CHAPTER XXX. A HAPPY REUNION, AND A STARTLING RECOGNITION.

Te Aroha News, Volume VI, Issue 318, 21 November 1888, Page 6

CHAPTER XXX. A HAPPY REUNION, AND A STARTLING RECOGNITION.

Rlauhini. the public-house wheie he had left Jack, Geoffrey quietly tiiow Maigery into the small parlour, where he mad<Ther lay aside her bonnet and cloak, put her into a comfortable locker to rest, and then went ' cut to break the glad tidingb o' her existence and vefurn to her husband. He tound him sitting alone on (lie poruii outside the, bar-ioom — nothing eycrtempfcod him.inwteHuch a place nowadays--- looking wistfully out toward the ea&t, where thq_ full August moon was just using above^tho, horizon in all its splendour. , ' Well. Jack, has (ho time seemed very louir to you ?' Geolirey naked, in a cheerful tone, as he sat down beside him. , 'It has, sir ; I've had haul work to wait. I've a .^trango hankerin' after the old home to-night. If I could only wake up and find I'd been dreamin' all these years, and the old place just as it was, with my girl waitin' at tne door for me, I'd almost ho Avillin' to give up my hope, of heaven. But when I think it's only an empty house — a cold hearthstone, and — a grave foomewhore nigh, that I'm Hoin' to find, I ieel a'most like givin' up the battle.' The raanV, head sank upon his breast in a' disconsolate way, while it eeemed as if he had no heart to ask Geoffrey anything about the trip from which he had just returned. The young man waited a few minutes, hoping he would question him ; but as he still remainded absorbed in his own sad thoughts, he at length remarked : ' Well, Jack, I found Farmer Bruce. 1 'Ay! then he's alive yet; he must 1 be nigh on to sixty,' the man replied, looking up now with a gleam of interest. 'I should judge him to be about that ; but he's hale and hearty, and seems like a very kind-hearted man, too.' • A better never lived !' Jack affirmed ; ' many's the good turn he arid his wife has done me, and — ah ! ' A shiver completed the sentence, as if those by-gone' days were too painful to dwell upon. Geollrey pitied the poor follow from the depths 'of his heart,- and yet he^ hardly knew where," to begin or. how to break his good news to him.

