CHAPTER XLVII.

Te Aroha News, Volume VI, Issue 338, 30 January 1889, Page 6

CHAPTER XLVII.

AN UNEXPECTED .RETURN. 'Sorely, Estelle, your lot has been a hard one,' Colonel Mapleson gravely remarked, after an oppressive silence ; ( your suffer-: ings have been keener than mine, and I can, only wonder how you have concealed them' so successfully all those years,' ', ' I promised that I would try to make you a good wife, and I have striven to be^ agreeable and companionable' to you. I, knew, if you suspected, that I had any secret sorrow, you would- imagine it was because I was unhappy with you, and so I have done my bestft to appear contented with my life.' 'Done your best to appear contented, 5 repeated Colonel Mapleson, , with some bitterness, but in a tone that reached her ear alone. v His wife looked up quickly, and a; bright flush dyed her face again. She reached forward and laid her hand upon his arm. * I have been content, William,' she said, under her breath ; ' ' it was only a little while that I had to strive — while my grief was so keen and fresh. But let us j not talk of this now,' she .concluded^ with a glance toward their visitors. Colonel Mapleson sighed ; then he said, with an anxious look- at her face : . 'Estelle, I am airaid all this excitement will prove too much for you, and you had better, go t(\ rest; but, first, co^ne and speak to my son, will you ?' . '* His tone was pleading, and his unusual gentleness _ touched her : it told her that he felt more of sympathy than blame for the errors of 'her past. She arose with, a sense of relief, such as she had not experienced during all her married life. Her burdensome secret — that terrible barrier .that had always stood between her and her husband— was' at last all swept away. She could.not tell whether it would create an impassable gulf between them or not, but H tleast she Bad nothing now to conceal. She went to Geoffrey with him, prepared to welcome him as her husband's first-born, with all the cordiality of which she was mistress. •'My boy,' said the colonel, holding out his hand to him, ' can you own your father after all that you have heard? — can you forgive the deception of my early years— my moral cowardice in earning my back upon you at Saratoga— and lefcine-have tjie satisfaction of repairing, as far as may be 1 , the hardships of your youth ? My debt of gratitude to your other father' — with a glance at Mr Huntress — ' I can never repay.' Geoffrey warmly grasped that extended nand. * You have made my heart more glad than I can tell you, sir,' he said. • I can forget -v I can overloojc everything, now that I know my mother 'was ypur-lov'ed and honoured wife. I came here fearing the worst — fearing that a dreadful rested upon my birth — that I was not entitled to an honourable name.'' * You are entitled to much more than that, Geoffrey,' Colonel Mapleson.returned, smiling, although his lips trembled and his eyes were full of tears; 'there is a handsome fortune awaiting your disposal.' * A fortune H said the young- man. wondenngly. \ ' _ . --, '- ' Yes, Inherited .through your mother from that very same old miser— Robert Dale - o^ whom you have heard so much this evening.' ' How .can that be ?' Geoffrey asked, while Mrs Mapleson uttered an exclamation of surprise. * You .Shall know very soon ; but first Bhake hands with my wife,' his" father- responded/presenting Mrs Mapleson. ' You are indeed very much likemy-sQn,' she murmured, as she gave him her hand ; 'and, believe me, sVe added, with touching humility, 'I am rejoiced to have you restored to my husband, even at the expense of the trying confessions and revelations of this evening. ' Geoffrey respectfully raised her hand to his lips, and " the act conveyed far better than words could have done, the sympathy he felt for the suffering which she. had endured. - " . . • She then bade Mr Huntress good-night, affcer which her husband led her from the room. \ ' ' , He accompanied her to her own door,. ' Gpod-mgbhi Estehe,' "be. said gently. •I hope you vvill go directly to bed and try -to sleep.' ' ' She turned" suddenly — that proud, imperious woman", who, for more than twenty years» had repressed every, sign of affection, for him and threw herself upon hia breast. t 'Oh ! William, say , that you do not quite hate me -.for, what -I have told you to-night I* she cried, in antagonised tone. Her^ husband looked astonished at her act ; then his 'face softened, his eyes lighted with sudden joy. ' 'Why, my wife, I believe you almost love me affcer