CHAPTER XXV. GEOFFREY PICKS UP A THREAD.

Te Aroha News, Volume VI, Issue 314, 7 November 1888, Page 6

CHAPTER XXV. GEOFFREY PICKS UP A THREAD.

' Who can he be ? How strangely he ac^s, Gladys said, as she gazed after the retreating form. ' One would almost believe he • had some personal connection with your history, he was so agitated on learning your name.' ' I am sure that he has, Gladys : / believe that, 7)ian is my father !' Geoffrey replied with quivering lips. •Oh, Geoff!' ' I do, dear ; and I fear, too, that there is some miserable secret connected with my early life.' 'Do not think that,' the heantiful girl pleaded ; f I will not believe it without the strongest proof ; and if it should be so, the fact cannot harm you.' 'Gladys,' Geofiery said, in a stern, repressed tone, while his face was dreadful to look upon in its ehastliness, ' if there is sin connected with mv life — if I tind that my birthright is one of shame — I can never ask you to share it.' Gladys clasped both hands closely about her lover's arm. " * Geoffrey, s-urely you will not ruin b our lives by any such rash decision ?' she pleaded, lifting her troubled face to his. "* It is you whom 1 love, not on illustrious pedigree. As far as my future with you is concerned, I care not who or whac your parents may have been. Do not let anything of that nature come between us : it is false pride, and un worthy of you.' The young man regarded her with exceeding tenderness, but he was still greatly disturbed by his recent interview with the stranger, and could not readily regain his composure. | He believed that he was on the verge of | an important discovery, and he was at the same time impressed that it would only bring him shame and sorrow. 'Gladys, would you not shrink from marrying a man whose mother had never been — a wife ?' he asked, a hot flush mounting to his brow. 4 1 could never shrink from you, Geoffrey, and I would not accept the proudest position in the land in exchange for your love. 1 might deeply regret such a circumstance, on your account ; but", dear, my affection for you is far too strong to be weakened by a mere accident of birth. Let us put all such dismal thoughts away from our minds. I will nob believe that dishonour has ever touched you or yours,' Gladys concluded, looking up with a fond smile. 'Dear little comforter,' murmured the young man, trying to return it, though it wa<? but the ghost of one. 'Do not go near that man, Geoff,' Gladys continued ' Let us be happy as we are, and not trouble ourselves about the past." The poor fellow Mghed as if it would be a great relief to consign it to oblivion, but the anxious look did not leave hi? face. 'I canuot, Gladys, ' he said, with pale, compressed lips. ' I shall never lest until the dark mystery of my past life is explained. I must keep my appointment with that man this afternoon, and I will not leave him until I have wrung from him every sciap of information that he may possess regarding me and mine, and if — ' 'Geoff, what?' cried the young girl, breathlessly, alarmed by his unusual tone, and the look upon his face. • If I find that that man is my father, and that he wronged my mother, he shall ha\e reas n to regret both those facts for the remainder of his life,' was the stern reply. • Geoffrey, surely >ou will do nothing to compromise yourself ?' Gladys pleaded, anxiously. ' Is o, deai', for your sake as well as my own, I will do nothing to make myself disagreeably conspicuous. But he will not forget me if I rind my suspicions are true. You will say nothing tj Uncle August or Aunt Alice regar -ing thi^ encounter, please, until after I have seen him.' ' No, certainly not, if you prefer I should lint tell them,' Gladys readily promised. They turned to retrace their way to the hotel, both too much disturbed by the ocourience of the morning, and by forebodings regarding the afternoon's appointment, to care to prolons their stroll. They parted at che ladies' entrance, Gladys sroing upstairs to her mofchei's apartment, where she tried to busy herself with some fancy work until lunch time, although her heart was in a continual flutter of apprehension and miserable suspense. Geoffrey «.hufc himself up in his own room alono for a season, but was too wretched to remain there inactive, ar.d ->oon went out again. When the iamiJy went down to luncheon he was s-till absent and bis seat \acant. This was such an unprecedented occurrence that Mr Hunbte-ss left the tible to as certain the reason. He soon returned with the information fchafc Geoffrey bad jrone out, bufc had left word with the clerk, in case inquiries should be made for him, that he miglft not be back for several hour©. ]\lis Huntress gluneeri at Gladys a« her husband made this report, but she gave no sign of either surprise or disappointment. She had noticed an unusual reserve and quietness about her, ever since her leturn from her walk, and a suspicion ciossed her mind that perhaps there might •be some misunderstanding or lovers' quarrel, that j had caused this unwonted bieak in the family party. She kept her suspicions to her-clf, however, revolving to await further developments. It was after six o'clock when Geoffrey returned. Gladys was watching for him at one end of the and opiang from the chair to go to meet him as he came up the steps, and then stopped short as she caught sight of his face. It m as as colourless as marble, and there was a look in his eye that actually made her tremble. He did not speak or even smile as he came up to her, but quietly drew her hand through his arm, led her within the house and to a small reception room, carefully shutting the door behind them. Then he turned again and faced her. 'Gladys,' he said, in a hollow, unnatural tone, ' it is as I feared--' ' Geoffrey !' she cried, in a shocked voice, all her own bright colour fading. 'The -worst, is true,' he concluded, not heeding her interruption. ' Have you seen him— did he tell you so f &he asked. ' No, I have not seen him. ' ' Then how do you know ?' •He has fled.' • Fled * 1 yes. I went to the ' United States' &t five. this afternoon. I called a servant to show me the way to room number fortyfive, and was told that the gentleman who had occupied ib left at twelve bo-da}'.' ' How very strange I' said Gladys, astonished. *;2\ T o, it is not strange,' Geoffrey returned .bitterly; 'the man is a miserable coward

