, was it possible that he could elude the bloodthirsty watchfulness of the roaming savages who infested the country I Why was not I with him? Was not his confession—in speaking of Rodolph, the negro—that he felt the need of a companion, a tacit reproach to me? Had I, immediately oil receiving his first letter, rejoined him at Cadiz, as I should have done, he would not have refused to let me accompany him on this expedition. But these self-reproaches came too late now; I could only hope and wait.
Let me once more pass over a period of seven months. At the end of that time, I was compelled to leave Madrid on some important business connected with an estate I owned in the neighbourhood, which occupied some days. On my return, the first thing that greeted me was a letter from Geister. It had been posted at Mexico. The contents were brief, but conclusive:
“Success! my dear Howard, Success!! The Legend is true; the discovery is complete!
“I will not, however, hazard through the medium of a letter the communication of the details of my search; for I hope soon to be with you.
“Carl.”
I was both delighted and astonished at this: delighted at my friend’s success—astonished at being thus assured of the truth of the Legend. Some months, however, would have to be wearied through yet before I could hope to see Geister. Again I returned to studies which had now become comparatively -void of interest, so unimportant did the acquisition of book knowledge appear to me, when contemplating his vast and glorious scheme—vast and glorious since the decisive intelligence of his last communication had invested his soaring ambition to my mind with a growing practicability.
Yet it was not alone the isolated grandeur of the design that fascinated me—but rather the designer. He truly had commended himself to my interest in a manner that few men interest their fellows. His earnestness, his genuineness, his transparent sincerity, had early surprised and delighted me; and, combined with the charm of his conversation, had caused me so studiedly to seek his friendship. Nor hud this feeling been produced by the comparative seclusion of my previous life; for I now mixed almost daily with educated men, and my company—possibly because I was known to be wealthy—was much sought after; yet none of these permanently pleased and interested me. They were simply educated men, of no particular talent. To me there was a want of impressiveness about each of them; they did not stand out distinct from other men of their class. The only individuality any of them. possessed, was traceable to something anomalous in their outer man—a squint, it might be, or a wooden leg. But, for their minds, they were mere plagiarisms of other and better men. I felt as if I had had to do with many such before. The individuality of Geister, however, was a beautiful, embodied fact; it streamed to me over a wide continent and a wider ocean: I had known none like him.
A bright sunny morn ushered in the day of Geister’s return. He had written to me from Cadiz, notifying his safe arrival, and his immediate departure for Madrid, so that I knew almost the very hour to listen for his footfall on the stair, and posting myself at the window, awaited his coming with happy anticipation.
At last, the welcome sound of carriage wheels coming up the road in rear of the house was heard. That instant, I sunk the spectre, decorum, and rushing eagerly from the house, ran across the lawn, to find that Geister, also unable to restrain his impatience, had left the carriage at the lodge gate, and was hastening with equal ardour to meet me.
After a slight repast, we repaired to the library, when he at once commenced the narrative of his expedition.