all! Do' you, Estelle Vhe eagerly questioned; 'do I possess any more of your heart now than I did when you married me, or has it been a continual struggle all along to be a good wife to me ?' She was sobbing like a child now ; the haughty, indomitable spirit that had upheld her so long was subdued at last. •I have not dared to let you see howmuch of my heart you have -won ; you knewyou told me you did not entertain a lover'sx affection for me, and I would not force mine upon you,' she confessed, with her face still hidden upon his breast. He folded his arms more closely about her. *- < ' And I imagined'that you wereholdingme at anna* length duririg'.all our life,' he said, laying his cheek softly against her still glossy hair. . • Estelle, we will be lovers all the rest of our lives,' for, my wife, you have become very, very dear to me — I 'did nob* realise "how dear'nhtil now. We will nob look backward any more; but forward ; v we have erred greatly in the past,' and ife would ill-~bedqme either of us to criticise the other. Tell me, shall we drop the, veil of charity over it all, and begin to live' our real life from this hour ?' • ' ■ For the first time in her life she put her arms about his neck and voluntarily laid her lipsagainst his cheek. * I do nob deserve this, William,' she, said, humbly, 'but you have made me happier' "thaja I ever expected to be-again.' ' He returned her caiess with greafc'tenderness, then said : - , - 'I must not keep you standing here, dear, nor our guests, waiting below,; but I will come to you again, later.' "' He opened the door 5 for" her to pass in, then- closed'it,' ahd^reb'urnedto-his' visitors, brushing aside some truant" tears "as-he went. ,' '[' ; '/•- \".'{" "'[ .' v His face, howe'ver,4igh ted with pleasure as he again entered^fche.library and, looked' into Geoffrey's ,noblei manly face, and realised that he w,as>eally the son of the beautiful young wife whom he "so -loved "years

Bub the young man himself was very* grave. He folb that; he sfcoocTin an ' exceedingly l delicate position. . * 1 , He had come to.Colonel Mapleson, believing that; he had wronged his mother and" wilfully abandoned; hi*?* when a child ; he 1 had meant to denounce him for it, r and reveal also the villainy of tvhich his other son had been guilty. But he had found a father ready and' eager to welcome him, ready to acknowledge the wife of his youth, and to give in a son the place that rightfully belonged to him ; and now it .seemed almost wrong to expose .the wrong of which his half brother had been guilty. He could notendure the thought of coming between the two in any 1 way ; of destroying the confidence of the father in the son. ; Something of this Geoffrey and Mr Hunt" ress had been considering during Colone l , Mapleaon's absence from" the room. They had aboub decided to say nothing of the affair of the interrupted marriage until they had first seen Everet and acquainted him with the facts which that night had revealed.* Perhaps they could arrange to hush up the matter altogether, if the young man proved to •be amicably ' inclined or reasonable ; afc all events, they had concluded not to mention ' the affair that 1 night — to' at least give it a little more thought first, ' In explaining about the broken cross, Geoffrey had simply said they had seen the other half in Everet's possession, and that he knownothing of their visit to Vue de l'Eau. It seemed as if a great weight had been lifted from Colonel Maploson's heart when he returned. He drew a chair near his guests, and began at once to enter moro into the details of the past. He gave them a full history of his eccentric relative, .Robert Dale ; told of .his long-concealed fortune, when and how it had been discovered; together with the will which bequeathed the whole of it to Geoffrey's mother. 'This, of course, now becomes yours,' he concluded, turning to the young man, with a smile. ' Quite a fine property it is, too, amounting, with the accumulated interest, to upward of one- hundred and "fifty thousand dollars. Besides this, you will inherit one-half of what I 'possess, the other half going to Evereb.' 'I could not take anything from this estate, sir,' Geoffrey said, suddenly growing crimson. ' Why nob ?' questioned his father. 