and he dare nob mccl me ; his history is doubtless one of shame and wrong — he knew that I would force it from him, and he fenred to remain and confess it. Bub, Gladys, I shall find him yeb — some day I will compel him to face me and own the truth. I will hunt him down ;he shall not; escape me!' ' Oh, Geoffrey, pray do not let ife trouble you so — there may have been some other reason for his going,' said the young girl, laving her hand sympathetically on his arm. ' No — I tell you he was afraid ro meet me, and his guilt is evident in his Might ; he never would have run away like thi«, if there had been no guilty secret in his life which lie was anxious to conceal from me. ' • Did you learn his name ?' Gladys inquired. A deep flush arose to Geoffrey's brow, and he jrave a start of annoyance. ' No,' he said, '1 was so wretched and angry that I never thought to a.«Jc his name. When the servant told me he was gone, I turned on my heels and talked out of the house and have been walking ever since, trying fco recover my composure.' ' That was an oversight, dear,' said his betrothed, gently, 'you should have secured his name and add) ess.' ' You are right ; 1 will go back immediately and abcertain it ' 'Oh, Geoffrey, perhaps ie will be better f r you to leave it all just here,' the fair girl niged. ' ' Wheie ignorance is bliss'— you know the re^t.' ' But I know too much already : I can never lest until I sift this matter to the very bottom. Could you, darling? Tf you ■were not Uncle August's ovvn child, and knew thore was some mystery connected with your birth, would you be r*atisticcl until you knew the truth?' 'No, Geoil, I don't believe 1 should,' Gladys replied, thoughtfully, 'and— l know that such a discovery would make me very unhappy,' she cone uded with starting t ears. Geoflrey looped and kitted her fondly, then turned abruptly and left the room. The young girl sighed wearily a* she f-lowly followed him. 4 1 am afraid there is trouble in store for him, for my heart is heavy with forebodings, ' she murmured. j Half an hour later Geoffiey returned, and there was now a savage glitter in his eyes, although his face was pale and full of pain. He found Gladys watching for him as before. He went up behind her chair, leaned down, and whispered in her ear : 'The man's name is -William Dale, and he registered from Fort Union, New Mexico. ' Gladys looked around, a startled expression on her face. ' William Dale !' she repeated ; ' then he inu^t be ' * My father, and — a parent to be proud of surery, 5 the young man interposed, with exceeding bitterness. ' Oh, Gladys '' he continued, in an. agonised whisper, 'I feel as it I should go mad — I can bear anything better than dishonour. 1 Gladys turned and laid her soft cheek for an instant against the hand that was resting on the back of her chair. The involuntary and sympathetic caress comforted him more than any words could have done, for it seemed to say, no matter what lay away back among those early years bef oi e she knew him, nothing could change her love for him, and he would always be the same to her. c I wi&h I could know the story of my nwther\ life,' Geoffrey continued, with a sigh, while a moisture gathered in his eyes. ' Poor woman ! lam afraid that her fate must have been a soirowtul one. Darling, I believe I shall go to New Mexico and see what I can learn about thi& man who registered from Fort Union.' ' Oh, Geoff, I fear it will only be chasing a ' will-o'-the-wisp !' ' Gladys &aid, looking di=tre^etl. ' I canno f help it. I 7nu*l go. 1 fc-hall be wretched and yood for nothing until I leain a'l there is to know. I am going now to tell Uncle Aegust about it ' He sought Mr HunLress, and laid the uhole matter before him, making- known his desiie, too, to go to New Mexico to see if he could j,ain any further clue. Mr Huntress sympathised heartily with him, and favoured the project. He could well undei stand how restless and miserable Geoflrr-y would be until he had used eveij possible means to discover his parrntage. So he did ali that he could to hasten and iacilitafe hi<- departiue, and e\en ofleied to accompany him ; but Geoihev frankly tokl him that he preferred to go alone. He felt that if he mutt learn that any stigma rented on bif- birth, he could not bear to ha\e anyone, no> even !u» kind friend, witnet-s the struggle that mu.'-t come with the know ledge. He could fight it best by himself. He left the next duy but one, but owing bo delay*, both hy rail and coach, he did not reach Fort Union until ten day.s later. He made inquiries here for a man named William Dale, but for several days could gain no intelligence whate\ er regarding such a person. At last he foil in with an old miner, by the meiest accident, who had known a man fry that name many yeai-5 previous, and who directed him to that mining \i\- J lage already deaciibed. Thither Geoff tey hastened at once, reaching it one eieninef just at sundown, j and only a week after Everet Mapleson's visit to the same pi ice. He>-e he learned something of Annie Dale's story, for Everet's inquiiies. and interest in the same person had revived memories residing that sad romance, and it had becoms a common theme sinbe. j Annie Dale's gra\e^ and the house where j she had lived weie pointed on* to Geoffrey, J and he went by himself to visit them. He came to the dismantled home iirafc, j and walued round and lound it as Evereb Mapleson had done, peering in through the windows, noting the position of the rooms, and wondering if he should ever know it this had leally been the home of his mother, and under what circumstances she had lived there ; whether she had been a loved and h noured wife, or whether her early death had been caused by some secret soi row that had broken her heart. He knew there had been another visitor there before him although he had been told nothing regarding that stranger's visit of the week previous — for the broken step and the trampled grass gave ample evidence of tha*" fact. He wondered if it could have been the man who had so suddenly fled from Saratoga after meeting him, who had perhaps been duven there by sorrow and remor.se to look once more upon the ruin he had wj ought. He grew more and more fearful that the story of his birth must be a sorrowful one, for it was evident that no one bearing the name of William Dale had ever resided in Fort Union. He would not have been able to trace the man beyond that point at all, but for his accidental meeting with the old miner, who had worked in the mines where he had owned an interest, and had thus been able to direcb him to this remote village. If William Dale had never lived at Fort Union, why- had he registered from that place ? ' If he was now living at Fort Union and his name was i\ol William Dale, why