' Shall I tell you what Mr Bruce told me, Jaclt?'(he*at length aske.d*^ ,< ,!-,,, The man nodded," and, by the light of the moon, his companion saw a grey pallor settle over his face. {vhich* / seemed to have grown almost'Vigid ,m its Outlines. Geoffrey by telling 'him how Mrs Bruce had.gQne,oye,r to borrow some tea of Mrs Henley, the day following Jack's flight; how she. knocked and there came no response, whew slie stepped into the kitchen and found Margery lying on tho floor, and, becomings so frightened at the sight, she had turned and tied, back to her home, with hardly more than a glance at the prostrate woman. * ' Farmer Bruce,' he went on, 'at once wjentpback, to yopv house, taking his son and a hired mari'Jwith him. They lifted Margery and laid iVe'r on"" her -fried, and then John Bruce rode off with all his might after a doctor ' ' Doctor ! What could they want of a doctor ? — a coroner ye mean,' interrupted Jack, in a thick, hoarse voice. ' No, a doctor, Ja?k — she needed one ; she didn't need a coroner.' 'Ha!' , ' The man started wildly to his feet as the hoarse cry burst ftom him ; then sank back again, pressing his] hands hard against his temples and staring about him in a halfdazed way,- as. if .he had not; comprehended what he hadTh^ard., , ''Master Geoiftcyv don't— Son't tell me no more,' he pleatled, in an agonised tone. ' I caii't-benvit ;',,ih"ey. didn't iictd any doctor to tell them.lh&fcsbe was dead — just tell me where 'to" f fins her grave. I'll go_ and take, one look at ityj'then I'll make tracks again lor Australia,; I can't scop here.' The lean's faqe' Vas so despairing, 'his attitude so hqpele^s, and his words so heart-broken, th'al Geoffrey had hard work to preserve his own^ composure. 'But Jack,' there— there im'i any grave, 1 ho said at last. Jack lifted another vacant look to the young man's face. INo grave ! no coroner ! a doctor !' ho muttered, then suddenly ho teemed to comprehend, and was galvanised into life. Ho sprang up ; he soiled Geoffrey by the shoulder. ' Boy ! boy !' he cried, in a strained, unnatural voice, 'ye can't mean it ! ye van' l mean that she didn't die ! that — that / did?i't kill her ajter all ? Tell me— tell me quick ! if ye've brought me such bles&ed truth as that, I'm yer slave as long as T live.' ' Sitdown, Jack?'hecormnanded,risingand putting him back into his chair ; ' you must be more calm or I cannot tell you anything. Margery was not dead, but she was dreadfully hurt, and was ill for a long time, so ill that for more than a month they thought o\ery day that she must die.' ' And— she— didn't ?' The words were almost inarticulate, but Geoffrey understood him by the motion of his lips. ' Don't tell me,' he continued, catching his breath in a, spasmodic way, a look of horror in his eyes, ' don t tell me that she lived to be like as you was. ' ' No, no, Jack, she got well,' Geoffrey replied, but his own voice shook over the wprds. ' O-h ! my girl !' Jack Henley slipped from his chair, falling upon his keees beside his companion, while his head dropped a dead weight against his arm. 'Look here; my man,,' Geoffrey now said, with gruff kindness, though he was nearly unmanned himself, ',4/his isn't going to do at alh You must- brace up, for there is along slory to be ta^cl yet.' He lifted him to "his feet by main force, drew his ami* within -his own, and compelled him to walk up 'and down the porch two or three times'. Then he seated him again, and began at once to tell poor Margery's story. The man listened as if spell-bound, he scarcely seemed to bieathe, so intent was he to catch every word. He did not) move, even, until Geoffrey mentioned meeting the strange woman in the wood, when he looked up, a wild gleam in his eye, a cry of joy on his lips. , , When Geoffrey repeated what she had told him abo^t travelling froui city searching for her husband, working at whatever her hand could find to do, to earn the money necessary to keep up her tireless quest, he could control himself no longer. Great sobs broke froi-i him. ' My girl ! my girl ! I nerer deserved it of her i Wherels she, Master Geoffrey? tell me, and I'll creep on my knees to her feeo to a*>k her forgiveness !' he wildly cried. 1 Jack, sho is here !' ' Here ' Where ?' and he glanced about him in fear, and awe. ' Here, in this very house ! Waiting, longing to see you ! to ease your conscience of its burdens, and tell you that she freely forgives everything !' ' Can she ?' the trembling husband breathed in an awed tone. "Come and , see,' Geotfiey returned, and taking him by the arm, he led him toward the parlour wheie Margery was anxiously awaiting him, her patience nearly exhausted by the long delay. Reaching the door, Geoffrey opened it, pushed Jack inside the room, then shut the two in together. ' Madge ! my girl !' The gtad, fond cry of the wife restored at last to her long-sought lovod one — the pleading, repentant intonation of the erring husband, were the only sounds that ho caught, a& lie turned away, and with tears in Jus eyes, went out alone into the quiet summer night leaving them in their joy. Two "hours later, Jack came -to, seek him, but he walked like a drunken man, weakly ancf ung'fiea'dily. • ' 1 rr *ffis Unexpected' happiness was almost more than he had strength to bear, and he seemed weak and shaken as if from a long illness : but on his rough and weatherbeaten face there was a look of peace and joy' that Geoffrey never forgot. ' Master Geoffrey,' he &aid, in ( a humble tone, though there was a ring of gratitude and gladness in it; 'it's all right at last, thank God ! I'll never say there ain't a God agin, I can face the whole world now that my Madge lives and loves me the same as ever. \ can breath! free once more since I know her blood ain't on my hands -oh ! | it's too good a' most to be true !' he con- | tinded^ -drawing 'a long, full breath, 'and ble^ ye, sir, 'all I've got 'in the world wouldn't pay ye what I owe ye.' ''Jacl<, you owe me nothing,' Geoffrey responded, grasping him heartily by the hand. ' 'I do not forget who cared for me during the first few years of my lite, and if I have helped in any way to restore peace to you and happiness to Margery, I am more than paid already.' ' Thank ya, sir ; but won't yo come in and sup with us — that is if ye haven't had fcomething already.' Jack pleaded with an air of humility. ' No, I'ye been too busy with my thoughts to care anything for eating, and IJ'll join you with, pleasure,' Geoffrey answered, cordially. He" returned to tho parlour with Jack; where he' found Margery with a beaming 'face, and the landlady laying the table for three". •• It' was two ! hours later before they separated for the night, and during that time many plans for the future werd discussed by the re-united couple.