1 Because — you married contrai-y to the conditions of your uncle's will, so, in that case, I do not/ feel that I have any real right to" any' of it; if your marriage had been discovered you would have had to forfeit all to your 'cousin, Miss EVere't' '.You are very conscientious,' replied Colonel Mapleson, gravely. ' v Then he suddenly looked up with a wise smile. ' ''It has not occurred to you, I perceive,' he added, ' that you could claim every dollar that both Mrs Mapleson and I possess. We both violated the conditions of that will; consequently your fortunes .rightly belonged to Hobert Dale, and you, being his only heir, would inherit it all.' Geoffrey looked amazed at this. Such a thought had nob occurred to him ; but now he could not fail to see the force of his father's argument.^ 'I do not want ib — I could nob take it ; I shall have' more than enough from what will come to me from my mother,' he said. * 'There are few people in the worloVw.hq would not take all they could get,' replied Colonel Mapleson, feeling a certain, pride in.' this noble renunciation of his son." 'T3ut taking everything into consideration it •seems io me that matters are somewhat complicated with us. I suppose Mrs Mapleson's daughter — your adopted child, Mr Huntress — will come in for her share of her mother's property.' August Huntress flushed. A-painful struggle' had been going on in his mind ever since his meeting with Mrs Mapleson. He could nob endure for a moment the thought of ever having Gladys know "anything about her birfch. She fully believed herself to be Mr and Mrs Huntress's own child, and he knew that it would be a rude shock to her to learn that she was nob, and to be told the facts regarding her parentage, and he meant to prevent ie if he could. .'Colonel Mapleson,' he said, speaking very seriously,- 'I hope that Gladys will never learn that she is not really my child ; I never wish her to receive anything from Mrs Mapleson.' The Colonel's face fell. He knew that his wife's, heart was yearn- 4 ing after her child'; at the same time he could understand and appreciate Mr Huntress's sensitiveness upon the subject ;. while, too, the "young girl could not' fail to be painfully shocked upon learning the sad, even cruel, history connected with her birth. ♦ I think ifc would be a great disappoinbmenb to my wife not to be allowed to claim the relationship,' he replied, thoughtfully. ' I have no doubt of it, sir,' returned Mr Huntress, ' bub could she nob better bear the disappointment than to have' her child made unhappy, after all these years of consent, by learning that those who have hitherto occupied the place of father and mother are nothing to her by the ties of blood ? She has nob a suspicion of the bruth, and I am confident that no one save Dr. Turner and ourselve3 has the slightest knowledge of ifc, so that ib need never be revealed. . Mrs ' Jilapleeon promised solemnly never to reclaim her under any circumstances ; she gave her unreservedly to us, and I cannot feel willing to have our relations disburbe^d. As far as any property which she might inherit from your wife is concerned, I would nob give ib a moment's consideration. I have an abundance, and Gladys will' have it all byand-by. I dYd intend to make a division between my two children,' turning with' a smile to the young man by his side, • but since Geoffrey is now so rich, he will,' riot need ib"., However, ib will amount to about the same thing in the end, as they will soon have all things in common, I trust.' *Ah ! is that so ?' Colonel Mapleson inquired, with a brilliant smile and a nod ab his son. 4 1 hope so, 5 Geoffrey answered; 'and I, too, think ib would be wiser to keep the truth regarding Gladys's birth still a secret. Its revelation can do no one, save Mrs Mapleson, the least possible good, and I doubt i£ even she would not regret a disclosure that would result in so much unhappiness to others. ' ' I believe you are righb,' Colonel Mapleson said, after bhinking ib'bver fora;few moments. *'' Lveckon it ivoiild be'the bebter plan bo allow things to remain lust as they' are.' ' ' " ' ' "',*•.' ' I beg you will nob consider mo selfish oofr f unfeeling in "'this matter,' said-Mr 'Huh tress,' earnestly, bub 3 greatly relieVed b'y this de,cision. - 'I sympathise deeply with Mrs Mapleson, bub I feel that. she could 1 , nofc suffer a tithe of what my wife and daughter' v/ould endure to have their relations* dis : turbed, not to mention my b'wfffeelingfs in/ the matter." ' , ./ 'I understand,' his host responded' .heartily, '-and I know it is. but..righb (V and. jusb 'that the one should yield in order that the many may be happy, and I .believe that my wife will see ib in the same "light when

