For Love and Honor A Sequel to Geoffrey s Victory By MRS. GEORGIE SHELDON AUTHOR OF "Lost, a Petrle," "A True Aristocrat," "Helen s Vic tory," "Love s Conquest," "Trixy," "Nora," Etc. A. L. BURT COMPANY PUBLISHERS NEW YORK POPULAK BOOKS By MRS. GEORGIE SHELDON In Handsome Cloth Binding Price per Volume, 60 Cents Audrey s Recompense Brownie s Triumph Churchyard Betrothal, The Dorothy Arnold s Escape Dorothy s Jewels Earl Wayne s Nobility Edrie s Legacy Esther, the Fright Faithful Shirley False and The True, The For Love and Honor Sequel to Geoffrey s Victory Forsaken Bride, The Geoffrey s Victory Girl in a Thousand, A Golden Key, 1 he Grazia s Mistake Heatherford Fortune, The Sequel to The Magic Cameo He Loves Me For Myself Sequel to the Lily of Mordaunt Helen s Victory Her Faith Rewarded Sequel to Faithful Shirley Her Heart s Victory Sequel to Max Heritage of Love, A Sequel to The Golden Key His Heart s Queen Hoiden s Conquest, A HowWiUItEnd ^ Sequel to Marguerite s Heritage Lily of Mordaunt, The Little Marplot, The Little Miss Whirlwind Lost, A Pearle Love s Conquest Sequel to Helen s Victory Love Victorious, A Magic Cameo, The Marguerite s Heritage Masked Bridal, The Max, A Cradle Mystery Mona Mysterious Wedding Ring, A Nameless Dell Nora Queen Bess Ruby s Reward Shadowed Happiness, A Sequel to Wild Date Sibyl s Influence Stella Roosevelt That Dowdy Thorn Among Roses, A Sequel to a Girl in a Thousand Threads Gathered Up Sequel to Virgie s Inheritance Thrice Wedded Tina Trixy True Aristocrat, A True Love Endures Sequel to Dorothy Arnold s Escape True Love s Reward Sequel to Mona True to Herself Sequel to Witch Hazel Two Keys Virgie s Inheritance Wedded By Fate Welfleet Mystery, The Wild Oats Winifred s Sacrifice Witch Hazel With Heart so True Sequel to His Heart s Queen Wormn s Faith, A Sequel to Nameless Dell For Sale by all Booksellers or will be sent postpaid on receipt of price A. L. BURT COMPANY, PUBLISHERS 52 Duane Street New York Copyright 1888 BY STREET & SMITH Under the title of "Geoffrey s Victory" FOR LOVE AND HONOR CHAPTER I A THRILLING STORY GEOFFREY started to his feet as if electrified, as- these unexpected words fell upon his ears, and found himself face to face with a man of perhaps fifty years, his fact seamed and browned by hardships and exposure, rough in appearance, uncouth in dress, and with an anxious, alert air about him, which con veyed the impression that he feared being identified and apprehended for some reason or other. "Who are you?" Geoffrey sternly demanded, for he knew that country was not the safest place in the world, and it flashed upon his mind that the man might be a robber, and had followed him there with some evil intent. "I m all right. I ve no wish to harm ye, sir," was the reassuring response, as the newcomer appeared to read his thought, "and I guess it don t matter 4 FOR LOVE AND HONOR much who I be, provided I can tell ye what ye seem to want to know about this here grave." "No," replied Geoffrey, his suspicions instantly vanishing. "If you can give me the history of the poor lady who lies here, and tell me where I can find the man who brought her here, I ll pay you well, and ask no further questions about yourself. But how came you to follow me to this place?" "I didn t foller ye. I was sittin yonder, behind that clump of spurce, when ye hove in sight. I didn t mean to show up at all, but when I saw ye so eager by this here tombstone, I was kind o curious to know what yer game was, and crept on ye unawares. But, I say, youngster," the man added, suddenly tak ing a step forward, and peering eagerly into Geof frey s face, "who are you?" The rough fellow had actually grown pale, and his breath came in gasps through his tightly locked teeth. "I am an Eastern man," answered Geoffrey, eva sively. "Is is your name Geoffrey?" the man demanded, in a hoarse whisper. "Yes." "Ha! Geoffrey Dale?" "Yes." "Great Christopher ! I I thought so.. Some- "/thing about yer sent a chill over me the minute I laid eyes on ye," said the man, trembling and terribly agi- FOR LOVE AND HONOR 5 tated. "Boy boy," he continued, in a tone of fear, "how on earth came ye and me to turn,up together here, of all places in the world?" Geoffrey was amazed at his words. Evidently the man knew something about him, and with that knowledge there was connected some inci dent that caused him personal fear. Instantly the young man s mind reverted to the condition in which Mr. Huntress had first found him a poor abandoned imbecile. Had this rough crea ture known of that, or had anything to do with it? His next words enlightened him somewhat. "You re all right, too, in the upper story, and ye can talk," he muttered. "Where ye been all these years?" " All these years! How many years?" queried 1 Geoffrey, with a rapidly beating heart. "It s eight years ago, last spring, since I set eyes, on ye, and little thought I should ever see you again ; s never with that look on yer face. Where ye been,, I say?" "Eight years ago, last spring," began Geoffrey,, gravely, while he closely watched every expression on his companion s countenance, "I was one day wandering, a poor, demented boy, in the streets of New York City. My strange appearance and actions, attracted a mob of urchins, who began to make sport of me. They were in the midst of their cruelty when a carriage stopped near me, and a beautiful little 15 FOR LOVE AND HONOR girl beckoned to me, at the same time opening the <ioor of the carriage. I darted away from my tor mentors, sprang in beside her, and the next moment was driven away in safety, much to the rage of the boys. The girl s father took an interest in me, con- .sulted a physician, who made an examination of my case, and reported that my demented state had been caused by a heavy blow on the head several years before." Geoffey saw the man shudder, as he made this statement, while a low exclamation of pain or fear escaped him, and a dim suspicion began to dawn on -his mind. "It was found," he resumed, still watching the man, "that my skull had been fractured, and that a portion of the bone was pressing on my brain, which caused temporary paralysis, and made me an im becile." Another shudder, more violent than the other, ^strengthened his suspicion. "This physician and another," he went on, "be lieved that an operation might be performed which would improve my condition, if it did not fully re store me to my right mind. Mr. Huntress, the man who had taken me under his protection, authorized the doctors to undertake the operation. They did so it was successful, and I was restored." "Heaven be praised!" ejaculated his listener, FOR LOVE AND HONOR T heartily but tremulously. "I haven t that quite so heavy on my conscience any longer." Geoffrey started, and his face brightened. He was gaining light, little by little. "The first words that I uttered on coming to* myself," he continued, "were something about a, woman named Margery " At the sound of that name, the man before him bounded from his feet as if he had been shot. "Margery!" he repeated, in an agonized voice, his face twitching, his hands clenching themselves convulsively, while his eyes rolled in every direction, a look of wildest fear in them. "Do you remember Margery?" He leaned breathlessly toward the young man-,,, while he awaited his answer with trembling eager ness. "I remember only this and it is only a confused remembrance, too," Geoffrey replied, "that some one by that name was kind and good to me that she was called Margery, and I loved her. I have a dim recollection that something happened to her that she was hurt or struck " On hearing this, the man stretched out his handL with a quick, appealing gesture. "Don t don t," he pleaded, hoarsely. "Do do^ you remember anything any one else?" "Yes, I recollect that there was a man named" Jack" another violent start confirmed Geoffrey s 8 FOR LOVE AND HONOR suspicions "who was not always good to me, and whom I feared, and you are Jack!" This was something of a shot at random, but it told instantly. The man sank to the ground, trembling and un nerved, his face blanched with fear, while great beads of perspiration started out upon his forehead. "Good heaven! I am lost! Have I come back after all these years, just to get caught like a rat in a trap?" he cried, brokenly. "But," he went on, crouching lower among the tall grass and weeds, "I never meant ye any harm, Master Geoffrey. It was the drink that did it; it crazed my brain, and I never really knew I done ye such injury, or that I d killed the girl I loved, till hours after twas all over." Geoffrey grew pale now, at this revelation. It was far more than he dreamed of extorting when he had charged the man with his identity. He was so excited that it was with difficulty he could compose himself sufficiently to speak. But after a moment or two he said: "Well, Jack, since it is you, and we have recog nized each other, you may as well make a clean breast of the whole story. Owing to the kindness which I had received, the injury which you did me did not result so seriously as it might have done; but poor Margery!" "Boy boy ye will drive me crazy if ye talk like that," Jack cried, in a voice of horror. "I tell FOR LOVE AND HONOR 9 ye, I loved the girl, and I d never have lifted my hand agin her I d have cut it off first, though we didn t always agree but for the drink; and if I could only look into her good face once more, and hear her say, Jack, I forgive ye ! I d be willin to lay down in the grave beside her, though heaven knows I ve never even seen the spot where she s buried." Great sobs choked the man s utterance, while tears rolled over his weather-beaten cheeks and dropped upon the ground. Geoffrey pitied him sincerely, while at the same time a feeling of horror crept over him as he began to realize that the man had been making a confes sion of murder. Had he killed Margery, and attempted his life also? And was that the secret of his having been abandoned in the great city of New York? He was burning with eagerness to learn all the truth. "I do not wish to pain you, Jack," he said, "but I want you to tell me all there is to tell. Begin at the beginning, here in this peaceful spot, where no one will come to disturb us, and ease your conscience of its burden." Jack looked up quickly as he referred to that sa cred inclosure. "How came ye to know where to find yer mother s grave ^" he asked. 10 FOR LOVE AND HONOR Geoffrey s heart bounded within him at this ques tion. "Annie" had been his mother, then. It was a great thing to have that point settled, and he felt sure now that the rest would all be explained. "Never mind that just now, Jack," he replied, with what calmness he could assume; "when you have told me all your story I will answer any ques tion you may ask." "Ye ll not give me over to the officers, lad?" the man pleaded, pitifully. "No, Jack, you need have no fear of me; as far as I am concerned, you may go free for the rest of your life; if you have wronged any one else, you v/ill have to settle that with your own conscience. All I ask of you is to tell me the history of my early life, and what you know regarding my father and mother." "Thank ye, Master Geoffrey," returned Jack, humbly. "I don t deserve that ye should be so con siderate. I ve had to skulk and hide for more n twenty years, and though there ain t much in the world that I care to live for, yet a feller don t ex actly like the idee of bein put out of it afore his time. I ll tell ye all I know about yerself and your folks, and welcome." "Come over to yonder log and let us sit down," Geoffrey said, indicating a fallen -tree, but he was very white, and felt weak and trembling as he moved toward it. FOR LOVE AND HONOR 11 At last he believed the mystery of his life was to be revealed. "I came here to work in the mines about a year afore Captain Dale that s your dad bought his claim," Jack began, after they were seated. "He bought out old Waters all of a sudden, and, about a fortnight after, he brought the prettiest little woman I ever set eyes on to live in that house yonder " "His wife?" eagerly queried Geoffrey. "Of course, lad leastwise he said she was, and she was called Mrs. Dale; and if ever a man set his life by a woman, the captain was that one. He dressed her like a doll, and wouldn t let her do a thing except make little fancy knicknacks, and was forever pettin and makin of her as if she was a child. Waal, they kep two maids at least after a while one in the kitchen and one to wait on Mrs. Dale, who was kind of ailin . Margery Brown was the waitin maid, and she and me had been keepin company for quite a while, and it was agreed be tween us that we d marry afore long and try our luck together in California, for I d scraped together a snug little sum and was tired of mines. But after she went to the cap s house she began to put me off she grew so fond of his wife that she wouldn t hear a word about marryin and leavin her. At the end of a year ye were born a cute little nine-pounder ye was, too, and a prouder man ye never see than the captain was after ye came. But it didn t last long, 12 FOR LOVE AND HONOR for yer mother began to fail afore ye were a month old, and in another week or two she was dead. "It just broke the captain s heart. He seemed half crazed, didn t pay any heed to his business, and finally said he couldn t stay here where everything kept his mind stirred up with the past. He told Margery he was goin to break up, only he didn t know what he should do with you, for he hadn t any place or any folks to take you to. "I thought my time to speak up had come, then, and I told Margery she must take me then or never, and if the captain were willin we d take the baby along with us, until lie could do better by it. This pleased her, and she said she d speak to the master about it. He was glad enough to let ye come with us, for he knew my girl loved ye and would take better care of ye than any stranger. He said he d pay well for it until ye were old enough to go to school, when he d take you to some good one to begin yer edication. "Well, Margery and I were married, and went to California to live on a small farm I d leased, just out of Frisco, which I worked part of the time and let out the rest, at odd jobs, to get a little ready money. The cap shipped all his fine furniture off somewhere to be sold, shut up the house yonder, and left for parts unknown, though for the first two years he came every six months to see how his boy was get- FOR LOVE AND HONOR 13 tin 5 on. After that he didn t come so often, though he sent money regular. "Ye were the smartest little chap I ever did see. Margery couldn t have loved ye any better if ye d been her own, and she made more on ye than I rel ished, and I got jealous sometimes. We got on finely for three years, then hard times came, the crops didn t turn out good, odd jobs gave out, and I lay idle for weeks at a time. I wasn t long gettin into bad company those times, and I came home wild with drink sometimes, and Margery would cry and beg me to mend my ways. But I didn t; and at last she got riled, and threatened to give me the slip, which only made me wicked and sullen. "One night I came home worse than ever heaven forgive me ! I d been at the bottle all day long, and the very Old Boy had got into me. I staggered into the house ugly enough for anything. Margery had the table all laid, the kettle was steamin on the stove, and she was settin with yerself in her arms ye were about five then laughin and playin with ye as happy as a cat with one kitten. The sight an gered me somehow; I couldn t get reconciled that we d no tots of our own and I gave ye a cuff on the ear, with an oath. "Margery sprang up, as mad as a hornet, and shoved ye behind her. 11 Let the child alone, you sot! she said. 14 FOR LOVE AND HONOR Til sot ye ! I yelled, and pushed her roughly into a chair by the stove. "This roused all yer bad blood, small as ye were. Ye flew at me, peltin me with yer little fists that couldn t have hurt a flea. Ye called me a bad, wicked man, ordered me to let Margery alone, or ye dtell "Ye never finished that sentence, for every word had put me in a worse rage, and I grabbed a stick of wood from the hearth, flung it at ye, and ye dropped without a word, for it hit ye square in the head. "My girl gave a shriek I ll never forget. " Oh, ye drunken wretch ! she cried. Til hate ye all my life if ye ve killed my darlinV "She gave me a push and sprang toward ye, but she never reached ye, for I grabbed her by the throat frightened at what I d already done, and the heat of the room had made a madman of me and choked her till she grew purple in the face, and then threw her from me. She stumbled, caught her foot in a rug, and fell. I laughed as she went over. Her head hit on the sharp corner of the stove with a sound I ll never forget till I die, and then she, too, lay still and white on the floor afore me." CHAPTER II JACK S STORY CONTINUED WHEN the man had reached the part of his story recorded in the preceding chapter, he was greatly agitated for several moments, as if the memory of that dreadful time was even now, after the lapse of more than twenty years, more than he could bear, while Geoffrey, too, felt as if he could hardly sit there and listen to the remainder of the fearful tale. "The horror of it all sobered me a most as quick as if I d been struck by lightning," Jack at length re sumed, pulling himself together with an effort "I don t know how long I stood there, lookin down on them two that I believed I d sent out o world with out a moment s warning. Then I slunk out o the house, hardly knowin what I did, and went and hid myself in the barn. I must have gone to sleep, or fell into a stupor from the liquor I d drank, for I didn t know anything more till the roosters set up. such a crowing that nobody could have slept. I never could tell ye what the horror of that wakin was, sir, and it s a most like livin it over again to tell it," groaned the man, with a shudder. "It was 15 16 FOR LOVE AND HONOR only about two in the mornin , but the moon was shinin , and it was most as light as day. I crept out into the yard and listened; there wasn t a sound except those roosters, and every crow sounded like a knell o doom in my ears, and made my flesh creep with fear. "I stole up to the house and looked in at the kitchen window. I couldn t help it something drove me to it, though I shivered at every step. There they lay, just as they fell, with the light still burnin , and everything just as I d left it. But while I stood there the little shaver stirred and moaned, and my heart leaped straight into my throat, near about chokin me at the sight. It gave me hope p raps after all I hadn t murdered em, and they might be brought to. I rushed in, took the boy up, and laid him on the bed in the bedroom just off the kitchen. He moaned all the time, till I got a wet cloth and put it on his head, when he grew quiet and dropped off into a stupor again. Then I went to her my girl Margery the woman I d sworn to love and take care of till I died, and who had done me nothin but kindness ever since we first met. U I lifted her up, but she hung limp and lifeless over my arm. I laid her head on my breast and begged her to come back to me, to call me her Jack once more, and say she d forgive me, and I d never lift my hand ag in her ag in, nor touch another drop as long as I lived. But tw an t no use. She lay there FOR LOVE AND HONOR IT quiet and peaceful enough, but there was that dread ful purple mark and cut on her forehead where it had hit the stove. She wa n t cold or stiff as I thought dead people always were, but there wa n t no sign of life about her, either, and I laid her down again, my heart a-breakin , and feelin like another Cain, only worse, for I d killed a woman, and she my own wife ! "Then I began to think what would happen if I was found there, and I grew frightened. I couldn t make up my mind to stay and confess what I d done, and hang like a dog for it, so I got together a few things and all the money that Margery had in her own little box, and the boy s safe, and wrappin him in a shawl for I daren t leave him while there was a breath o life in him and a chance of savin him I stole out of the house, without even darin to give my girl a kiss after the ill I d done her, and made for a station a mile or more away. "I had an awful time of it, for the boy moaned every minute of the time; but I told people on the cars that he d had a fall and I was takin him to a doctor. I traveled all day in the fastest trains, and got to a town just about dusk. Here I called a doc tor to the boy. He doubted if he could save him; but he pulled through after five weeks of terrible fever and pain, though when he got up again, lookin more like a spirit than like flesh and blood, he didn t know me or remember anything that had happened. 