Neither Jack nor Margery felt inclined to .remain, in the West, where they had suffered so mucti, and wtietb there Would be constant' ' reminders of the painful past, and it was finally decided fchafc they should- proceed at ' once to the farm which Jack still owned in New Jersey, and if 'Margery was pleased, with the place they would settle there and* sperid the temainder-of their lives, upon it. The next morning they went to pay Farmer Bruce a visit, and inform him of. the happy ending to all their trouble. The following day they ,weht to San Francisco, where they drew Margery's money from the bank, in which it had remained so long, and a snug little sum it was, too, having accumulated" for sa many years. A week later they all turned bheif backs upon the Pacific coast and set their faces toward the East.-" Geoffrey ac-> companied bhem as v far--*as Cheyenne, Wyoming, where he took leave of them, as he was goyig southwai cl jnto New Mexico again.i. -But' he '"promised to pay them &n\ early visit when he should rdturn bo Brooklyn. - , ■* * * ,''■)<• * While these events were transpiring j in' the far West, an interesting incident oc-f currod in tho far East— in. no^ other city v than Boston — which has its bearing 1 on Our story, and properly belongs here. On a bright, beautitul summer morning, in the month of July, a lady entered a handsome drugsboroon Washington-street, and a&ked permission to look at a city directory. She was a iinely-forme y d, brilliant-looking woman, elegantly drcssed> and bearing hereelt with the ease and self-possession of one accustomed to the most cultured circles of society. A portly gentleman, with a wealth of white hair crowning his shapely head and wearing gold- bowed spectacles, stepped Irom behind his debit as the lady made, her request, and politely laid the book beloro her. As he did so and his keen glance fell upon her face, he started flightly, but wad far too well-bred to betray hid surprise at her appearance, it he experienced any, and immediately returned to his post at his desk: But he managed to place himself where he could soe his visitor, without being himself obser\ cd. The woman turned to the D's in the directory, and ran her neatly - gloved finger slowly down Hie Ijnc, pausing here and there as a name appeared to attract her special attention. After carefully searching several pages, she turned back and began to go over the same ground again, while a faint line of perplexity and annoyance appeared between her finely-arched brows. This second search seemed to be as unsuccessful as the previous one had been, and, for the third time, she reviewed the list of names under the letter D. It was useless, however ; the name she sought was not there. She stood musing for a few momenta, then opening her pocket-book — an elegant affair of Russia leather with clasps of gold — she took from it a card to which she referred. 1 The name is surely not in the directory,' she murmured. There was a moment of silence, then the dibLingui&hecl • looking gentleman behind the de?k stepped foiwaid again. ' Did you speak to me, madam ?' he in . quired, blandly. The lady staited and looked up quickly, the colour on her cheek deepening a trifle at his query. '1 did not know that I spoke at all,' she replied, with a brilliant smile, which revealed two rows of white handsome teeth, every one of them her own. ' I beg your pardon,' said the druggist, with a bow and a backward step, as if to beat a reheat again. Madam made a motion with her faultlessly gloved hand to detain him. ' I was looking for, the name of August Damon,' she said, her eyes wandering again to the directory ; ' but I do not iind it here.' 'Ah i someone whoso residence you wished to lind in the city,' the gentleman remarked. ' Yes. I imagined 1 should find him here,' said the lady, thoughtfully. The druggist drew the book toward him, ran his eyes through the "names under the D's. ' The name is not here,' he said at lafct, as he raised i.v& glance and fixed it with keen scrutiny upon that beautiful face before him. Madam tapped her foot impatiently and somewhat nervously on the floor. ' I am gieatly disappointed,' she said. ' You are faure that, you haver the correct name — you ha\e made no mistake ?' the gentleman inquired, glancing at the card in her hand. ' Yes ; but you can see for yourself,' and she passed it to him with a smile. It was a common visiting card, yellow and "defaced with a&;e and handling, and it bore the name of ' August Damon,' written with ink in a line, gentlemanly hand. ' Do you know that your friend resides in Boston, madam ?' the pharmist asked, as his keen eye* fixed themselves again upon her countenance. ' They — used to ; it — is some years since [ last \isited the city, and it is possible they have removed to some other place. They must have done so,' she concluded u ith a sign, ' or I should surely have found their name in the directory. ' ' Weie Mr and Mrs Damon the parlies to whom you gave your child, Mrb Marston V j The question \va& very quietly, very | politely put, but it was like the application of a powerful galvanic battery to the woman on the otn"cr"Mdo of the counter. A shoek — a, shiver ran through her entire frame. " ' She grew deadly white, and for a moment seemed ready to drop to the iloor. Then she i allied. ' Sir !' she sai'i, with a haughty uplifting of her proud head. ' Madam !' ' I do not understand you.' 'Did you not? Shall T repeat my question ?' was the quiet query. She made a gesture of impatience. ' You have made a mistake,' the lady returned, but her eyes were searching the druggist's face with a lightning glance, whilo that deadly paleness again overspread her own. 1 Nay, madam,' was the bland rejoinder ; ' I am 'one or the few men in the world who never forget either a Jace or a name ' Mrs Marion,' surely yon have not forgotten Dr. Thomas Turner who waited upon you at the House one bitter night in the winter of 18—. ' (To be Continued.)

1 A gentleman on horseback seeing a crowd, reined up and exclaimed, '' What's, afoot here ?" To which a wag replied, "Twelve inches, the same as is every whero else." The gentleman galloped away. An Irishman, having been told that the prico ,of bread had fallen; exclaimed, " This is the first time I iver rejoiced at the fall of my bistfrind." , Men and women are extinct— they died about sixty years ago, and left no heii>. Ladies and gentlemen have usurped their places. '' One of the safest places during a thunderstoi*m is an omnibus in motion-, because it is furnished with a eonduptor. > . „