“A rainy night in early June. I was home by myself, reading one of Mr. Dickens’ novels, when I heard somebody pounding on the front door. Opening it, I was startled to see my brother. Without speaking a word, he strode into the parlor and seated himself on a chair. His clothing was so thoroughly soaked that a puddle quickly formed itself at his feet. And the look on his face! It was so wild—so fierce—that I felt positively alarmed. The moment he opened his mouth, I could tell that he was terribly inebriated. Oh, Eddie, it broke my poor heart to see him in such a state.”

“And what did he say?”

“He began to rant and rave about his life—how wretched it was, how everyone was against him, how the whole world was to blame for his failure. All at once, he asked me for money. Of course I had none to give him, my circumstances being what they were. When I gently explained this to him, he leapt to his feet and shouted: ‘Then my destruction will be on your head, too!’

“‘Why, whatever can you mean, David?’ I gasped.

“‘I am done with this life! I will no longer suffer such brutal mistreatment. Farewell forever!’ And with that, he turned and fled into the night, never to be seen by myself—or any other member of his family—again.”

These last words were uttered by Muddy in a tone of the most heartfelt sorrow. Her voice faltered—her eyes brimmed with tears. Raising the hem of her apron to her countenance, she dabbed at the twin rivulets of moisture that now trickled down her cheeks, while I reached out and administered a comforting pat to her shoulder.

“And from that time until the present you have heard nothing about his fate?” I inquired after a moment.

Shaking her head sadly, she replied: “Only rumors. That he died of yellow fever in Norfolk, Virginia. That he was murdered in a tavern brawl in Savannah, Georgia. That he ran off with a Scottish hussy and went to live with her abroad. But which—if any—of these stories is true, it is impossible to say.”

For some moments, the two of us sat in absolute silence, while a crowd of wild speculations rushed tumultuously through my mind. At length, I could remain inactive no longer. Leaping to my feet, I announced: “Muddy, I am, as always, deeply in your debt for the assistance you have rendered, and beg your forgiveness for whatever distress my questions have occasioned you.”

“But where are you going, Eddie?”

“To apprise Colonel Crockett of all that has transpired since we parted last evening. Though he has promised to return here at noon, I am too impatient to await his coming hither.”

“But you have not had your breakfast,” exclaimed Muddy.