18 FOR LOVE AND HONOR The doctor said he was a fool, and always would be one." It seemed very strange to Geoffrey to be sitting there in his right mind and listening to this dreadful story about himself. It seemed almost like a case of dual existence. "As soon as he was well enough," Jack went on, "I felt that we ought to be gettin out of that place; it was too near home to be safe, and the police were liable to get on my track any day. So I began my roamin . First we went to Texas, where I got work on a cattle and sheep ranch. After a time I scraped together a little money, and started out to raise sheep for myself. It wa n t easy to be with any one, lest somebody should come along who had heard about what I d done, and I might get snapped up. The boy and me lived in a cabin by ourselves, away from everybody else, but I never let him out of my sight, and I grew that fond of him I would have died rather than let harm come to him, and I d vowed I d do the best I could by him as long as I lived, and get together something handsome to leave him, to make up as far as I could for the deadly wrong I d done him. As soon as I could get enough together, I meant to take him to some place where they care for them that have lost their mind. "My sheep turned out wonderful; in five years money began to come in right fast, and I might have kep on an been a rich man by this time, if it hadn t FOR LOVE AND HONOR 19 been that a man I knew came down that way about that time. I saw him first at the village, where I went to lay in a stock of provisions. He didn t see me, but I heard him say he was goin to buy out a cattle ranch ten miles away, and that was enough to give me a scare and unsettle me. I feared I d be recognized and seized as the murderer of my girl, and though life wa n t much to me with the heavy conscience and the grief I had to carry around with me all the time, yet, for the boy s sake, I was bound to stick to it as long as I could there was nobody else to take care of him, and I knew he d fare hard without me. "The man who owned the ranch next to mine had offered to buy me out the year before, so I went to him and told him I d made up my mind to go North and see if the doctors couldn t do something for the boy, and if he d take everything off my hands I d sell out cheap. "He took me up quick as a wink, and in less than a week the money was in my pocket and the boy and me were on our way to New York. I bought a small farm just across the river in New Jersey. There was a good house and barn on it, and I stocked it well, hired a good strong woman to do the inside work and a man to help me outside, and then settled down to a quiet life; for I didn t believe anybody would think of lookin for me there. "I took the name of John Landers, and tried to 20 FOR LOVE AND HONOR make the boy call himself George Landers ; but he didn t know enough to learn it, and seemed to have forgotten bow to talk at all; so I hadn t much to fear from bis lettin anything out. We lived here for almost five years more, and I got ahead a little every season. But. sir, the horror of that dreadful deed never left me for a minute. My Margery s dead face was always before me. and my heart heavy with its load of guilt and loneliness. If ever a man paid for an evil deed in torment, I paid for mine a hundred rimes ever. "But the worst of my troubles was yet to come. The world s a small place to hide in when a man has committed a crime. I went to town one day on business, and stepped into the post-office which was in the same buildin with the railway station to send a letter for the woman at home, when I heard two men talking in a low tone of voice, and one of diem spoke me name of Jack Heniy. "My blood ran cold in a minute. My back was to them, for I was payin for the postage on the letter, and tbey hadn t seemed to notice me. I didn t hurry, frightened as I felt, but took my own time and lis tened. "It was me they were after, sure enough; they had tracked me all the way from Texas to that place, bat, somehow, couldn t get any farther. Nobody had heard of a man named Jack Henly, and no one answered to their description. It was no wonder, FOR LOVE AND HONOR 21 for I was greatly changed, looking like as old mza, f:r my grit: r.=.i ~:i::tr.ti my hair rir-kiti rr.y face, and bent my fomL I walked straignr by them on goin out of the onice, but they never suspected me. I d got another scare, though, that I couldn t get over, and made up my mind that I d quit the country. So I sold on my stock, drew what luoucj I d laid by in the bank my farm I couldn t sell at suzh short nonce shut up my house, and. tak n the boy. went to New York, intendin* to take passage in a vessel goin* to Australia, where I meant to go to sheep raisin* again, since I r.ii i: r.t : : ~ :.. .-. !-. while I thought I needn t fear any man in tnat conn- try. I took passage, and bought a comfortable outfit 13- both of us, but the vessel wa n t to sail for a week, so I kep" very quiet in a room I d Href en a bv-strect, feann tncse men migjii i : - . : : menp. Z_: I Ie: :. : : :^:T rut. ::r he pined in : ; house, while I sat by a window to watch that he did not get out of sight. Waal, one day I must have fallen asleep, for I woke with a start, and l*d* out. couldn t see hide nor hair of the boy. I went to the door, but he wasn t nowhere in sight. I started out to find him. never triinkin : : i.i~r;r 11 en. I walked for hours, askin" people about h ; m 7 bet nobody could tell me anything of hrn. " Three dars I kep" this up. until I nigh abcut went 22 FOR LOVE AND HONOR crazy, and wore myself out with loss of sleep, trav* elin about, and with my grief for the little fellow. "On the last day before we were to sail, while I was rovin about the streets in search of him, I ran against those two men again the ones who were lookin for me. I knew by their quick, keen glances at me that they had got a suspicion I might be their man, and I got out of their way in a hurry. I was discouraged about findin the boy. I didn t dare to look for him any more. I was afraid to go to the police about him, lest they had been notified to be on the lookout, and should snap me up; so, half crazed with fear and grief, I staggered on board the vessel I was to sail in, crawled into my berth, and lay there till we were well out to sea. "Waal, sir, my heart was broke. I thought I never could hold up my head again, and I wouldn t have turned over my hand to have saved myself from goin to the bottom; for I got to lovin that poor little chap with my whole soul, and I didn t know how to get on without him. "But we had a good passage. I was hale and hearty when we landed, and seemed likely to live my lonely life for many a year. I went into the inte rior, bought a sheep ranch, and set myself to do the work of three men; nothin else would ease the pain and worry that was eatin my heart out. "Waal, sir, to make a long story short, I ve been on that sheep ranch ever since, until about six months FOR LOVE AND HONOR 23 ago, when a longin seized me to come home and take a last lock at my own land. I ve grown to be a well-to-do farmer; I ve plenty of money, and no one to spend it on or leave it to, unless I give it to you, Master Geoffrey, now that I have found you. Heaven me praised for that, and that you ve got your mind back! I ve been to New Jersey, found my place there neglected and all out of repair, but still a thrifty little farm if twas well taken care of. I ve been to Texas for a look at my old ranch there. The man that bought it got rich, sold out, and then went North to live on his money. Then I came on here to see the place where I first found my Mar gery, and it was nigh this very spot just there by that clump of spruce, where I was hid when you came that we plighted our troth. Ah! my girl! my girl!" The poor man broke down completely here, and sobbed like a child, and Geoffrey s eyes were full of tears, too, as he witnessed his emotion and realized what he must have suffered during the checkered life that he had led. He had been deeply touched by the faithfulness and devotion which he had exhibited in his care of him during all those years while he was such a help less burden, mentally, on his hands. He saw that the man was naturally honorable and kind-hearted, and that he would never have been guilty of the crime which he had just confessed, but 24, FOR LOVE AND HONOR lor the misfortunes that led him into evil company and to the use of intoxicating drinks. "I m a broken-down old man, sir," Jask said, after struggling hard for self-control, "or I never should blubber like this; but this place brings back those old days when my conscience was free when life was bright and full of hope before me and my girl, and it seems more n I can bear. It s wonderful, though, that I should run across ye here ! Oh, sir, I did ye a woeful wrong, in my anger and jealous fit, when ye were a child. I ve no right to expect it, but twould comfort my poor old heart more n I could tell ye, if I could hear ye say ye don t lay it up ag in me." Geoffrey turned frankly toward the humble sup pliant beside him. "I do not, Jack," he said, heartily; "you were the victim of drink, and were hardly accountable for the deeds of that night; you condemn yourself more than you really deserve, for if you have told me every thing just as it occurred, your wife did not die by your hand her death was caused by an accident" The man shook his head sadly. "No, no," he said; "I can t get it off my conscience that it was murder; for if I hadn t laid hands on her she might have been living to-day." "Still it was not willful or premeditated," Geof frey persisted. "However," he added, "I freely for- FOR LOVE AND HONOR 25 give you for your share in my misfortune, if that will be any comfort to you." "Thank ye, sir; thank ye; and if there is a God, I thank Him, too, that I ve been allowed to set eyes on ye once more, and in yer right mind, too," was the fervent response. "I reckon," he continued, after a moment of thought, "it might be called the work of Providence that I lost ye there in New York, for if ye d gone with me to Australia, I doubt that ye d ever been cured, and I m right sure ye d never been the gentle man that ye are. I d thank ye to tell me about the good man that befriended ye." "I will, Jack, presently, but I first want to ask you a few more questions about the past." "All right, sir; anything I can tell ye, ye shall know." "Well, then, I d like you to describe the man who was my father," Geoffrey said, gravely. Jack turned to look upon the young man beside him. "The best description ye could get of him d be to go and look at yerself in the glass," he said, studying Geoffrey s face and form, "for ye re as nigh like him as another man could be, when I first saw him after he brought that pretty little woman to live here. He d been off to meet her somewhere, and he d shaved off all his heavy beard, had his hair trimmed up in the fashion, and wore a dandy suit o clothes." 26 FOR LOVE AND HONOR "His name was Dale, you say? Are you sure that was his true name?" the young man asked. "I couldn t take my oath as to that, sir, but every body here knew him as Captain William Dale, though I don t know how he came to be a captain. She used to call him Will, in a way that made his eyes shine enough to do ye good." Geoffrey s eyes lighted at this. It was evident that Captain Dale had truly loved the girl whom he had brought there, whether she had been his legal wife or not. "Do you know what her name was before he mar ried her?" he asked. "No, sir; that is one of the things I can t tell ye; even Margery never found out that. They was both very shy of talkin about themselves afore folks, and nobody ever knew where they came from, either." "Did they never have visitors was there no friend who ever came to see them?" "No, sir; and they didn t seem to want anybody; she was just his world, and he her n. My girl used to think it was kind of strange, though, that they never got any letters; but she never did, and never writ any, either." "Did she seem happy?" Geoffrey asked, in a hushed tone, as if this was ground he hardly liked to trespass upon. "As chipper as a bird," Jack returned; "and she FOR LOVE AND HONOR 27 could sing like one, too. Many s the night the boys have stolen to yonder house to listen while she sang and played to the cap; he had a pianer sent up from Santa Fe; and she was always bright and smilin ; she was like a streak o sunshine in a dark place, for there wasn t anybody like her anywhere about." Geoffrey felt his heart yearn wistfully for this sweet and gentle woman, who had been his mother, and who had brightened that wild and dreary place with her presence for one short year. Still the mystery regarding his father, and her relations to him, seemed as dark as ever. If he could not learn whence they came, it would be impossible to trace his history any farther, and a feeling of depression and discouragement began to settle upon him. It seemed as if those two lovers had hidden them selves there, cut themselves adrift from all previous associations, and then lived simply for and in each other. "Did Captain Dale s mine here pay him well?" he asked. "No, sir, it did not; and that is something that al ways seemed strange to me," Jack said, reflectively. "He couldn t much more n paid expenses here, but he never seemed to care, and I ve always had a no tion that he had an interest in other mines." "What other mines?" Geoffrey inquired, eagerly. 28 FOR LOVE AND HONOR "I couldn t say, sir; he was very close, and never talked business afore his help." "What made you think he had other claims?" "Well, after the first month or two he used to be away considerable not long at a time ; but he went often, and was always so chipper when he came back, I reasoned twas only good luck could make him so." "What arrangements did he make with you when he left me in your wife s care?" "There wa n t any bargain," Jack said. "Mar gery was that fond of ye she d been willin to kep ye for nothin rather than let ye go ; but the cap was always generous he gave her two hundred dollars to start with, besides a handsome present on her own account, for what she did for his wife while she lay dyin . Then, for the first two years he came once in six months to see ye, and always left a good round sum for ye there wa n t nothin mean about Cap tain Dale and when he didn t come he sent it." "Did he never mention where he spent his time?" Geoffrey asked, "or speak of ever taking me away with him?" "No, sir, never a word; the most he ever said was that he should put ye to some school as soon as ye were old enough." "Did he did he appear to be fond of me ?" Geof frey inquired, hesitatingly, a hot flush rising to his cheek. "That he were, sir; it was as much as ever he d FOR LOVE AND HONOR 29 let ye out of his arms from the time he came till he went, though he never stayed very long, and I ve seen the tears a-standin in his eyes when he parted from ye." "How long before my accident was his last visit?" "It must have been more n a year, if I remember right; but the money came regular, and Margery seemed happier when he didn t come she was al ways afraid he d take ye away from her. I ve often wondered what he did when he came again and found ye gone it must have been a mortal blow to him," Jack concluded, and then dropped into a fit of musing. CHAPTER III GEOFFREY VISITS THE SCENE OF THE TRAGEDY "WHERE do you intend to go from here, Jack?" Geoffrey asked at length, breaking a silence of sev eral minutes, during which both had been busy with various thoughts and emotions. "To California, sir. I m bound to have a last look at all the places I ve ever been in, though it ll be a sad day that lands me there. My poor girl and I saw many happy days on that little farm just out of San Francisco. I didn t own it, we only hired it, for we hadn t money enough then to pay for a home; but I d gladly give up every dollar I ve earned since if I could only have my girl back again," Jack con cluded, with another heartbroken sob. His grief and remorse were painful to witness. His face was almost convulsed, great drops came out upon his forehead, and he trembled with emo tion. "I believe I will go to California with you, Jack," Geoffrey said, after a season of thought. "I do not believe it will be exactly safe for you to go there by yourself, to visit your old home. Suspicion might be 30 FOR LOVE AND HONOR 31 aroused immediately, and you would be liable to get into trouble; but no one would think it at all strange if I should return to make inquiries regarding my old nurse." "Waal, but everybody knew we went off to gether," said Jack. "Very true; but if unpleasant questions were asked, I could explain that you escaped to Australia, while I was cared for by friends in New York; all of which would be true," Geoffrey responded. "Thank ye, sir; ye re kinder to me than I de serve; but even if I knew they d snap me up, I reckon I should go. I can never rest till I know where they ve laid my girl," Jack returned, with a heavy sigh. "You shall," Geoffrey answered, "we will find out all there is to know; but I particularly wish to learn if my father ever visited the place after we left. If he did he probably left some address so that infor mation could be had, in case any trace of us was discovered." Jack appeared to be very grateful to have his path thus smoothed for him, and the next morning the two men left the mining village and proceeded directly to San Francisco. Before leaving, however, Geoffrey had cut sev eral slips from the ivy that grew all about his moth er s grave, and inclosing them wrapped in wet paper, in a small tin box, mailed them to Gladys. 32 FOR LOVE AND HONOR "My darling," he wrote, "if you can coax any of these to live, pray do so, for my sake. I have a particular reason for making the request, which I will explain when I return," and Gladys had three of them nicely rooted before she returned to Brook lyn, at the end of the season. Geoffrey and his companion reached the small town, near which Jack Henly had once lived, and only a few miles from San Francisco, about noon one warm August day. They had their dinner, and rested for several hours, then when the day grew cooler, Geoffrey started out alone to visit Jack Henly s former home, and to try to discover the grave of his wife. He found the place without any difficulty, a small house and barn standing in a lonely location, about two miles from the town, while there were only one or two other dwellings in sight. There was no sign of life about the place, and the buildings were fast falling into decay. Weeds and vines and wild flow ers grew all about the yard, and everything looked desolate and forlorn. Geoffrey shivered as he stepped up to a window and looked into that small kitchen, and recalled the dark deed which had been perpetrated there. He did not believe the place had ever been in habited since; it had a look of having been shunned, and perhaps regarded as a haunted house. He won dered how Margery had been found, and what meas- FOR LOVE AND HONOR 33 ures had been taken to discover the author of the crime. He did not remain there long; it was not an at tractive spot, and there were no means of learning anything that he wished to find out. He resolved to visit some of the neighbors, and try to ascertain what had been done with Mrs. Henly s body, and if Captain Dale had ever visited the place since the tragedy occurred. The nearest neighbor was at least a quarter of a mile away; he could just discern the roof and chim neys over a little rise of ground to the south. He mounted his horse again and rode toward it, coming, in a few minutes, to a large and comfortable farmhouse, where peace and plenty seemed to reign. He found the farmer just driving up his cows from pasture. He was a man apparently sixty years of age, with a kind and genial face, quick and ener getic in his movements in spite of his three-score years. Geoffrey saluted him courteously, introduced him self, and asked if he could spare the time to answer a few questions. The man called a boy to attend to his cows, then invited Geoffrey to dismount and come with him to the wide, pleasant veranda, where they could con verse at their leisure, assuring him that he should be glad to give him any information he might possess. Geoffrey accepted his invitation, and then entered 34 FOR LOVE AND HONOR at once upon the business that had brought him there. "I am in this locality chiefly to ascertain something of the people who once occupied that house over yon der," he said, indicating Jack Henly s deserted dwell ing, "and thought my best way would be to apply to some one living in the neighborhood." The farmer s face fell at this. Evidently the sub ject was not a pleasant one to him. "You couldn t have come to a better place to find out what you want to know, sir," he replied, "for I ve lived here for the last thirty-five years, and I can tell you all about that sad story at least all that any body hereabouts ever knew; though it isn t a cheer ful subject." "I am very fortunate, then, in having come to you," Geoffrey said, in a tone of satisfaction. Then glancing at his watch, he added: "I find it is later than I thought, and as I would like to get back to town before dark, I will ask you to relate in your own way all that you know about the family, and I will restrain all questions until you get through." "Well, sir," began the farmer, "the Henlys came here nigh about twenty-two or three years ago, and we thought we were fortunate in having