had he used that address again after the lapse of so many years ? There was something very mysterious about tho whole matter, and it. began to seem like a hopeless puzzle to the young man. He fiually left the house and beut his steps towards that small enclosure where, in the gathering dusk, ho could just see the pure white head-atone gleaming among' the vines that grow all around it. He entered the place and approached the spot, noting that here, too, there were signs of a recent visitor, and knelt dowa to read the name that had been inscribed upon the spotless marble. ' Annie,' he read, and the single name sent a thrill *hrough every fibre of his being. Here, too, there seemed evidence that there was some sad tale of wrong and suflering connected with the life of the girl who had been buried there, for had &he been n, wife and with nothing to conceal, would not a fond husband have wished the name that he had given her also chiselled there? 'Oh, if I could only know!' Geoflrey groaned within himself, as ho bowed his head upon the stone, feeling completely battled and as if all trace musb end hero. ' Was this woman ray mother ? She wa<* something to William Dale, and V- illiam D <le is something to me, or he would never haveObetrayed so much emotion on meeting me and then fled from mo. Was she his lawful wife? Am I her child, and had J honourable birth ? ' Good heavens !' he added, aloud, ' there 7nw>( be some way to solve these questions. Oh, if the Fates would but guide me to someone who could tell me how to unravel this mystery !' 'Ahem ' Well, youngster, I shouldn't i wonder if T was yer man. What'll ye <_>ive J give to hear a piettier love-story than e\er was writ ?'