-she comes to. consider ib. ' Bub,"- "turning,! , again i to Geoffrey,: < I wheiv is this wedding l , to occur?' The young man^coloured-an&.glanced at Mr Huntress, for he hardly knew what- to, eayin reply, to. this.. . ' ; - ' Well, I'— the day, is not seb 'yeb. 'I' was anxious to have my relations -with yourseit settled, and— we ' It was an unusual occurrence^for Geoffroy Huntress to lose' his ' self-possession un'ders any circumstances; but- just 'then he feltf himself to bein-fl, veiy painful position, for, every moment he shrank more and more from revealing his half-brother's wretched; plot, and he was greatly relieved by a little stir in the * hall' at that mpment, which' .attracted Colonel Mapleson ? s ' attention Jromhim. ■ * The next instant the library door waSi flung open, and Evereb himself, pale and* travel-stained, stood before the astonished group. 'Ha !' he cried, catching sight of M Geof-, frey. - * So you have stolen a march on me ! trying, I suppose, to browbeat the governor into confessing that romantic liaison of his' youth.' 'Everttf exclaimed his father, turning sternly upon him, an angry flush mounting to his brow at this rude intrusion, " what do you mean by -rushing >in here, like this M addressing my guests in such an abrupt"; way, nob to mention your exceedingly dis-i respectful language regarding myself ?' \Your, guests ! Why. don't you present them to me, ,or are you a trifle delicate about introducing Annie Dale's son to me ?' , retorted the young man in a nervous, unnatural mannei*. ' Silence, sir !' thundered Colonel Mapleson, looking perfectly aghast at thisstrange ' behaviour on the part of his usually courteous son. ,' What do you know of Annie Dale ?' he continued ; ' and why do you speak of this young man in that sneering way?' , ' I know a great deal about Annie Dale and the suspicious life Bhe led in a certain mining district for a year;' Evereb retorted, with reckless scorn. He had been wrought to the highest pitch of angry excitement by finding Geoffrey and Mr Huntress there before him. ' I know,' he went on, ' how she was enticed away by a promise of a marriage which never took place, and how she afterward died — doubtless of a broken heart — leaving a nameless brat to inherit her shame.' ' Everet ! you ha,ve suddenly taken leave of your senses ! I believe you are in the delirium of fever, 1 returned his* father', regarding his now, flushed face and glittering eyes wich alarm. 'But have a care over your words. How on earth you have become possessed of sugh strange notions is more than I : can account for.' 'I can easily enlighten yon. I have a couple of letters in my possession thab were written by Annie Dale's lover, which -will prove all that I have hinted at ; and I found a very pretty ring, too, last summer, during my travels — not a loedding-ring either, mind you. I doubt if she ever had that — which 'wiis lost on the very spot where she had lived and died.' He drew both letters and ring from one of his pockets as he spoke, and flung them upon the table before his father. Colonel Mapleson recognised them ab once, while he was amazed by the fact of their- being in the possession of his son. One ■of the, letters he remembered losing 'after a visit to the cottage wh'erehis Annie had once Jived, and he had been greatly disturbed bver the facb ; bub the other, and thea'ing — which his dear wife had lost one night, while -sitting on the porch in their mountairr hoine-c-^ie could not understand how he cara&b'y them, , UYou found that, ring?' he asked, amazed. ( Yes. I visited a certain cottage among the mountains of New Mexico last summer, and while standing upon one of the steps leading up to the door ib gave way, and underneath I found t.his ring.' *Ah ! we never thought of looking under the step,' said the colonel, musingly. 'It was a little loose for her finger just then, and slipping off, rolled away out of sight, and wo thought it very strange thab wa could not find it. Yes,' he continued, taking it up and regarding it -tenderly, ' Annie Dale never had her ' engagement ring until the day of her marriage, when this was put on her finger asja guard to her wedding, Hug! Annie Dale was my loved and honoured wife, Everet, and Geoffrey, my son and her 3,' indicating the young man by a motion of his hand, ' will show ypu the certificate of our marriage and the ring with which she was wed !' ' . 'Your wife! Annie Dale your wife!' Evereb repeated, starting back amazed, all his colour' fading, again at those words, _and shocked into more respectful speech by . -the- unexpected acknowledgment. (To he Continued.)