such thrifty neighbors as they seemed to be. There were only three of them, Jack and his wife, and a baby only a few months old, that the woman had taken to nurse, its mother being dead. Everything went along FOR LOVE AND HONOR 35 smoothly, and they appeared to be doing well for four or five years, when Jack got into bad company and began to drink. Before this he and his wife seemed to think a great deal of each other, and in bad weather he would help her about the house, while in good weather she would work with him out of doors. In this way he gained time to do many odd jobs outside, and made considerable money by so doing. "After Henly got in with his wild companions, we now and then heard that things were not very pleas ant between him and his wife, but no one ever dreamed how serious the trouble was until the ter rible tragedy burst like a thunderbolt upon us. My wife and Mrs. Henly had been great friends from the first, and had got in the way of borrowing little messes from each other, as neighbors often do, when they came short and could not get into town to buy what was wanted. So one afternoon my wife said she was out of tea, and would run over to see Mrs. Henly for a little while, and borrow enough for supper. "It didn t seem as if she d been gone long enough to get there, when she came flying back as pale as death, wringing her hands and seeming half-fright ened out of her senses. I rushed to the door to meet her, when she fell into my arms in a dead faint. When she came to she was so unnerved by what she had seen that we had hard work to get the truth S6 FOR LOVE AND HONOR out of her, but we finally made out that upon reach ing Henly s she had knocked on the door. No one answered, and she stepped in, as she had often done, when she saw Mrs. Henly lying on the floor, a terri ble bruise and gash on her forehead. My wife was so frightened and shocked that she dropped her cup on the floor, where it broke in a dozen pieces, and then, with a scream, turned and ran, as fast as her trembling limbs would carry her, toward home. I called my son and one of my men, and we started at once for the place. We found the woman lying as my wife had described her, only instead of being dead, as she thought, she was now rolling her head from side to side, and moaning as if in great pain." "Not dead!" interrupted Geoffrey, in a startled tone. "No, sir, praise the Lord! not dead. We lifted her and laid her on her bed just off the kitchen, when I sent my man for a doctor, and my son back home to bring his mother, while I got some water and bathed the poor woman s head. My wife was too sensible to nurse her own feelings when she found she was needed, and that her friend was not dead, and she came immediately to do what she could for her. "When the doctor came he said it was doubtful if the poor thing could live; the blow on the head had been a fearful one, and it was a wonder that it had not killed her outright. Besides that, there was the print of three fingers on her throat, showing that FOR LOVE AND HONOR 37 there had been a struggle with some one, and point ing to foul play. "Of course when we found that Henly had de camped, taking the boy with him, we suspected him of having done the deed, and the authorities were at once set on his track. But nothing has ever been heard of him or the child from that day to this; at least not to my knowledge. His wife had a tough time of it. We had her brought over here, and my wife and daughter took care of her through a three- months illness, and when she did get up again she was but the shadow of her former self." "Did she get well?" Geoffrey exclaimed, amazed. "Yes, she recovered her health, though she was not as strong as she had been, and her head was apt to trouble her at times. But her heart was broken over the disappearance of her husband and the boy. It was a long time before we could make her tell how she had been injured, and then she excused Henly. She said he had come home the worse for liquor, and did not know what he was about. She said he must have been frightened, believing he had killed her, and then taken the boy and fled. I sus pect there was something more to it, but that was all we could ever get out of her." "Ah!" thought Geoffrey, "she shielded him from the suspicion of having murdered me also, and she must have suffered torture on my account as well as his." 38 FOR LOVE AND HONOR "As soon as she was able to get about," resumed the farmer, "she insisted upon going away altogether from the place. She could not go back to her home and live there alone, she said, and she wanted to search for her husband, to let him know that he had not killed her, as he must believe. I imagined, too, that she couldn t bear to meet the boy s father when he should come again and find that he had disap- pearech She sold all her household goods, offered a reward of a thousand dollars having deposited that amount in a bank in San Francisco for the pur pose to any one who should find her husband or secure any definite information regarding him, and then she left the place herself. We have never seen her since, nor heard what became of her." "Did she leave no address?" Geoffrey inquired. "If not, how could she expect to be communicated with in case any tidings of her husband were ob tained?" "I believe a personal of some kind was to be in serted in certain papers in the leading cities of the country by those who had charge of the affair," re plied the farmer, "but I guess it has never been printed. Their house has never been occupied since. A good many people believe that Henly murdered the boy also, and concealed the body somewhere on the farm, so the place has had the reputation of being haunted, therefore we have never had any neighbors there." 39 "Since Mrs. Henly was not murdered, I am at lib erty to set your heart at rest upon that subject," Geoffrey responded. "The boy is alive and well. I am that boy!" The farmer started from his chair and stared at him in open-mouthed astonishment at this electrify ing statement. "I can t believe it," he said, at last, and bending to look more closely into his visitor s face, "and yet you said your name was Huntress." "Yes, my name is Geoffrey Dale Huntress," Geof frey replied, with a smile at his host s astonishment. "That was the child s name, Geoffrey Dale it must be true; do tell me how you happen to come back here after all these years?" the farmer urged, in an eager tone. Geoffrey felt that he was war ranted in so doing, since Margery Henly had lived, and there was no longer any need of concealment on Jack s part. "Jack escaped all pursuit," he said, "wandering from place to place; went to Texas on a sheep ranch for a few years, and finally turned up in New York, where I became separated from him, and could not be found. Just about this time he became convinced that the officers were on his track they must have been those who were working for Mrs. Henly s thousand-dollar reward and he was so frightened he suddenly shipped for Australia." "Poor fellow," said the farmer, sympathetically, 40 FOR LOVE AND HONOR "he must have suffered keenly. But this is the strangest part of the whole story. I never imagined that we should get the sequel to that tragedy over yonder. Was the man kind to you? I used to think he was not over fond of you when you were a little fellow." "No one could have been more kind than he was, as long as I was with him," Geoffrey said, gravely, as he recalled all that Jack had so recently told him. He thought, too, as long as Margery had kept the secret of his having been nearly murdered also, it would be best to still preserve silence upon that point. "It was my own fault," he continued, "that I was lost, for I wandered away without his knowledge, and he was not able to find me, although he labored faithfully to do so, until driven to desperation by the belief that he was being tracked." "How did you learn that he had sailed for Aus tralia, if you were lost before he went?" "I learned that later," Geoffrey briefly replied. "And what became of you?" "A philanthropic gentleman became interested in me, adopted me, and has given me a good educa tion." "Well, well, well! wonders will never cease! It s a strangely romantic tale, young man. But how about your own father?" questioned the farmer. "That is a mystery which I came here to try to FOR LOVE AND HONOR 41 solve," Geoffrey returned, looking troubled, for he seemed to be no nearer the solution than ever. "All that I really know about my father is that he was called Captain William Dale, and that he at one time owned shares in some of the mines of New Mexico, where my mother died. I have been there trying to gain some trace of him, but without suc cess. Then I came on here, hoping to learn some thing of him through people who had known the Henlys. I thought it probable that he would come here, some time, to see me, as he had previously been in the habit of doing, and, finding that I had disappeared, would leave his address so that he could be informed if anything was learned of my fate." "He has been here," the farmer replied; "he came only about two months after Mrs. Henly left. I saw him and conversed with him. He appeared to be overwhelmed with grief upon learning of your strange disappearance. He instituted inquiries, of fering a reward of five thousand dollars for your re covery, living, or one thousand for positive proof of your death, and under these circumstances I have often wondered why some clew to your fate was not ascertained." Geoffrey did not think it strange. He knew that no one would have recognized in the poor little im becile whom Jack Henly had cared for, the bright, happy child who had been Margery s joy and pride. He was touched, too, by the evidence of his fath- 42 FOR LOVE AND HONOR er s interest in and love for him, and yet it seemed inexplicable; for, if the man whom he had met at Saratoga was his father, and he was anxious to find him, as the farmer said, why should he have avoided him as he had done. "But did he leave no address?" he eagerly ques tioned. "There was something a little queer about that," said the farmer, "for he did not give any, really. I asked him where a communication would reach him, and he replied that anything directed to Lock Box 43, Santa Fe, would be all that was necessary." Geoffrey s face fell at this. He was terribly disappointed, for he had con fidently expected that he would find something tan gible through this man, by which he could trace Captain William Dale. "Lock Box 43, Santa Fe," he repeated, thought fully, "and that was all?" "That was all; but perhaps the man didn t want his name known all over the country, in connection with this tragedy here," suggested his host. "That is so," Geoffrey returned, brightening, but he said to himself that he would yet know who had held that post-office box in Santa Fe twenty years ago, if it was in the power of man to discover it. "Has he ever been here since?" he asked, after a pause. "Yes, twice; and the last time he remarked, I FOR LOVE AND HONOR 43 shall never see the child again I believe he is dead. " "What was the date of his last visit?" "It was about ten years ago, and I have never seen him since. I am very sorry, Mr. Huntress, that I can tell you no more," said the man, evidently feeling for his visitor s discomfiture, "and it really must be a great trial to you to have such a mystery enshrouding your parentage." "It is, but it must be solved sooner or later," Geoffrey said, resolutely. He arose to go as he spoke, thanked the farmer heartily for his kindness in telling what he wished to know, then mounted his horse and rode back to ward the town, greatly perplexed and somewhat dis heartened. "Lock Box 43 is a slender thread to lead to much, but I ll follow it until it breaks," he said to himself, as he went on his way. CHAPTER IV AN UNEXPECTED MEETING THE sun had long since gone down, and darkness was rapidly settling over the country, as Geoffrey pursued his way, grateful indeed that he had such good news to take back to Jack, but well-nigh dis couraged on his own account. It had been agreed that he should learn all he could about Henly s old home, and where Margery was buried, and that Jack should himself revisit the place after nightfall, upon his return, since he did not dare to make his appearance there by daylight. The road to the town lay through a heavy growth of timber, and, as Geoffrey came into it, the dark ness was so intensified that at first he could hardly distinguish the way, when, suddenly, his horse gave a startled snort and shied to one side, nearly throw ing his rider from the saddle. "Gently, gently, sir," he said, reassuringly, as he quickly recovered himself. "What is the trouble, my boy?" He glanced searchingly about him, and saw a 44 FOR LOVE AND HONOR 45 muffled figure sitting upon a rock under the shadow of a great tree. Geoffrey s hand instinctively caught the handle of the revolver that he always carried when traveling, and then he rode directly up to the figure. "Who are you?" he demanded, "and why are you sitting here alone in the darkness?" "Do not fear, sir," responded a quiet, honest voice. "I am only a woman on my way home from town, and sat down here to rest for a moment." "I beg your pardon, madame, for accosting you as I did," Geoffrey returned, apologetically, "but I confess I was startled, as well as my horse, for a moment. Are you not afraid to be traveling this lonely way at this time of the evening?" "No, sir, I am not afraid. I know every step of the road, but I am not so young as I was once, and it tires me to walk," the woman replied, with a weary note in her voice, accompanied by a heavy sigh. "Have you far to go ?" the young man asked. "No, only to the second house from here to Farmer Bruce s." "Ah! You are going to Mr. Bruce s. I have just come from there. I will turn about and see you safely to the house; or, if you could manage to sit on a man s saddle, you shall ride, and I will lead my horse," Geoffrey said, kindly; for now that he had become accustomed to the dim light he could dis- 46 FOR LOVE AND HONOR cern that the woman looked worn and weary, and his sympathies were enlisted for her. "No, no ; thank you, sir, I will not trouble you," the woman returned. " But tell me," she continued, rising and coming toward his side, "is Farmer Bruce still alive? Is the family well?" Something in her anxious tone and hei agitated manner, as well as these questions, sent a sudden thrill through the young man s heart. He bent and looked searchingly into her face, which was upraised to his. "Yes, Farmer Bruce is living. You said you were on your way home. Do you belong to the family?" he asked. "No I I used to live near them; I have come for a visit," was the confused reply. Geoffrey bent still nearer to her, when the woman suddenly uttered a startled cry, and laid her hand upon his arm. "Oh, sir! who are you?" she cried. "I am sure you must be Master Geoffrey. You are so like your father. I should know you anywhere, and I never could forget the boy I loved. You are Geoffrey, aren t you? and don t you remember Margery?" She ended with a sob, and her hold tightened on his arm as if she feared to lose him. Geoffrey had half-suspected her identity when she had inquired so eagerly about Farmer Bruce; but it was a shock to him, nevertheless, to find his sus- FOR LOVE AND HONOR 47 picions thus verified, and he felt that, if he should never learn anything more definite regarding his father, he should feel more than repaid for his jour ney hither, just to have found Jack and Margery, seen them restored to each other, and the shadow removed from their lives. He seized the trembling hand that lay upon his arm, and shook it heartily. "Yes, I am Geoffrey, and I do remember Mar gery," he said, in a glad, earnest tone. The poor, long-suffering, wandering creature dropped her head against his horse s neck, and burst into a passion of tears. "Heaven bless you, Master Geoffrey, for owning it at last my heart s been well-nigh crushed since you denied it, and ran away from me in New York," she said, brokenly, between her sobs. "Denied it, and ran away from you in New York!" repeated the young man, astonished. "Yes, sir; sure you haven t forgotten that day when you bought the roses of me, and I asked you if you wasn t Geoffrey Dale? You told me no your name was Everet, and you didn t know any thing about Jack, nor about any of the other things I talked of." A light broke upon Geoffrey s mind. She had seen Everet Mapleson, and made a very natural mistake; she had believed him to be the child 48 FOR LOVE AND HONOR she had loved and cared for, and it was no wonder she was pained by his refusal to recognize her. "I never bought any roses of you in New York, Margery," he said, kindly. "I have never seen you until now since I was a small boy of five years." The woman looked up at him amazed. Geoffrey smiled frankly into her upturned face. "The young man whom you met was a Mr. Evtret Mapleson; we were in college together, and we look so much alike that we are often mistaken for each other," he explained. "Ah! dearie, my heart is lighter now you ve told me this," Margery said, with a long-drawn sigh. "I was cruelly hurt when I thought you wouldn t own me, and I was so sure, too, that you could tell me somtehing about Jack can t you tell me where he is? Where, where have you been all these years, Master Geoffrey. Ah, I feared that cruel blow that Jack gave you had killed you, and I d never see you again ; but poor man ! he d never have lifted his hand against you if he d been himself. Heaven pity him! wherever he is, if he s living at all." She had rambled on in this disconnected way with out even waiting for a reply to any of her questions, and Geoffrey felt the tears rise to his eyes, as he realized something of the burden that lay so heavy on her heart, and had made the long, long years so dreary and oppressive to her. FOR LOVE AND HONOR 49 He dismounted from his horse, and taking her by the arm said, gently: "Come back to the rock, Margery, where you were sitting, and I will tell you all you wish to know. It is a long story, and you will be weary with stand- ing." She looked up appealingly. "One word, Master Geoffrey. Jack " Her trembling lips refused to utter another word, and the young man thought he might as well tell her at once about her husband and set her heart at rest. "Jack is living and well within a mile of you at this very moment," he said, in a cheerful tone. "Oh, dearie ! Heaven reward you for those blessed words," Margery murmured; then her head sank upon her breast, and, tottering weakly forward, she dropped upon the rock where Geoffrey had first seen her, and fell to sobbing like a tired child. Geoffrey waited until she had grown somewhat calmer, and then told her, as briefly as he could, something of his own and Jack s history during the last eighteen years. She never interrupted him during the recital, but seemed to drink in every word, as one perishing from thirst would drink in pure, life-giving water. When at last he had told her all, she lifted her face, and, while she wiped the streaming tears from her eyes, she exclaimed: "Ah ! Master Geoffrey, I feel almost as if I was 50 FOR LOVE AND HONOR drawing nigh to heaven, after all the waiting, the wandering, the loneliness, and misery, to find my Jack again, and know that he has been true to his love for me all the time. Poor fellow ! his fate has been harder than mine, after all, for he s had to carry a burden of guilt with him; but it is all over now, thank heaven ! You will take me straight to him?" she concluded, eagerly. "Of course I will," Geoffrey replied, heartily, "he is waiting at the public house in the town for me; waiting for me to come and tell him about his old home, from which he fled so many years ago, and about a certain grave, which he has imagined has lain lonely and neglected all that time, and which he was to go to visit, under cover of the darkness, upon my return." "Poor man ! poor man !" sobbed Margery, all un mindful of her own long suffering, in her sympathy for her erring husband, "but, praise the Lord, there s no grave for him to weep over, and he can walk the earth once more and fear no man." She arose and drew her cloak about her prepara tory to going back to the town with her companion. Geoffrey insisted that she should ride, while he walked beside her and guided the horse. He saw that she was very weary, as well as weak, from her recent agitation, and not fit to walk the long distance. She demurred at first, but he would listen to no FOR LOVE AND HONOR 51 objections, and she permitted him to put her into the saddle, and then they started on their way. Geoffrey questioned her about her life during the past eighteen yars, and he marveled, as he listened to her story, at the woman s unwavering devotion and love for the man whose hand so nearly deprived her of life. She told him, as Mr. Bruce had already done, that, as soon as she was able, she had sold off all her household goods and the farm-stock, and realized over a thousand dollars. She deposited all but enough for her immediate needs in a bank of San, Francisco, where she already had some money laid by, and instructed a lawyer there to use it as a re ward for the discovery of her husband. She then began her own tiresome pilgrimage to search for him herself. She roved from one large city to another, stopping some time in each, now taking in washing and ironing to support herself and earn money to continue her search in the next place where she should go; going out as a servant in other places, or selling flowers or confectionery upon the corners of the streets for the same purpose, while she eagerly scanned every face she saw in the hope of somewhere and sometime coming across either Jack or the boy; she had never believed, as others did, that the latter was dead. She felt sure that Jack must have discovered some sign of life about him, 52 FOR LOVE AND HONOR and taken him away with the hope of having him restored. In this way she had visited every large city in the United States. She had been in different min ing districts also, thinking that perhaps her hus band might have gone back to his old business, hop ing thus to hide himself more securely. She had even been in Canada and other British provinces, but had never met with the least encouragement in her search, until that day when she had seen Everet Mapleson in New York and believed him to be Geof frey. Her disappointment and grief, at his per sistent denial of all knowledge of her, had actually prostrated her for the first time during all her tire less search, and she had not been able to leave her bed for several weeks, which accounts for young Mapleson s inability to find her. At length, during the last few months, she had relinquished all hope; but an insatiable longing seized her to visit her old home once more, and the kind family who had befriended her in the hour of her sore need. After that, she meant to draw her money from the bank in San Francisco, and with it purchase a right in some home for the aged, where she could peacefully spend the remainder of her life. The woman was not old, being only about forty- five years of age, but her sorrow and the laborious existence she had led had aged her far more than even another decade could have done. FOR LOVE AND HONOR 53 She could tell Geoffrey nothing more regarding the identity of his father than he already knew. She had never seen him since his last visit to her home, more than a year previous to the tragedy, and she had never known any other address than the one of which Mr. Bruce had spoken. He had told her to send a letter to "Lock Box 43, Santa Fe," if any thing should ever happen to his boy, and she wished to summon him. But she had gone away without communicating with him; she had been eager to get away before he could come again, for she had not courage to meet him and tell him the dreadful story about his child, which she alone knew. "Margery," Geoffrey said, gravely, after she had concluded her account, "have you never thought that there was something very strange in the fact that my father should have been so reserved about himself and kept his only child so remote and concealed from all his friends?" "Yes, Master Geoffrey, it did strike me as queer, at times, but I reasoned that perhaps he hadn t any very near friends, for he talked of putting you to some school as soon as you were old enough to go away from me." "Do you think that everything was all right be tween him and my mother?" "How right, sir?" the woman asked, with sur prise. -54 FOR LOVE AND HONOR "Do you think that they were legally married? Did you never see or hear anything while you lived with them, to make you suspect that they might not be husband and wife? It is a hard question for a son to ask, but the secrecy, with which my father has seemed to hedge himself about, has led me to fear that there was some grave reason why he could not, or would not, have me with him and openly recognize me. Why was he unwilling to have you use his name if you had occasion to write to him, but instead gave you a blind address, which no one could recognize, and to which, doubtless, he alone had the key?" "Good Lord, Master Geoffrey, never have any such thoughts entered my head before!" Margery exclaimed, in a tone of startled amazement. "I never saw a man fonder of his wife than Captain Dale was of your mother; and he had reason to be fond of her, too, for she worshiped the very air he breathed, and was always so sweet and merry that a man would have been a brute not to have loved her. But " "Well?" queried Geoffrey, eagerly, the hot blood surging to his brow, with a feeling of dread, as she stopped, a note of sudden conviction in her tone. "Well, I do remember, once, that she did not seem quite happy, but I have never given it a second thought until now," Margery said, reflectively. FOR LOVE AND HONOR 55 "Tell me about it," the young man commanded, briefly. "They had been out for a walk one night after tea, and it was quite dark when they returned. They stopped a moment on the steps, before coming in, and I was at an open window upstairs just above them. Your mother had been crying I could tell by the sound of her voice all at once she turned and threw her arms around the captain s neck and sobbed : Oh, Will, I wish you would, for my sake and for our baby s sake. I will, my darling, the captain told her, it shall be done just as soon as I can turn myself, but it would ruin me to do it now. Have patience, my pet, and it will be all right in a few months more, at the furthest. "She didn t say another word, only uttered a tired kind of sigh, kissed him softly, and then they went in. But I never thought much about it afterward. I didn t know but what she had been coaxing him to leave the mines and go back to where they came from, for I m sure it couldn t have been nice for her to live there where there wasn t hardly another woman fit to associate with her," Margery con cluded, thoughtfully. But Geoffrey believed his gentle mother had been asking for something far more important than a change of residence; that would have been of com- 56 FOR LOVE AND HONOR paratively little consequence to her, loving his father as she did. He imagined that she had been plead ing to be recognized as Captain Dale s lawful wife, so that her child might have honorable birth. He sighed heavily, for the farther he went in his search the darker and more perplexing grew the way. CHAPTER V A STARTLING RECOGNITION REACHING the public house where he had left Jack, Geoffrey quietly drew Margery into the small parlor, where he made her lay aside her bonnet and cloak, put her into a comfortable rocker to rest, and then went out to break the glad tidings of her ex istence and return to her husband. He found him sitting alone on the porch outside the barroom nothing ever tempted him inside such a place nowadays looking wistfully out toward the east, where the full August moon was just rising above the horizon in all its splendor. "Well, Jack, has the time seemed very long to you?" Geoffrey asked, in a cheerful tone, as he sat down beside him. "It has, sir; I ve had hard work to wait. I ve a strange 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 the door for me, I d almost be willin to give up my hope o heaven. But when I think it s only an empty house a cold hearthstone, and a 57 58 FOR LOVE AND HONOR grave somewhere nigh, that I m goin to find, I feel a most like givin up the battle." The man s head sank upon his breast in a discon solate way, while it seemed 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 moments, hoping he would question him; but as he still remained ab sorbed in his own sad thoughts, he at length re marked: "Well, Jack, I found Farmer Bruce." "Ay! then he s alive yet; he must 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 and his wife has done me, and ah! " A shiver completed the sentence, as if those by gone days were too painful to dwell upon. Geoffrey pitied the poor fellow 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, Jack?" he at length asked. The man nodded, and, by the light of the moon, his companion saw a gray pallor settle over his face, FOR LOVE AND HONOR 59 which seemed to have grown almost rigid in its out lines. Geoffrey began by telling him how Mrs. Bruce had gone over to borrow some tea of Mrs. Henly, the day following Jack s flight; how she knocked and there came no response, when she stepped into the kitchen and found Margery lying on the floor, and becoming so frightened at the sight, she had turned and fled back to her home, with hardly more than a glance at the prostrate woman. "Farmer Bruce," he went on, "at once went back to your house, taking his son and a hired man with him. They lifted Margery and laid her on her bed, 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, Jack she needed one; she didn t need a coroner." "Ha!" The man started wildly to his feet as the hoarse cry burst from him; then he sank back again, press ing his hands hard against his temples and staring about him in a half-dazed way, as if he had not com prehended what he had heard. "Master Geoffrey, don t don t tell me no more," he pleaded, in an agonized tone. "I can t bear it; they didn t need any doctor to tell them that she was 60 FOR LOVE AND HONOR dead just tell me where to find her grave. I ll go and take one look at it; then I ll make tracks again for Australia; I can t stop here." The man s tone was so despairing, his attitude so hopeless, and his words so heartbroken, that Geof frey had hard work to preserve his own composure. "But, Jack, there there isn t any grave," he said at last. Jack lifted another vacant look to the young man s face. "No grave! no coroner! a doctor!" he muttered, then suddenly he seemed to comprehend, and was galvanized into life. He sprang up; he seized Geoffrey by the shoulder. "Boy! boy!" he cried, in a strained, unnatural voice, "ye can t mean it! ye can t mean that she didn t die ! that that I didn t kill her after all ! Tell me tell me quick! if ye ve brought me such blessed truth as that, I m yer slave as long as I live." He was terribly agitated. He shook as if he had suddenly been attacked with violent ague, and Geof frey could see his broad chest rise and fall with the heavy throbbing of his startled heart. "Sit down, Jack," he commanded, rising and put ting 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 every day that she must die." FOR LOVE AND HONOR 61 "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 words. "O-h!mygirl!" Jack Henly slipped from his chair, falling upon his knees 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 him self, "this isn t going to do at all. You must brace up, for there is a long story to be told yet." He lifted him to his feet by main force, drew his arm 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 spellbound; he scarcely seemed to breathe, so intent was he to catch every word. He did not move, even, until Geoffrey men tioned 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 about her traveling from city to city, searching for 62 FOR LOVE AND HONOR 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 from him. "My girl! my girl! I never deserved it of her! Where is she, Master Geoffrey? Tell me and I ll creep on my knees to her feet and ask her forgive ness !" he wildly cried. "Jack, she 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 burden, and tell you that she freely forgives everything !" "Can she?" the trembling husband breathed in an awed tone. "Come and see," Geoffrey returned, and taking him by the arm, he led him toward the parlor where 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. "Jack!" "Madge! my girl!" The glad, fond cry of the wife, restored at last to her long-sought loved one, the pleading, repent ant intonation of the erring husband, were the only sounds that he caught, as he turned away, and with FOR LOVE AND HONOR 63 tears in his eyes, went out alone into the quiet sum mer night leaving them in their joy. Two hours later, Jack came to seek him, but he walked like a drunken man, weakly and unsteadily. . His 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 weather-beaten face there was a look of peace and joy that Geoffrey never forgot. "Master Geoffrey," he said, in an 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 again. I can face the whole world, now that my Madge lives and loves me the same as ever. I can breathe free once more, since I know her blood ain t on my hands oh! it s too good a most to be true!" he continued, drawing a long, full breath, "and bless ye, sir, all I ve got in the world wouldn t pay ye what I owe ye." "Jack, 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 life, and if I have helped in any way to restore peace to you and happiness to Margery, I am more than paid already." "Thank ye, sir; but won t ye come in and sup with us that is, if ye haven t had something already," Jack pleaded with an air of humility. "No. I ve been too busy with my thoughts to 64 FOR LOVE AND HONOR care anything for eating, and I ll join you with pleas ure," Geoffrey answered, cordially. He returned to the parlor with Jack, where he found Margery with a beaming face, and the land lady 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 were discussed by the reunited couple. Neither Jack nor Margery felt inclined to remain in the West, where they had suffered so much, and where there would be constant reminders of the painful past, and it was finally decided that 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 spend the remainder 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 went 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 so many years. A week later they all turned their backs upon the Pacific Coast and set their faces toward the East- Geoffrey accompanied them as far as Cheyenne, Wyoming, where he took leave of them, as he was going southward into New Mexico again. But he promised to pay them an early visit when he should return to Brooklyn. FOR LOVE AND HONOR 65 While these events were transpiring in the far West, an interesting incident occurred in the far East in no other city than Boston which has its bearing on our story and properly belongs here. On a bright, beautiful summer morning, in the month of July, a lady entered a handsome drug store on Washington street, and asked permission to look at a city directory. She was a finely formed, brilliant-looking woman, elegantly dressed, and bearing herself 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 from behind his desk as the lady made her request, and politely laid the book before her. As he did so, and his keen glance fell upon her face, he started slightly, but was far too well-bred to betray his surprise at her appearance, if he ex perienced any, and immediately returned to his post at his desk. But he managed to place himself where he could see his visitor, without being himself observed. The woman turned to the D s in the directory, and ran her neatly gloved finger slowly down the line, 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, 66 FOR LOVE AND HONOR while a faint line of perplexity and annoyance ap peared 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 moments, then opening her pocketbook an elegant affair of Russia leather with clasps of gold she took from it a card to which she referred. "The name is surely not in the directory," she murmured. There was a moment of silence, then the distin guished-looking gentleman behind the desk stepped forward again. "Did you speak to me, madame?" he inquired, blandly. The lady started and looked up quickly, the color -on her cheek deepening a trifle at his query. "I 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 retreat again. Madame made a motion with her faultlessly gloved hand to detain him. "I was looking for the name of August Damon," FOR LOVE AND HONOR 6T she said, her eyes wandering again to the directory; "but I do not find it there." "Ah ! some one whose residence you wished to findl in the city?" the gentleman remarked. "Yes. I imagined I 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 last, as he raised his glance and fixed it with keen scrutiny upon that beautiful face before him. Madame tapped her foot impatiently and some what nervously on the floor. "I am greatly disappointed," she said. "You are sure that you have the correct name you have 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 de faced with age and handling, and it bore the name of "August Damon," written with ink in a fine, gentle manly hand. "Do you know that your friend resides in Boston* madame?" the pharmacist asked, as his keen eyes fixed themselves again upon her countenance. "They used to; it is some years since I last visited the city, and it is possible they have removed to some other place. They must have done so," she #8 FOR LOVE AND HONOR concluded, with a sigh, "or I should surely have found their name in the directory." "Were Mr. and Mrs. Damon the parties to whom you gave your child, Mrs. Marston?" The question was very quietly, very politely put, but it was like the application of a powerful galvanic battery to the woman on the other side of the counter. A shock a shiver ran through her entire frame. She grew deadly white, and for a moment seemed .ready to drop to the floor. Then she rallied. "Sir!" she said, with a haughty uplifting of her proud head. "Madame!" "I do not understand you." "Did you not? Shall I repeat my question?" was the quiet query. She made a gesture of impatience. "You have made a mistake," the lady returned, out her eyes were searching the druggist s face with a lightning glance, while that deadly paleness again overspread her own. "Nay, madame," was the bland rejoinder; "I am one of the few men in the world who never forget either a face or a name ! Mrs. Marston, surely you have not forgotten Doctor Thomas Turner who waited upon you at the House one bitter night un the winter of 18 ." CHAPTER VI A RETROSPECTIVE GLANCE IT was indeed Doctor Turner, although twenty- years or more had changed him greatly. They had given portliness to his form, turned his dark-brown hair to a silvery whiteness, and seamed his face with many a line of thought and care. He now wore, too, a full beard, which was also very gray, although not as white as his hair, while the gold-bowed spectacles, which had become a con stant necessity, added to the strangeness of his ap pearance. He had given up his practice some ten years~ previous, and was now the sole proprietor of the handsome drug store on Washington street, already mentioned. But, although Doctor Turner had spoken with: the utmost confidence in addressing the lady before him, charging her with her identity, he was, never theless, somewhat staggered when she looked him calmly in the eye and replied, without a tremor, in her full, rich tones: "You are mistaken, Doctor Turner if that is, 69 70 FOR LOVE AND HONOR your name mine is not Mrs. Marston, and never was." "I know that your true name is not Mrs. Marston and never was," the physician replied, after a mo ment s quiet study of his companion; "but you are, nevertheless, the woman whom I attended at the House on the date I have mentioned. You are very little changed, and I could not fail to recognize you anywhere." The woman s face grew crimson, then startlingly white again; her eyes drooped beneath his steady gaze, her lips trembled from inward excitement. "You have a remarkable memory," she mur mured, and stood confessed before him. "No better than your own, madame, if I had -changed as little as yourself. Time has dealt far less kindly with me. Not a thread of your hair has silvered, your color is as fresh, your face as fair ;as on the day of our last meeting. Pardon me," continued the doctor, with a deprecating gesture, "for reminding you so abruptly of the past, but I have never ceased to feel a deep interest in the mys terious case to which I have referred, and I could mot refrain from renewing the acquaintance." "With what object?" queried madame, with cold dignity. "I cannot say that I have any definite object in mind," responded the physician, suavely; "possibly I imagined I might be on the brink of a discovery. FOR LOVE AND HONOR 71 However, that is neither here nor there; if you are desirous of finding the gentleman who adopted your child, it may be that I can assist you, if, after you. confide in me your reasons for seeking him, I shall deem it advisable." Mrs. Marston started slightly at this. "Do you know August Damon?" she asked. Doctor Turner smiled. "Madame," he said, "did you imagine that the gerri^cman who took your babe would be any less cautious than yourself in such a transaction? You were known as Mrs. Marston, but frankly confessed that the name was an assumed one. Your object was to find the child a good home and then drop, out of sight altogether, so that those who took it should never be able to identify you afterward. Did. you suppose it was to be a one-sided affair, that you. were to have all the power and advantage in your own hands? that if you withheld your true name they would give you theirs?" Mrs. Marston, as we must still call her, flushed hotly. "Then Damon was not the true surname of these people," she said, in a crestfallen tone. "No, madame." "What was it?" Doctor Turner did not reply for a moment. Finally he said: "Mrs. Marston, pray do not let me keep you 72 FOR LOVE AND HONOR standing; come into my private office and be seated; we can converse much more comfortably there and be free from intrusion, if customers should come in." Mrs. Marston shivered slightly, although the day was an unusually warm one. She did not wish to talk over the long-buried past, and this recognition had been a bitter blow to her; but her curiosity re garding her child s fate was so great that she could not resist the physician s invitation, and she followed him to a small room beautifully fitted up as a con sulting office, at the rear of the store. Doctor Turner politely handed her a luxurious chair, and then seated himself opposite her. "It is doubtless a great surprise to you to find me situated as I am," the physician remarked, by way of opening the conversation; "but some years ago my health gave out under the strain of a large and con stantly increasing practice, and I was forced to relinquish it, although I still receive some office pa tients." Mrs. Marston merely bowed in reply to this in formation, her manner indicating that she cared very little about Doctor Turner s personal history. She glanced at August Damon s card, which she had recovered when Doctor Turner relinquished it. "You were going to tell me the real name of the person whom this card represents, I believe," she said. The druggist smiled, yet bit his lip with vexation FOR LOVE AND HONOR 73 at himself for having intruded his own affairs upon her, even for the purpose of making her feel more at her ease. He might have spared himself that trouble. "That will depend entirely upon your motive in seeking them," he replied. Mrs. Marston flushed again. She was an exceedingly high-spirited woman, one could perceive at a glance, and it galled her beyond expression to have any one make conditions for her like this. "How can it matter to you what my motives are?" she demanded, imperiously. "A physician has no right to betray the confidence of his patients," calmly responded the doctor; "and unless you have some urgent reason for your re quest, I shall not feel at liberty to give you the in formation you desire." "Are you their physician?" "I was, for a time. I was first called to the child not three days after it had been given to them." "How could you tell that it was the same child? Babes of that age look much alike." "Do you suppose that a man in my profession could be so lacking in observation as not to recog nize a babe at whose birth he had officiated, and in which so much of unusual interest seemed to cen ter?" queried Doctor Turner, with a slight curl of his lips. "I knew her the moment I saw her; but 74 FOR LOVE AND HONOR they do not know, to this day, that I had even a sus picion that she was not their own flesh and blood." "You never told them?" said Mrs. Marston, quickly. "Madame," returned the gentleman, with dignity, "need I remind you again that an honorable physi cian never betrays the confidence of his patients. You confided in me to a certain extent, and I knew that you wished to drop entirely out of existence, as far as your relations with the child and its adopted parents were concerned. I knew also that they wished its adoption to remain a secret consequently my lips were sealed." The lady s eyes drooped and all the haughtiness vanished at these words. "Thank you, Doctor Turner, for your considera tion for me, and I am glad, too, that one so con scientious has been intrusted with the care of the child," she said, earnestly. "Is she still living?" "Yes, and as beautiful a young lady as any one would wish to see." Mrs. Marston s face clouded, and a sigh escaped her red lips. Her companion thought it one of re gret and yearning. "Has she been well reared? Has she had ad vantages?" "The very best that money could procure or fond est affection could suggest. Mr. August ah Damon " the doctor caught himself just in sea- FOR LOVE AND HONOR 75 son, for the gentleman s true name had almost es caped him, "has become a rich man, and no parents could have done more for the welfare of their own child then they have done for yours." "Are there other children?" "No; that is, they have none of their own, though I believe they have been giving a poor boy of great promise a home and an education during the last eight or ten years." "Does she the daughter know that she is an adopted child?" Mrs. Marston inquired. "I cannot say positively as to that," Doctor Tur ner replied. "She did not know it a few years ago, and I imagine she has never been told. I hope not, at all events; it would be better for her never to know it," he concluded, with significant emphasis. "Yes," returned his companion, "I suppose it would. But you have not yet told me the name." "And you have not told me your motive in wish ing to learn it." "I do not know that I have any special motive, other than a curiosity and a natural desire to know how my child is living, and how life has dealt with her," the lady answered, musingly. "I was traveling this summer and thought I would take Boston in on my route, ascertain, if I could, the residence of the people to whom my babe had been given, and per haps obtain a glimpse of her." "That is your only motive, your only reason?" 76 FOR LOVE AND HONOR the doctor asked, bending a searching glance upon her handsome face. "It is." "Then pardon me, madame, if I tell you that I do not consider it of sufficient importance to gratify your desire," Doctor Turner returned, gravely. "I can understand and sympathize with you it is but natural that a mother should yearn for her child, even after a separation of more than twenty years; but I know well enough that Mr. Damon would not have withheld his true name from you unless he desired to cut you off from all future knowledge of the child whom you had given him. You also wished to drop entirely out of their orbit, to leave no trace by which they could ever find you, to learn the secret you were so careful to preserve, and they have only aided you by concealing their own identity. If you should put yourself in their way and try to see their daughter, they could not fail to recognize you, as I have done, and it would greatly disturb their peace; while if anything should occur to arouse the young lady s suspicions that she does not really belong to the parents whom she so fondly loves, I am sure it would cause her a great deal of unhappiness, while it might result in inquiries and discoveries that would be embarrassing to yourself." Mrs. Marston sat proudly erect at this, her eyes flashing warningly. "Such inquiries might be embarrassing, it is true, FOR LOVE AND HONOR 77 but they could result in nothing that would bring discredit upon either the child or me," she said, with conscious dignity. "I do not question that, madame, yet it would seem to be the wiser course to let everything rest just as it is," said the physician, thoughtfully. "Perhaps you are right," responded his compan ion, with a sigh, "but I would like to see her." "Allow me to ask, Mrs. Marston," Doctor Tur ner resumed, after a minute of silence, "is your hus band still living?" The woman flushed, a startled, painful crimson, to her brow; then she straightened herself haughtily. "Yes, my husband is living," she icily replied. "And, excuse me, but having been your medical attendant, I feel something of an interest in the case how was he affected by the the loss of his child ?" Doctor Turner knew that he was trespassing on dangerous ground, but, under the circumstances, he felt that he might be pardoned for asking the ques tion. "I do not feel that you have a right to interrogate me thus," Mrs. Marston responded, with some ex citement, "nevertheless, I am somewhat in your power, and "Madame," interrupted the physician, with an air of pride, "you need not go on; if a little bit of your life is in my keeping, I assure you it is in the keeping of a conscientious man. Whatever I may 78 FOR LOVE AND HONOR possess regarding any patient, I could never use it in a dishonorable way." "I beg your pardon, " his companion said, instantly disarmed and secretly ashamed of her sudden anger. "I am very quick, and you touched a sensitive nerve. Doctor Turner, my husband never knew of the birth of that child, and he can never know of it. "You look at me with horror," she proceeded hastily, as she met his astonished gaze, "as if you imagine that I must have been guilty of some great crime; but I have not, unless giving away my babe was one. I was a lawful wife, as I convinced you at the time, and the child had honorable birth, but there were reasons which made it absolutely neces sary that I should conceal my maternity from every one who knew me. I did, from all but my sister, who has since died." "Ah ! then the lady who was with you at the time was your sister. I could not believe her to be simply a maid," the doctor interposed. Mrs. Marston bit her lips with vexation at hav ing thus thoughtlessly committed herself even in so small a point. "Yes," she said, after considering a moment, "she alone knew my secret, and I believed it safe from all the world until I stumbled upon you to-day." "It is safe even now," the physician hastened to assure her. "Believe me, I shall never betray it FOR LOVE AND HONOR 79 you may set your heart wholly at rest upon that point." "Thank you I am very grateful for your past silence, Doctor Turner, and your assurance of future secrecy. I am not a heartless woman, nor devoid of maternal affection," she went on, her lips quivering painfully. "I could have loved my baby as fondly as any mother ever loved her child, if I had been al lowed to open my heart to her; but I could not. I had to steel it against her. I never dared even to allow myself to kiss her until the moment they took her away for fear that I should begin to love her and refuse to part with her. I cannot tell you why I can never explain it to any living being. I am hedged I have always been hedged about by cir cumstances that made it impossible, and as long as I live I must carry the secret locked within my own heart." She stopped for a moment, overcome by the sad memories and emotions which this retrospective glance aroused, while the good doctor felt more gen uine sympathy than he had ever experienced for her over that mysterious occurrence so many years ago. "I will try to be content with what you have told me to-day," she resumed, presently, "although it was my intention, when I came here, to see for my self how my child had been reared. I am glad to know that she has been tenderly shielded by parental love that life has been made bright and beautiful 80 FOR LOVE AND HONOR for her; may it ever be so, and perhaps, some time, in the great future, where there can be no secrets, I may be allowed to recognize and love the daughter which stern fate decreed I could not have in this life." Tears actually arose to the physician s eyes at this little glimpse of the innermost sanctuary of the beau tiful woman s heart; but he marveled more than ever at the terrible secret which must have well-nigh blighted her early life. She looked up, caught his sympathetic glance, and was instantly the proud, self-possessed woman of the world again. "And now, Doctor Turner," she said, rising and drawing her elegant lace mantle about her shapely shoulders. "I trust we may never meet again. If chance should throw us together in the presence of others, I beg, as a personal favor, that you will not recognize me without a formal introduction." "I will not, madame; and for the sake of your peace of mind, I, too, hope that our paths may never again cross," he replied. He accompanied her to the door, where they bowed politely and formally to each other, and then the handsome woman swept out upon the street, as composed and self-possessed as if she had merely been purchasing some trifling article for the toilet, instead of rolling away the stone from a sepulcher FOR LOVE AND HONOR 81 where, for more than twenty years, a corroding se cret had lain concealed. Doctor Turner went back to his private office, where he sat a long time, musing over the wonderful mystery which had stood the test of nearly a quarter of a century, and wondering if he should ever learn the solution to it. "It was the most perplexing, yet romantic, inci dent connected with my whole life as a physician,"" he murmured. "If I could but get at the inside his tory of it I could write a book worth reading. "It was almost too bad," he added, some minutes afterward, "not to tell her about Huntress it is possible no harm would have resulted from the knowledge; but if there had I should have blamed myself. It was better not." He watched the passers in the street for several days, hoping to get another glimpse at his visitor. But he did not he never saw her again. GEOFFREY FINDS A RELIC GEOFFREY HUNTRESS arrived in Santa Fe late one evening, and in the midst of a driving storm, about a week after parting from Jack and Margery Henly. He was glad to seek shelter in the nearest public house, which proved to be an adobe, and was kept by a good-natured Spaniard and his wife, both of whom could speak English passably well. Everything was in the most primitive style, yet comfortable, and the house was a most acceptable refuge from the raging tempest without. Geoffrey slept well, and awoke to find a bright, beautiful morning breaking, and all nature fresh and attractive in its newly washed attire. He ate heartily of the savory breakfast that had been prepared for him, and then started forth in search of the post-office to learn what he could re garding the history of Lock Box 43. He was somewhat disappointed to find that the postmaster was a man only about thirty-five years of 82 FOR LOVE AND HONOR 83 age, and, upon inquiry, learned that he had served in that capacity not more than five or six years. Of course, he knew at once that he could tell him nothing that he wished to know, and he began to fear that his journey hither had been all for naught. "Who was postmaster here before you received your appointment?" he inquired, after making some general talk about the city. "Old Abe Brown, sir, and I only hope I may be as lucky as he was; he held it for more n fifteen years." Geoffrey felt his courage rise at this information. If he could only find old Abe Brown, doubtless he could tell him something interesting about Lock Box 43. "Is he living?" he asked. "Yes, sir, and hale and hearty, too," and going to the door, the obliging postmaster pointed out the rude dwelling which his predecessor occupied. Geoffrey at once bent his steps thither, and was soon knocking at Mr. Brown s door. "Come in," was the somewhat gruff, but hearty invitation, and pushing open the door, which was already ajar, Geoffrey saw an old man of perhaps sixty seated on a rude bench, weaving hats from a bundle of tough grass that lay beside him, while his wife, a woman somewhat younger, sat near him, sewing bands around and putting coarse linings into a pile of finished hats. "Come in, stranger, come in!" repeated the man, 84- FOR LOVE AND HONOR as Geoffrey paused upon the threshold; "don t stand on ceremony, cause we can t, for we ve got to get this case of hats off before dinner, and we ll have to work right smart to do it, too. Have a chair, sir; guess, though, you don t belong in these parts," and the old man gave the younger one a searching glance from a pair of keen eyes that gleamed beneath his shaggy, overhanging brows. "No, sir, I do not belong here; I am a stranger," Geoffrey answered, as he entered the room and took the chair indicated. "I was directed hither to make inquiries regarding some circumstances connected with your services as postmaster several years ago." "Eh!" ejaculated Mr. Brown, in an astonished tone, and suspending his employment to eye his vis itor with an indignant glance, while his wife turned a pale, startled face to him. Geoffrey smiled, as he realized that they imagined he had come in an official capacity. "My inquiries are of a strictly private nature, and relate to a gentleman for whom I am searching," he explained to relieve their anxiety. "All right; fire away then, lad," returned Mr. Brown, coolly resuming his work, "I thought if them chaps at Washington had sent any one down here at this late day to rake over old coals it was mighty queer, for there wasn t a single dis-crip-ancy from the time I went into the office till I came out. Old FOR LOVE AND HONOR 85 Abe Brown is honest if he ain t handsome," he con cluded, with a merry twinkle in his eye. "I do not doubt it, sir," Geoffrey replied, with a quiet laugh, "but I wish to ask you if you remember a man who hired Lock Box 43 for several years in succession during your term, and who had his letters, or, at least, some of them, directed simply with that inscription?" "Yes, sir, I do remember him a tall, handsome chap, with blue eyes, and brown hair, and he had the finest beard I ever saw on a man, the first time I saw him; he had it all shaved off, though, after a while, I say, stranger, I reckon he must have been some thing to you, for I m bless d if you don t look like him!" The man dropped his hat upon this discovery, and leaned forward for a better view of Geoffrey. "Go on, if you please," the young man said, briefly. "Well, as I said, I remember him: I don t often forget anybody that I ve ever had any dealings with," Mr. Brown resumed. "He was a generous fellow, too; had plenty of money, and scattered it right and left like a prince. It was a curious con ceit, though, his having his letters sent just to the box some of em; they didn t all come that way." "No?" cried Geoffrey, eagerly. "To whom were they directed? What was his name?" "Well, now," said the old man, again laying down 86 FOR LOVE AND HONOR his hat, and scratching his head meditatively. "I shouldn t wonder if you d got me this time. I m pretty good at spotting a face, but when it comes to names and figures unless somebody happens to be owing me" he interposed, with a sly smile, "I don t amount to much. Pears to me, though, his first name was William William hum ! I don t know William something; and there was a general or captain I can t remember which tacked on to it besides." "Was his last name Dale, do you think?" Geof frey asked. Mr. Brown shook his head doubtfully. "I couldn t swear twas, or twasn t," he said. "Somehow, that don t strike me as sounding just natural I ve a notion there was more to it." "I am very anxious to know it, and would be will ing to give a great deal to be sure of it. Could you find out in any way what it was?" the young man in quired, anxiously. "I don t believe there s a single soul in Santa Fe to-day who was here as long ago as that, except my wife here. Maria, do you remember that handsome gentleman who used to have Lock Box 43 ?" the old man asked, turning to his wife. "I used to see him now and then when I helped you, in the office, but I ve forgotten his name, if I ever heard it," the woman replied, in a quiet tone. "But," she added, a moment later, as if some thought FOR LOVE AND HONOR 87 had suddenly occurred to her, "didn t you find some thing once that he lost?" "LorM yes; so I did. But I d never thought of it again if you hadn t mentioned it, and there s some thing marked on it, too. Perhaps that ll tell the young man what he wants to know." Mr. Brown laid down his work, and rising, turned toward an old-fashioned secretary that stood in one corner of the room. But he suddenly stopped, and looked searchingly at Geoffrey. "I hope, if you find out what you want to know here, it ain t going to get the gentleman into any trouble," he said; "he was a god friend to me, and I should hate to do him an ill turn." "You need not fear," Geoffrey answered, thinking it best to deal frankly with these honest people; "the man was my father at least, I have strong reasons for believing so; he disappeared several years ago, and my object in coming to you is simply to try to get some clew that will help me to trace him." "I m afraid, sir, you ve come to a poor place to find out very much," Mr. Brown remarked, and ap parently satisfied with his visitor s explanation. He proceeded to the secretary, opened one of its drawers, and took an old leather wallet from it. Unstrapping this, he laid it open before him, and after searching some time in its various pockets, he drew forth something wrapped in brown paper. .bS FOR LOVE AND HONOR This he carried to Geoffrey, and laid it in his hand. "There you have it, and it s the best I can do for you," he said. The young man quickly removed the paper, and found a portion of a golden charm or emblem; in the form of a knight-templar s cross; very hand somely enameled and engraven. It had been broken diagonally across, the left and lower arms com prising the portion which the post master had found. Geoffrey turned it over and found the name "William" all but the last letter en graved on the back, something after the fashion of the accompanying diagram. The "m," and probably the surname of the owner was to be found on the other half of the cross, wher ever that might be. The young man sighed wearily, for if this was all the information which he was to obtain from his visit to Santa Fe, he would be as much in the dark as ever. "Where did you find this?" he asked, at length, turning to Mr. Brown. "On the floor, just under his box." "Was he in the habit of wearing an emblem of .this kind?" "Yes, sir; he had a fine one on his watch-chain, but it wasn t like that," said Mr. Brown. FOR LOVE AND HONOR 89 "Then how do you know that he lost this? It might have belonged to some one else." "No; I am sure it was his, for I found it just after he d been into the office to look after his letters, and there hadn t been another soul in the room for nigh an hour. I reckon it was one of them things like what he wore, that had been broken, and he tucked it into his pocket and it fell out when he took out his keys to unlock his box," Mr. Brown explained. "That might have been the way of it," Geoffrey said, thoughtfully. "I went to the door to call him back," the old gentleman continued; "but he d got out of sight, so I put it away, thinking I d give it to him the next time he came, and if you ll believe it, I ve never set eyes on him from that day to this." "Did he never come again?" Geoffrey asked, sur prised. "Yes, twice, though there was a good while be tween; but, as it chanced, I was away both times, and of course the boy I hired to help me and take my place at such times the same one that s there now didn t know him. The last visit he made he gave up his keys." "How long ago was that?" "That must have been as many as fifteen years ago, I should say; I can t just remember, though," replied Mr. Brown. Geoffrey reasoned that probably his father had 90 FOR LOVE AND HONOR visited the place while on his way back from Cali fornia, after he had been to make inquiries regard ing his own mysterious disappearance, and having despaired of ever gaining any knowledge of him through Lock Box 43, had surrendered his keys. "Did he ever reside here in Santa Fe?" he asked. "I don t think he did, sir he always looked as if he came from a distance, and he didn t come reg ular, either. I used to think he was up among the mines in the mountains." "Did he receive many letters through this office?" "At first he did, but not more n three or four the last year or two, and I was to let them lay until they were come for. When he come last he said he was goin to leave this country altogether." "It is very strange," mused Geoffrey, as he sat turning over that little piece of gold and enamel. "If it could but speak," he thought, "all my trouble and search would be over." "Will you sell me this little relic?" he asked, at last, turning to the ex-postmaster. "Bless you ! no, sir. I shouldn t think of selling it to anybody; but if you re that man s son, as you say, it s yours by right, and you can have it and welcome." Geoffrey thanked the honest old gentleman heart ily for it and his kindness in answering his inquiries, and then arose to take his leave. He picked up one of the hats that Mrs. Brown had just completed, asking if she woulcfmake him FOR LOVE AND HONOR 91 one and have it ready by the time he got around to Santa Fe again. She said she would, and at his request named the price. Geoffrey dropped a golden coin into her hand, re marking, with a smile, that she could give him the change when he came for the hat, or if he didn t come by the end of six weeks she would be entitled to the whole of it. He took this way to make these good people a little present without wounding their feelings, for he had no intention of ever returning to Santa Fe. He was very much depressed by his failure to ob tain any definite information regarding his father, and he found it hard to be reconciled to the fact that the ex-postmaster could not remember the name which it was so important he should learn. He attached very little significance to the finding of the broken cross, for it proved nothing; still he put it carefully away, resolving to keep it as a curious relic. But it was destined, insignificant as it seemed, to play an important part in the chain of evidence that was eventually to prove his identity. It was the middle of September when he reached Saratoga again, where he found Mr. and Mrs. Hunt ress and Gladys, all impatient over his long absence, and overjoyed at his return. They had remained 92 FOR LOVE AND HONOR there far beyond the date they had intended, and they had only waited for his coming to go home. They left immediately and arrived in Brooklyn the twentieth of the month, and were all delighted to be beneath their own "vine and fig tree" once more. When Geoffrey told Mr. Huntress how fruitless had been his search, except for what he had learned from the Henlys, he replied, as he laid his hand affectionately on the young man s shoulder: "For your sake, Geoff, I am sorry, for I know that you are sensitive regarding the subject of your parentage; but for my part, my boy, I am content, for I am free to own that I should feel a trifle jeal ous of any other man who should claim you and occupy the place of a father toward you." All this was very pleasant to Geoffrey, but he knew that nothing would ever satisfy him until he could learn the whole secret; and he was now con vinced that there was a carefully guarded secret re garding his birth. The week following the return of the family to Brooklyn, Mr. Huntress came home from his office somewhat earlier than usual, and drawing Geoffrey into the library, he said: "Geoff, you have had a good deal to say about business this summer; how would you like to get into something right away?" The young man s face was instantly all aglow. FOR LOVE AND HONOR 93 "First rate," he replied, eagerly. "I don t care how soon I begin to do something for myself. I ve been an idler long enough." 4 An idler ! good gracious ! Geoff, I wonder what your idea of work is, if you have been idle during the last four years I" exclaimed Mr. Huntress, with elevated brows. "Well, I mean that I ve been dependent long enough," Geoffrey corrected. "Now, my boy, you couldn t hurt me worse than to talk like that. I have been paid a dozen times over, for all you have cost me, in the pride I ve taken in you," his friend replied, reproachfully. "My debt is a heavy one all the same, Uncle Au gust one that I can never pay though I shall never cease to be grateful for your kindness. But about this business prospect, what is it?" "Well, you see, the firm wants me to go to Eu rope," began Mr. Huntress, "to look after some of our interest there, which have been causing us some anxiety of late; but I have a perfect horror of the sea, and can t make up my mind to take the voyage. No one else can be spared, and so, if I cannot get a substitute, I suppose I shall have to screw my cour age up to it somehow. Now, any man of ordinary intelligence can transact the business the chief requisites are energy, honesty, and interest and I want you to go in any place, Geoff. Your business 94 FOR LOVE AND HONOR career and your salary shall commence from the mo ment you give me your decision." Geoffrey was all enthusiasm at the proposition, most delightful to him both as regarded business and the European trip, which had always been a coveted pleasure. "I should like the trip, and more than all, I should like the business, if you think me competent to trans act it," he said. "Here I have been racking my brains all summer to try to think of something to set myself about, and now it comes to me without an effort." "You ll find that it will require effort enough be fore you get through," returned Mr. Huntress, smil ing; "but it is a great relief to my mind to have you willing to undertake it. The only drawback," he added, growing serious, "is that Gladys may object to your running off in this unceremonious style, and for such a long trip; it would take five or six months to do all we want done." Geoffrey s face fell at this. In the enthusiasm of the moment over having some real business, he had not thought of this sepa ration, and he knew well enough that Gladys would be very much opposed to it. "True," he began, and then stopped. "Gladys will surely oppose it with all her will," said Mr. Huntress, observing him closely. Geoffrey made no reply, he was schooling him- FOR LOVE AND HONOR 95 self to do his duty. He believed that he had no right to refuse this golden opportunity. "I wonder," mused Mr. Huntress, a sly smile curling the corners of his mouth, "how it would do to let Gladys go with you ; she has always been sigh ing for European travel." Geoffrey sat erect in his chair, as if suddenly gal vanized, and shot a look of astonishment at his companion. "Uncle August! you know that wouldn t do at all, unless Aunt Alice should accompany us," he said, in confusion. Mr. Huntress burst into a hearty laugh. "I imagine it could be managed without depriv ing me of my wife as well as my daughter. How would it do to have that young lady go along as as Mrs. Geoffrey Dale Huntress?" CHAPTER VIII A WEDDING IN PROSPECT AT that moment a servant appeared at the door and was about to enter upon some trifling errand. Seeing the eager, intent look upon the faces of both men, she quietly withdrew, unobserved. Geoffrey sat up, amazed. "Surely you cannot mean that that Gladys is to go as my wife?" he exclaimed, flushing hotly. "And why not ? You expect to marry Gladys some time," was the calm reply. "Yes, I hope so, Uncle August; but I am not now in a position to properly take care of a wife." "But we are going to pay you a good salary and defray your traveling expenses also, if you go abroad for us," said Mr. Huntress. "You will have to be away for several months, and I know that Gladys will grieve sadly over the separation. I have given the subject a good deal of thought; and I have talked it over with mother. Gladys wants a trip abroad, we want her to have it, too, and neither of us feels like crossing the ocean; therefore we have decided that the best arrangement, for all parties, will be to have 96 FOR LOVE AND HONOR 97 a wedding and send you two off together on a bridal trip. Of course we shall miss our daughter we shall miss you both for that matter; but the earlier you go the sooner we shall have you back again. What do you think of the proposition?" "Nothing could give me greater happiness than to have my dearest hopes realized in this unexpected manner; but I had made up my mind not to claim the fulfillment of Gladys promise to me until I could make a place for myself in the world, and provide a generous support for her," Geoffrey replied, with still heightened color. "Nonsense !" began Mr. Huntress, and then sud denly checked himself. "No, it isn t nonsense, either," he added, "such a resolve was both a wise and a noble one, and worthy of you, Geoff. Under different circumstances I should feel that it would be wiser for you to wait until you were established in some profitable business. Somebody, however, must go abroad for the firm. I do not want to, neither of the other partners can leave, and so we have agreed to send some one in my place. Besides this, I am what would be termed a rich man, though I haven t as much as the Astors or Vanderbilts, and all that I have will some day belong to Gladys except a little slice that I had made up my mind to lay aside for you and she may as well begin to reap the benefit of it now. I want her to see the old country; she is just fresh from school, and in the 98 FOR LOVE AND HONOR right trim and mood to enjoy it; she would grieve and mope to have you go and leave her behind, so 1 want you to go together. I know that you would have a jolly time of it. So we will have a little knot tied beforehand, to make everything all right and proper, and then you may enjoy your honeymoon to your heart s content." Geoffrey s heart was beating with great, heavy throbs of joy over these plans. No thought of any such delightful scheme had for an instant entered his mind; indeed, he had feared that it would be a long time before he should feel that he had a right to ask Gladys to be his wife, and now every obstacle had been removed, and an easy path to the very summit of his hopes laid out for him. "Well, Geoff," continued Mr. Huntress, who had been watching him while something of this was pass ing through his brain, "what lies heavy on your mind now? You look as somber as if I had been plotting to separate a pair of lovers, instead of giving them to each other with my fondest blessing." Geoffrey looked up with gleaming eyes. "I am anything but somber over your proposi tion, Uncle August. I am simply trying to realize my great happiness," he said, in a voice that vibrated with joy; "but what will Gladys herself say to this plan?" "Go ask her, my boy. I ll bet a big apple she 99 won t say no," returned the gentleman, with a sly wink and a chuckle. "Hold on a minute, though, Geoff," he added, as the young man sprang to his feet to obey him, "I want to tell you a little more about the business part of the plan, before you get immersed in the love-ly part of it. You ve three months yet before you, as we do not want you to sail before the last of December, or the first of January rather cold weather for a pleasure trip across the Atlantic, eh?" and he shivered at the thought; "but we can t have everything just as we want it. Another thing; owing to some details connected with our Bos ton house, you will be obliged to sail from that city instead of going direct from New York." "We occasionally have some very pleasant weather in January; perhaps the fates will be pro pitious and give us a pleasant passage," said Geof frey, smiling; "besides, I think I have heard that some of those Boston steamers are fully as com fortable and safe as those running from New York." "Well, comfort yourself all you can, my boy. I don t envy you, however," retorted the elder gentle man, with a grimace. "Meantime," he continued, "we shall want you over at the office to receive in structions and gain a little knowledge regarding your duties on the other side." "I do not care how soon you set me at work," Geoffrey eagerly replied, for he was longing with all his heart to become a man of business, and to feel 100 FOR LOVE AND HONOR that he was really doing something toward provid ing for his bride. "I imagine that we shall all have enough to do if there is to be a wedding," said Mr. Huntress, smil ing, "for mother and I want to marry our only daughter off in good shape, you know. There, that is all just now; you may go and find out how Gladys feels about it." Geoffrey departed with a bounding heart, yet hardly able to realize the good fortune that had so unexpectedly fallen to his lot. He found Gladys in the music-room, running through some new pieces which he had purchased for her the day before. He went up to her, captured the two small hands that were evoking such sweet strains from the piano, and drew her to a small sofa that stood near. "My darling, I have a very important communi cation to make to you," he said, bending toward her and fondly touching her forehead with his lips. " Very important? " she repeated, archly. "You look as if it was very pleasant, too." "It is to me, and I hope it will prove the same to you. What do you suppose our paterfamilias has been proposing to me this morning?" the young man asked, with a luminous face. The beautiful girl thought a moment before reply ing, the quick color leaping to her cheeks. "I believe I can guess it!" she exclaimed, clasping FOR LOVE AND HONOR 101 her hands with a gesture of delight. "Oh, Geoffrey, is he going to take us all to Europe? That is it!" she added, exultantly. "I know by your tell-tale face. How perfectly charming!" Geoffrey smiled wisely. "You have guessed too much and too little, my sunbeam," he said. "What a paradoxical statement, my learned Bachelor of Arts ! I expected better things of you," retorted Gladys, merrily. "You have yet to find my statement true, in spite of the seeming paradox," he replied, with mock dig nity. "Somebody is going to Europe we are not all going, however." "Oh, Geoff! you are not to be left at home, are you?" cried his betrothed, in a disappointed tone, her face paling at the thought. "Guess again, my lady," he said, teasingly. "Well, I know that papa would not go without mamma, and I am sure she would never cross the ocean without him, and they certainly would not take such a trip and leave me behind," responded Gladys, with a puzzled air. Plato, thou reasonest well, " quoted Geoffrey, an amused twinkle in his eyes; "and not to keep you longer in suspense, I will inform you that Uncle August has some business abroad, which, as he can not make up his mind to the voyage, he thinks I can attend to, and he has proposed that I take you 102 FOR LOVE AND HONOR along with me. We are to have a six-months trip, combine business with pleasure, and get all the en joyment we can out of it." Gladys gave one startled, astonished glance at her lover s face as he concluded, and then her face, clouded and her eyes drooped beneath his. "Did papa propose that to you?" she asked, in a low tone, a burning blush suffusing her face. "Yes, dear. He said you had long wanted to go abroad, and he thought this would be a fine oppor tunity for both of us. Doesn t the idea please you?" Geoffrey knew well enough what was passing in her mind, but he was so jubilant and so confident of the issue of the interview that a spirit of mischief possessed him to tease her a little. "I should love to go abroad I have always longed to go, as papa says," Gladys answered, gravely, and with still downcast eyes; "but I do not think I can go without papa and mamma." "Why?" returned Geoffrey, in a pretended sur prise. "Uncle August thought, as you and I were both fresh from school, we should appreciate and enjoy the sight-seeing much better to go together." "It would be lovely, but Geoff, you know I can not go so," she persisted, with a crimson face, and a suspicious tremor in her voice. He gathered her close in his arms, and laid her head against his breast. "Darling, forgive me for teasing you," he said. FOR LOVE AND HONOR 103 "Of course, you cannot go so ; but, Gladys, will you go with me as my wife?" He could feel the quick bounding of her heart at this unexpected proposition, and he knew well enough that she would raise no more objections to the trip abroad. He then repeated the conversation that had passed between her father and himself that morning, telling her how surprised he had been at the plan, and how, at first, he had hardly felt it right to adopt it, con sidering his rather doubtful position in life. Still, he had reasoned, if he could save Mr. Huntress from a dreaded journey in the dead of winter, and if his services were to be worth the generous sum he had named as his salary, he might feel justified in waiving his own scruples and in accepting the great happiness offered him, though he never would have dreamed of proposing such a measure himself. "My Gladys," he said, in conclusion, "it is very sudden, and there is only a little time before I must go. Will you come with me, or must I go by my self?" There was a minute of silence, then Gladys raised her head, and laid her lips softly against her lover s cheek. "Under such circumstances, you may be very sure that I shall not let you go alone," she murmured, with a happy little laugh,, FOR LOVE AND HONOR His arms closed more fondly about her. He bent and kissed her lips, his face radiant with joy. "Oh! my darling, who would have believed eight or nine years ago that such happiness could fall to the lot of the poor boy whom you rescued from a mob in the street," he said, in a tremulous tone. They discussed their anticipated trip fully and freely after this, laid out their route, and formed many a pleasant plan for the coming years. The whole family held a council that evening, and it was decided that preparations for the wedding should be entered upon immediately, and that the marriage should occur just previous to the sailing of the steamer on which the young couple would em bark for Europe. Mr. and Mrs. Huntress found it somewhat trying to contemplate the loneliness which they knew would follow the departure of their children, but they be lieved that the arrangement would be for their in terest and happiness, and they would not mar their joy by giving expression to any feeling of sorrow or regret. Geoffrey at once entered upon his duties, and with an enthusiasm and energy that promised well for the future; while Mrs. Huntress and Gladys busied themselves about the interesting mysteries of a wed ding trousseau and preparations for the grand re ception, that was to follow the marriage ceremony in FOR LOVE AND HONOR 105 Plymouth Church somewhere about the last of De cember or the first of January. While all these events were transpiring in Brook lyn, Everet Mapleson was living in a state of de pression and unrest in his beautiful home near Rich mond. After his trip to that mining district in New Mex ico, where he had visited the grave and former home of Annie Dale, he returned immediately to Vue de 1 Eau, where he remained, appearing very little like the free-and-easy student who had been so full of life and hope at the conclusion of his college course. Colonel Mapleson and his wife returned from Newport about the same time, and both wondered what could have occurred to change their son thus in so short a time. Mrs. Mapleson attributed it to his hopeless at tachment to the beautiful girl whom she had seen at Yale, and for whom Everet had confessed his love; but she could not get one word from him on the subject, although she had tried to gain his confidence upon several occasions. "Father," said the young man, coming into the library one morning, after the household had set tled into its usual routine, "while you were away I visited the Hermitage, and made a singular discov ery there." 106 FOR LOVE AND HONOR "Ah ! I imagined everything of a singular char acter had disappeared from that place when Robert Dale departed this life. What was the nature of your discovery, pray?" Colonel Mapleson remarked, looking up from the newspaper that he was reading, and removing his spectacles. Everet described his visit to the place, told of his energetic blow upon the desk and its results, and then produced the package of certificates and the pic ture which he had found, to prove his statements. "Well, this is a singular discovery, I confess," said his father, when he had finished. "Let me have a look at that picture." He held out his hand, and upon receiving it he turned to the light to examine it. "Yes, this must be a likeness of Mrs. Dale; it re sembles her strikingly, although she was greatly changed, and this must have been taken many years previous to my acquaintance with her." "Then you knew her?" said his son. "Oh, yes; I ve eaten many a fine cookie baked by her hands during my boyhood," replied Colonel Ma pleson, musingly. "Poor Robert Dale! so he treas ured his love for her as long as he lived!" "And he has left all his money to her daughter," said Everet, touching the package of certificates that lay on the table. "It would have been more to the purpose if he had given the family some of it while they were suffering FOR LOVE AND HONOR 107 the stings of poverty," Colonel Mapleson remarked, his attention still riveted upon the picture. "Did you know the daughter?" Everet inquired. "Yes; I had some acquaintance with her." "Were they so very poor?" "Well, they had a pretty hard time of it, I reckon, for a while; but I did not realize it at the time, for I was very young, only visited Uncle Jabez during my vacation; you know he sent me to Baltimore to school. Uncle Jabez gave them a cottage rent free, and gave them something besides to help eke out a small annuity that Mrs. Dale had, and that was all they had to live upon until they opened a small pri vate school. After I came into possession of the estate I allowed them to remain in the cottage, the same as before, although they would not accept from me the money that they had received from Uncle Jabez; they were very proud." "Then that cottage belongs to you?" Everet re marked. "Yes." "Has it ever been occupied since the Dales left it?" "No." "To whom does the furniture belong?" "How do you know that it is furnished?" Colonel Mapleson asked, turning around and glancing sharply at his son. Everet colored. 108 FOR LOVE AND HONOR "I was riding by there, one day, and felt a curi osity to look inside the house " "But the curtains are all drawn," interrupted his father. "True; but I managed to get a glimpse for all that," the young man returned, lightly, although he did not care to tell just how he had learned that the house was furnished. "By the way," he continued, "there is some strange story about the disappearance of Mrs. Dale s daughter, isn t there?" "Yes, I believe so; she went away somewhere to get a place as governess, and, as she never came back, people imagined there was some mystery about it" "What is your theory regarding it?" Everet asked. "My theory? I don t know as I have any; I was away traveling at the time. She may have gone as governess into some family, who afterward went abroad, taking her with them; or, what is more likely, she may have married and removed to some distant portion of the country." "One would suppose that she would have wished to dispose of the furniture in her home before going away permanently," Everet observed. "Oh, the furniture belongs with the cottage didn t I tell you?" replied his father. "No, you didn t," said Everet, drily, and think ing old Jabez Mapleson must have been pretty lav ish with his money to have furnished the cottage in FOR LOVE AND HONOR 109 such a luxurious style for his poor relatives. "At all events," he continued, "it is strange that she did not communicate her plans, whatever they were, to some one whom she had known, isn t it?" "Well, perhaps; but it seems to me that you are strangely interested in the fate of this girl, Ev," and his father turned about again and looked him squarely in the face, as he said this. Again the young man colored. "I don t see anything very remarkable about it, when I have just discovered a fortune for her," he replied, after a moment of hesitation. "Well, no; there is something in that argument, surely," returned his father, in a tone of conviction. "How much does it amount to?" and Colonel Ma- pleson took up the certificates and began to examine them. CHAPTER IX ROBERT DALE S WILL BROUGHT TO LIGHT HE looked each paper carefully through, writing down the amounts represented, and finally adding them to find the sum. "Well, it makes quite a handsome little fortune, when we take into consideration the fact that it has been accumulating all these years," he said, as he pushed toward his son the paper upon which he had been figuring. "And yet," he added, "I know that this cannot represent one-half of Robert Dale s for tune. What can have become of the rest?" "He may have given it away during his life," Ev- eret suggested. "Possibly; and yet I do not believe it," said Colonel Mapleson, thoughtfully. "He was a strange character, as the hiding of these documents proves, and I am convinced there are more concealed some where else." "I do not see what the man could have been think ing of, if he was in his right mind, to hide his prop erty in such a way, without leaving some clew to it ! How could he expect his heir would ever be benefited 110 FOR LOVE AND HONOR 111 by his money, when what represented it was con cealed in that secret compartment?" said Everet, impatiently. "That is a question, and the act was only one of the many queer things that made the man what he was," replied his father. "What will you do with these papers?" the young man inquired. "I do not know what to do with them," returned the colonel, a perplexed frown on his brow. "Who would inherit the property in case the di rect legatee cannot be found?" "I suppose I am the nearest of kin," said Colonel Mapleson. "It was so decided when the question as to who should inherit the Hermitage and land be longing to him, came up after his death." "Then all this money will be yours also, if neither Annie Dale nor any of her heirs can be found?" said Everet, with suppressed eagerness. "I suppose it will; but " "But what?" "I do not want it, Everet; I have enough without it. I would much prefer that the rightful heir should have it." "I suppose you will advertise for Annie Dale, or for her nearest of kin?" Everet said, bending a keen look upon his father. "I don t know. I shall have to think the matter FOR LOVE AND HONOR over first perhaps consult my lawyer about it," Colonel Mapleson replied, meditatively. He fell into deep thought, and neither spoke for several minutes. At length the colonel glanced up at the clock. "Well," he remarked, with a sigh, "I have busi ness to attend to, and I must be off." He arose, gathered up the papers, carefully wrap ping them all together, then, locking them into a drawer of his desk, he abruptly left the room. Everet sat there for more than an hour afterward, his head bowed upon his hand, thinking deeply, his brow contracted, his whole face wearing a perplexed and troubled look. At length, he, too, left the house, ordered his horse, and rode away in the direction of the old mill. Reaching the Dale cottage, which was evidently his destination, he dismounted, fastened his horse, and then bent his steps around to the back door, in tending to force an entrance, as before; and yet, if any one had asked the question, he could not have told why he had come there again. But, as he was passing the window of the little bedroom, he was sure that he saw one of the cur tains move. "Aha!" he said to himself; "either a mouse or some human being was the cause of that. I do not believe there is anything inside that empty house to attract a hungry mouse, so I will be cautious in mv FOR LOVE AND HONOR 113 movements, and maybe I shall make a discovery of some kind." He slipped off his low shoes, stepped noiselessly upon the veranda, keeping out of the range of the window so as not to cast a shadow within the room, and crept close up to the low sill. The curtain had been thrust aside a trifle, so that he could easily see the interior of the room, and he beheld that which riveted him, spellbound, to the spot, and drove every drop of blood to his heart. He saw his father sitting close beside the window, so close that his lightest movement caused one of his arms to hit the curtain. On the floor, before him, there stood an open trunk, of medium size, which, apparently, had been pulled from beneath the bed, and from which Colonel Mapleson had taken a portfolio, while he was ab sorbed in looking over a package of letters which it contained. He was very pale, and his son could perceive traces of deep emotion on his face, which seemed to have grown strangely old during the last two hours. The young man drew back, after that one look, the color all gone from his own face, and his lips strangely compressed. Without making the slightest noise, he stole from the veranda picked up his shoes, and hurried from the place. Outside the gate, he paused long enough to re- 114 FOR LOVE AND HONOR place his shoes on his feet, when he again mounted his horse, and rode quietly away. Half an hour later Colonel Mapleson emerged from the front door of the cottage, and, after look ing cautiously around, as if he was afraid of being observed, he passed quickly down the steps, out of the gate, carefully closing it after him, and then strode rapidly toward a thick growth of trees and bushes, behind which he had fastened his horse. Springing into his saddle, he spoke sharply to the animal, and rode away at a brisk trot in the op posite direction from that which Everet had taken a little while before. But at the end of a mile or so, he turned abruptly into another cart-path, and, after nearly an hour s ride, came in sight of the Hermitage. Dismounting, he led his horse behind the house into the dilapidated stable, where he would be shel tered and concealed from sight, if any one chanced to pass that way, and then he made his own way inside the Hermitage. It was evident, from all his movements, that he had come there with some settled purpose, for he drew a hammer and chisel from one of his pockets, and then commenced a systematic examination of the room that had been Robert Dale s sanctum. But it proved to be a rather discouraging under taking, for there was very little about the room to FOR LOVE AND HONOR 115 suggest a place of concealment for anything of a valuable character. There was so little woodwork about the house that there was not much chance for secret panels or closets. The doors were of oak solid oak, for he tested them thoroughly with his hammer. The book cases offered not the slightest evidence of any hiding- place; the desk he examined several times, finding the compartment of which Everet had told him, but no other, although he critically examined every por tion of it. The floor was of brick, paved in herringbone pat terns, but there was no indication that a single brick had ever been removed for any purpose whatever, although he inspected the whole surface with the utmost care. At last, wearied out with his fruitless efforts, he sat down in the chair before the desk, to rest and to think. "I am confident," he muttered, "that the man must have made a will, and that there are other papers existing, representing a large amount of prop erty. I believe he cunningly concealed them during his lifetime, thinking that when he came to die he would have warning enough to enable him to con fide his secret to some trustworthy person." He looked up at the ceiling; he closely scrutinized the window-casings and the fireplace. But there wasn t a crack nor a crevice that promised a revela tion of any kind. 116 FOR LOVE AND HONOR Suddenly an idea struck him, and he hastily arose from his chair. It was a stout office-chair, cushioned with leather that was nailed to the frame. He turned it bottom- side up. Nothing but solid wood met his gaze. He set it upright again and passed his hand over the cushion. It was springless and to all appearance had never been disturbed since it was first nailed to the chair. After thinking a moment, Colonel Mapleson took his jack-knife from his pocket and deliberately cut the cover entirely off. Only a scant layer of curled hair lay beneath, closely matted and filled with dust. He removed this, and instantly an excalamation of satisfaction escaped him, for there, in the bottom of the chair, he had discovered a square lid, so cunningly and smoothly fitted in its place that no one would ever have suspected it was there. A tiny leather strap indicated how it was to be lifted from its place. He eagerly removed it, and, underneath, discovered a small japanned trunk about twelve inches square. It was the work of but a moment to take it from its cunning place of concealment, where it had lain undisturbed for so many years, and set it upon the desk before him. Then he sat down again, and gravely looked at it, FOR LOVE AND HONOR 117 while he actually trembled with excitement, and drops of perspiration stood all over his face. It was strange that the unearthing of another man s secrets should affect him thus, and it almost seemed as if he shrank with a sort of superstitious terror from examining the contents of that inoffen sive-looking trunk. At length he raised the hasp, and threw back the lid. The first thing that met his eye was a docu ment labeled, "Will of Robert Dale," with the date, showing that it had been made only a few years pre vious to the man s death. Wtih a slight shiver of repugnance, Colonel Ma- pleson laid it unopened on the desk. Underneath he found several bank-books and cer tificates, all in Robert Dale s name. Then, to his astonishment, he found a lady s kid glove that once had been white; a handkerchief, fine and sheer, edged with soft lace, and marked with the initials, "N. D.," worked in with hair. A little package, containing a few faded flowers, lay at the bottom of the trunk, and the secret of Robert Dale s hermit life, and of the disposal of his property, was a secret no longer. An examination of the bank-books and certificates revealed the fact that many thousands of dollars would fall to Robert Dale s heir or heirs, whoever they might be, and that point doubtless the will would settle. Colonel Mapleson replaced the contents of the 118 FOR LOVE AND HONOR trunk just as he had found them, until he came to the will, which he held irresolutely in his hands for a long time, and apparently absorbed in thought. "Somebody has to know first or last," he at length muttered, with a long-drawn sigh, but he shivered with a sort of nervous dread as he unfolded the docu ment, which was not sealed, and began to read it. It was very brief and comprehensive, bequeathing all that the testator possessed, unreservedly, to "Annie Dale and her heirs forever," and naming as his executor a certain man residing in Richmond Richard Douglas, to whom alone had been confided the secret of the concealment of the will and other papers. "Ah!" said Colonel Mapleson, "this accounts for their never having been discovered before. Richard Douglas was very ill at the time of Robert Dale s death, and was himself buried only a week later." There was a codicil to the will, mentioning some later deposits which had been made in the name of Annie Dale, "certificates of which would be found be neath a movable panel in one end of the writer s desk, there being no room for them in the trunk with the others." Colonel Mapleson looked greatly disturbed when he finished reading the document. "It would have been better for me had a mountain fallen upon me, than the duty which this discovery imposes," he groaned, as he laid it back in its place FOR LOVE AND HONOR 119 and closed the trunk. "I must either do it, or com mit a crime by withholding a fortune from the lawful heir." He fell into a profound reverie, which lasted until the sun went down and the light began to grow dim and the air chill within that lonely dwelling. An impatient and prolonged whinny from his horse at length aroused him from his painful mus ings, when he arose, and, taking the trunk with him, he left the house, brought forth his horse from his long fast, and started on his homeward way. It was quite dark when he reached Vue de 1 Eau, and, by exercising a little caution, he managed to effect an entrance to his library unobserved, where he immediately concealed the trophy which he had that day discovered. While Colonel Mapleson had been engaged with his laborious search at the Hermitage, his son was earnestly pursuing investigations elsewhere. After stealing noiselessly away from the cottage, where he had discovered his father within it looking over that trunk, he only proceeded as far as the old mill, where he again dismounted, and leading his horse beneath a shed that was attached to it, and which was so thickly overgrown with vines that it made a very secure hiding-place, he fastened him to a post, after which he climbed the stairs to the main 120 FOR LOVE AND HONOR portion of the crazy structure, and remained there, watching until he saw Colonel Mapleson leave the cottage, and when he was well out of sight he stole back to the mysterious little house, resolved not to leave it again until he, too, had seen the contents of that hitherto unsuspected trunk, and learned the secret of its being there. He effected an entrance the same way that he had done before by shaking loose the bolt on the kitchen door made his way to the bedroom, lifted the valance of the couch and looked eagerly be neath it. The trunk was there. It was the work of but a moment to pull it forth from its hiding-place, but it was not so easy to open it. He pried patiently at the lock for a long time be fore he succeeded in forcing it; but it gave way at last, and, with a thrill of expectation, mingled with something of awe and dread, he laid back the lid to examine the contents. It was packed full of clothing. There were dainty dresses of different materials silk, and wool, and muslin. There were mantels and jackets, with underclothing, finely embroidered and trimmed with lace, besides many other accessories of a refined lady s toilet. There were pretty boxes filled with laces, ribbons, handkerchiefs, and gloves. There was a small jewel casket, in which there were FOR LOVE AND HONOR 121 a few but expensive articles of jewelry a watch- case, containing a small enameled and jeweled watch and chain, and many other articles in that closely packed trunk. But Everet cared for none of these things; he was hunting for, and at last he found, that portfolio over which his father had been so much absorbed, and he seized it with an air of triumph, for he believed it must contain the solution of the secret which of late had caused him many sleepless nights and anxious days. CHAPTER X TWO LETTERS THE portfolio was not locked, and within it Ev- eret discovered numerous letters, all of which were addressed to "Miss Annie Dale." Most of them were in ladies handwriting, and a glance sufficed to show that they were from schoolmates and girlish friends. There were also several essays, which had evi dently been written by Annie herself, when she was at school, and these were carefully tied together with a narrow and faded blue ribbon. A package of little billets contained locks of hair of various colors and shades, fancifully braided and glued to the paper, each with the name of the donor written underneath. There were a few drawings, very neatly done, some of landscapes, others of flowers, ferns, and grasses, and one that brought a startled cry from Everet Mapleson s lips, for it was a faith ful representation of that very house in the mining village of New Mexico, that he had visited only a few weeks since. The same hand had done this that had drawn the others, there could be no doubt, even 122 FOR LOVE AND HONOR if the initials "A. D." at the bottom had not testified to the fact. A. D., " murmured the young man. "The puz zle is slowly unweaving itself. This trunk must have been brought here after she died; but by whom? His face was very grave and troubled, for dis agreeable thoughts and suspicions came crowding thick and fast upon him. He put the drawings carefully back into the pocket from which he had taken them, and then continued his examination of the portfolio. But he found noth ing in the other pockets, save a goodly supply of sta tionery, and he finally came to the conclusion that if there had been any papers of importance in the re ceptacle they had probably been removed by his father that very day. He began listlessly turning over the blotting leaves that were attached to the middle of the portfolio; there was now and then a half-sheet of paper be tween them, but nothing else, until he came to the last two, when a scrap of paper with some writing upon it in a bold, masculine hand, fell fluttering to the floor. Everet stooped and picked it up to return it to its place, but the instant the writing met his eye, the hot blood mounted to his brow, and he exclaimed, in a startled tone: "At last I have found it!" It was the other half of that letter, which had 124. FOR LOVE AND HONOR been torn in two, and which he had found caught in the writing-desk, during his previous visit to the cottage. And this is how it appeared: "SANTA FE, June 10, 18 . NIE: "It is with deep pain and just learned of the death of se I know that this leaves annuity which was hers se and your future is tie friend ! I can say n how vain and me; but, believe me, my you, and were it pos- and strive to cheer I am now going to ask a e been friends during all our not refuse me. the cottage. Let it be still as it has been in the any restrictions. alone, for it would secure some com- n yourself who will Do not mind the that we are relatives in this extremity. ck sufficient for when I return ent arrangement I shall be very you. pur friend, "WILLIAM MAPLESON." FOR LOVE AND HONOR 125 Everet merely glanced at this, then taking his wal let from one of his pockets, he drew from it a folded paper. It was the other half of the torn letter. He laid the two portions together; the ragged edges fitted exactly, the writing was identical, and the epistle was complete, and read thus : "SANTA FE, June 10, 18 . "My DEAR ANNIE: "It is with deep pain and regret that I have just learned of the death of your mother. Of course I know that this leaves you alone, and that the annuity which was hers for life only must now cease, and your future is unprovided for. My poor little friend, I can say nothing to comfort you, for I know how vain and cold words are at such a time; but, believe me, my heart is with you. I sorrow with you, and were it pos sible I would come to you and strive to cheer you in this sad hour. But I am now going to ask a favor of you, Annie we vebeenfriendsduringall our life, and surely you will not refuse me. "I want you to remain in the cottage. Let it be still your home for the future as it has been in the past / / is yours without any restrictions. "Youmustn t,however,staytherealone,for it would not be safe, and I want you to secure some com panion some one older than yourself, who will be a sort of protector to you. Do not mind the expense, Annie, for you know that we are relatives. I have a right to care for you in this extremity. "Inclosed you will find check sufficient for your present necessities, and when I return 126 FOR LOVE AND HONOR I will make some permanent arrangement for you. Write me at once, for I shall be very anxious until I hear from you. "Ever your friend, "WILLIAM MAPLESON." "I thought the writing was familiar to me. I sus pected my father wrote it from the first, and yet his hand has changed very much since this was written. But surely there is nothing in this merely friendly epistle to warrant such dreadful suspicions as have nearly driven me wild during these last few weeks. I have believed the very worst that it was he who enticed her away, and then betrayed her confidence. I know that he was in New Mexico at that time; I know that she went there and lived with some one for a year; and then that ring seemed to prove every thing to me. Still, this is not a lover s letter; it is simply a friendly expression of sympathy and in terest, and a desire to provide for a relative who had no one to rely upon. Heavens ! will this mystery never be solved?" he concluded, rising and shutting the portfolio, but retaining the scrap of paper he had found. He replaced everything in the trunk, closed it, though he could not lock it again, then pushed it back under the bed; after which he went quickly out of the house, feeling depressed and bitterly disap pointed that he had discovered nothing tangible, either to prove or dissipate his suspicions. FOR LOVE AND HONOR 127 As he stepped off the veranda, something white fluttered in the tall grass at his feet. It was another letter. A thrill went tingling all along his nerves, as he stooped and picked it up. It was addressed to "Miss Annie Dale, Richmond, Va.," and bore the date of July ifth, of the same year as the other one already in his possession. It was also in the same handwriting, and had been mailed from Santa Fe. "This is one of the things that he came hither to secure, and he must have dropped it as he passed out," Everet murmured, as he sat down upon a step, drew the letter from its envelope, and began to read it. "My DEAR ANNIE," it began, like the other, "your reply to my former letter has hurt me keenly. I cannot bear the thought of your going out into the world alone to earn your own living. I hoped that you would be content to remain in your own home, and let me provide for you as a brother would do. But since you refuse how cold and dignified your refusal was, too! I am forced to break all barriers down and make a confession that for years I had yearned to make and dare not. Annie, you must not become a governess; I should be wretched to think of you in such a situation. If you will not let me take care of you there at home, in a friendly way, you must come to me here; for, darling, I love you. I have always loved you, ever since we played together, as children by the brook near the old mill, 128 FOR LOVE AND HONOR sailing our tiny ships side by side, and promised each other that, when we were older, we would be mar ried, and make a voyage round the world together. Come and redeem that promise to me now, Annie, darling. Do not hesitate because it will involve the sacrifice of the fortune bequeathed to me, under cer tain conditions, for I cannot I will not marry my Cousin Estelle while I love another as I love you; and what is all the wealth of the world compared with our happiness? I am doing finely here in the mines; in a few years, at this rate, I shall be worth even more than I shall have to forfeit by this step, so I will gladly relinquish every dollar to Estelle for you, my darling. "Annie, I believe that you love me I have long believed it and I have yearned to make this con fession, and to hear a similar one from your lips, for a long, long time. Had I not been hampered by Uncle Jabez s will, and an unworthy vacillation on account of it, I should have told you this that last delightful summer we spent together. But I have passed the Rubicon now, so do not ruin all my hopes. I am sorry that I cannot come to you, my own love. But my presence is absolutely necessary here, and I cannot leave for such a long trip ; but if your heart responds to mine if you will come to me and give yourself to me, I will meet you on the way, at Kansas City, and from there I will take my little wife to her own home among the mountains of New Mexico, where we will be all in all to each other. You will not mind the isolation for a little while, will you, love, until I can make my fortune, when we will return again to our own dear sunny South? Annie, will you trust me? Will you come? If you do not, I believe my life will be ruined. Do not think, for a moment, that I shall ever regret FOR LOVE AND HONOR 129 Jabez Mapleson s money. I shall not if I can have you. Judge me by your own heart. "Inclosed you will find the route you are to take, carefully mapped out, and the check that you would not keep before my proud little woman ! I feel sure that you can come with perfect safety alone as far as Kansas City, where I shall be surely waiting to receive you. Send a telegram naming the day and the hour when you will start. "One thing more, love say nothing to any one of your plans; leave that to me, to explain after we are one. Annie, you will not fail me. I could not bear it now, for I have set all my hopes upon you. I shall not rest until I receive your telegram. "Ever your own, WILL." Everet Mapleson s face was as white as that of the dead as he finished reading this epistle. "It is all true, after all," he said, with blazing eyes and through his tightly locked teeth. "It was he who enticed her away in secret, hiding her in that out-of-the-way place literally burying her alive. T have been convinced of it ever since I found that ring with those initials W. M. to A. D. engraved within it, and yet I kept hoping it could not be proved. So she went to him foolish girl! be lieving that he d marry her and give up his money; and she only lived one short year! "Now Geoffrey Huntress strange resemblance to me is all accounted for," he went on, after a fit of musing; "he is my father s son and my half brother, and to him will belong all Robert Dale s 130 FOR LOVE AND HONOR fortune if he should ever learn the secret of his birth. Now I understand why he was given into Jack and Margaret Henly s care. It would have been very awkward for the heir of half Jabez Mapleson s for tune if that New Mexican escapade had leaked out. But I cannot comprehend how the boy became an imbecile an accident, Mr. Huntress said and I suppose those people got tired of caring for him and -cast him off. No; that can t be, either, for that woman seemed terribly upset about it. It s all a wretched puzzle, anyhow. "Zounds I" he continued, with sudden energy, "the governor is a wonderful actor. He never betrayed himself by so much as the quiver of an eyelid, this morning, when we talked about this girl s disappear ance. I wonder what he will do about that money? Will he dare keep it? or will he try to find the boy .and make it over to him in some roundabout way? No; I do not believe he will ever run any risk of having that New Mexican escapade revealed. He .couldn t quite stand that, and my haughty mamma would never forgive him. He will keep the money, and say nothing. Geoffrey Huntress will never get his fortune, for / shall keep the secret that I have this day discovered closely locked in my own breast. Neither he nor my father shall ever learn through me that he is an heir of the houses of Dale and Mapleson. "He loved her, though I am sure he loved her !" FOR LOVE AND HONOR 131 he resumed, his eyes falling upon that still open let ter. "This shows it in almost every line ; and his face, to-day, as I caught a glimpse of it through the win dow, as he bent over that trunk, looked as if he had just buried the dearest object of his life. It must have been hard to look at all her pretty fixings and remember that one short, happy year; for they were. very happy, according to Bob Whittaker s story. That is the reason he keeps this house, and all in it, so sacred. Why couldn t he have married her, like a man? Money! money! I believe it is only a curse to half the people in the world." He arose, folded the letter, and put it in his pocket; then going to the old mill, he unfastened his horse, mounted, and rode back to Vue de 1 Eau, look ing stern, and grave, and unhappy. CHAPTER XI "HE is NOT NAMELESS OCTOBER and November passed without any event of special interest occurring in connection with any of our characters. In Brooklyn, in the home of August Huntress, these were very busy days, but every member of the household was full of hope and happiness. Gladys and Geoffrey saw but comparatively little of each other, except during the evening, for Geof frey went early to the office in New York every morning, and did not return until dinner-time at six; but both were looking forward to the thirtieth of December, the date set for their union, with all the fond anticipations of young and loving hearts. Their engagement was formally announced im mediately after it was decided that Geoffrey was to go abroad, and cards for the wedding were issued by the first of December. Congratulations poured in upon the young couple from all quarters, and, the winter being an excep tionally gay one, invitations abroad were numerous and pressing, their friends urging their presence, 132 FOR LOVE AND HONOR 133 since they were to lose their society entirely during their long absence in Europe. Everet Mapleson, while reading the fashionable items in a New York paper one morning, came across, the announcement of this approaching marriage. He bounded from his chair with a muttered im precation. "So soon !" he said, with a frowning brow. "They are in a great hurry, it seems to me; but perhaps the trip abroad explains it. Let me see they are to be married on the thirtieth," he continued, referring to the paper again, "and will sail the next day on the Scythia. The Scythia? That is not a New York steamer that sails from Boston; so, of course, they will have to leave New York immediately after their marriage to be in season for it." He paced up and down the room, with bent head and sullen, thoughtful brow. All at once he gave a violent start. "I wonder," he muttered, stopping short in his pacing; "I wonder if it would be possible to man age it?" He tossed back the disheveled hair from his fore head; his eyes blazed with some sudden purpose, his lips were set in a firm, livid line. "I shall try for it," he said, in a low, hoarse whis per. "I have everything to win or lose, and I will not yield without a desperate struggle." 134 FOR LOVE AND HONOR Two hours later his portmanteau was packed, and he was taking leave of his father and mother. They expressed great surprise over his sudden de parture, and protested against his leaving home be fore the holidays, since they had made arrangements for a gay time at Christmas, chiefly on his account. But he was resolute, and would not be turned from his purpose. "There is to be a great wedding in New York on the thirtieth, for which I am booked," he ex plained, though he did not say who was to be mar ried; "and I would not miss it for anything." "Well, but you could easily reach New York in season for this wedding, even if you do not leave until after Christmas," his mother pleaded, for she was greatly disturbed to have him leave home at this time, while she suspected, from his gloomy face, who was to be married, and felt sure he was only heaping up misery for himself in going to New York. "Perhaps I will come back just for your grand party at Christmas," he said, to appease her and be allowed to get off without further objections; "but I must run up North for a week or two, anyhow." He reached the city on the morning of the sixth, and proceeded directly to the club of which he was a member, and where he soon learned all that was going on among the bon ton. During the following day he called upon Gladys FOR LOVE AND HONOR 135 friend, Miss Addle Loring, from whom he meant to get all the particulars of the approaching wedding., Miss Loring received him with evident pleasure. "Where have you kept yourself all winter, Mr., Mapleson?" she questioned, brightly, as she cor dially gave him her hand. "I feared you had de serted us altogether since leaving college." "I have been in the South most of the time, but something, more powerful than home influence, con strained me to come to New York for a little taste of society and city life," Everet returned, in a tone and with a look that made the young lady s bright eyes droop consciously. "Will you remain until the end of the season?" "That depends," he replied, with a significant smile, which made her heart flutter strangely. "New York is very gay this winter, and there will be plenty to entertain you for as long as you choose to remain," Miss Loring promised, with a charming smile. "I suppose," she added, "you have heard of the great wedding that is to come off on the thirtieth?" "The great wedding! Whose?" Everet ques tioned, feigning ignorance, although the chief object of his call was to learn all he could about it. "Why, that of your classmate and double, Mr., Geoffrey Huntress, and my dear friend, Gladys. I am astonished that you have not heard of it," said, 136 FOR LOVE AND HONOR Miss Addie, really surprised that he should not have received cards for the marriage. "Ah! So Huntress is going to marry Miss Gladys, is he? Pray, what name will he bestow upon the lady?" the young man asked, with a curl of his handsome lips. "Why, of course, there will be no change of name Geoff was legally adopted by Mr. Huntress, so that makes everything all right," returned Miss Lor- ing, looking a trifle displeased at the slur that had been cast at her friend s betrothed. "Then the groom-elect has never been. able to dis cover the secret of his parentage?" Everet remarked, inquiringly. "I think not." "Are you pleased with this match, Miss Loring?" "Of course I am I think Geoffrey Huntress is a magnificent man," she affirmed, emphatically. "It would, doubtless, be a great comfort to him to have the mystery of his birth solved; but it doesn t matter, really they love each other devotedly, and will make a splendid couple." Everet winced under these last words, but deemed it wiser to keep his sneers and slurs to himself. "I suppose it the wedding will be a very grand affair?" he remarked. "Very; there are to be six bridesmaids, of whom I am to be the chief," responded Miss Addie, with FOR LOVE AND HONOR 137 animation. "They will be married in Plymouth Church." "In church?" interposed Everet, with an eager look. "Will it be in the evening?" "Yes, in the early evening at five o clock and they will receive from six until eight. Mr. Huntress has spared no expense to make it a very brilliant affair. But I am surprised I supposed, having been a classmate, you would have received cards for the wedding, Mr. Maplcson," Miss Loring con cluded. "No, I have not been honored. Will the happy couple settle in New York?" "Really, Mr. Mapleson, you are behind the times," laughed his companion. "No, indeed, they sail the next day, at twelve, for Europe, to be gone for six months. Will not that be delightful? If the course of true love never ran smoothly before, it has done so in this case, for there has been nothing to mar it from the beginning." Everet Mapleson s eyes gleamed strangely at this, and a spot of bright color leaped into his cheeks. "On what steamer do they sail?" he inquired. "On the Scythia, from Boston, owing to some busi ness connected with that city. That is why the mar riage and reception are set so early; they leave New York on an evening train, and will arrive in Boston early the next morning. Oh !" concluded the young 138 FOR LOVE AND HONOR lady, with a sigh, "I shall miss Gladys more than I can tell you." "No doubt," Everet observed; and then, after conversing a few moments longer upon indifferent topics, having obtained all the points he wished, he arose to take his leave. His chief object in calling had been to assure him self that he had not been misinformed regarding any of the details of the approaching marriage. His next plan was to meet Gladys somewhere, if possible. It was easy enough to do this, by securing invita tions to the receptions among the elite, and a few evenings later he found her at a fashionable party on Lexington avenue. She seemed lovelier than ever, with the rosy glow of perfect health on her face, her beautiful eyes gleaming with happiness, and her lips wreathed with smiles. Her dress, on this occasion, was vastly becoming, consisting of a deep shade of ecru, embroidered with a delicate shade of blue intermingled with silver. Ornaments of silver in filigree, and set with dia monds, were on her neck and arms, while a graceful aigrette of blue and white was fastened in her hair by a star, to match her other ornaments. She started slightly as she met Everet Mapleson s glance fixed upon her. He was so much like Geof- FOR LOVE AND HONOR 139 frey that it was almost impossible, even now, for her to distinguish them apart. The next moment he was bowing before her, with extended hand. "It seems a long time since we met, Miss Hunt ress," he said, in a tone which deepened the color in her cheeks, for it reminded her vividly of not only their last meeting, but also their parting. But she thought best to ignore it all, and so re turned his greeting with ladylike courtesy. "I suppose you have been in your Southern home, Mr. Mapleson," she said. "I should think you would hardly like to leave its genial climate for our rigorous winter here." "There are sometimes stronger attractions than a genial climate in winter," he replied, with an earn est look into her lovely eyes. "Yes, New York is very attractive just now," she returned, determined not to appropriate his signifi cant remark to herself. "Do you remain here long?" "I think I may stay through this month," he an swered, with an emphasis upon the last two words that brought the quick blood again to her cheeks, for she knew that he was thinking of her approaching marriage. Still, she was wilfully obtuse. "What!" she exclaimed, archly. "Can you con tent yourself away from home during the holidays?" "Yes at least for this year. Miss Huntress, will 140 FOR LOVE AND HONOR you give my name a place upon your dancing-list?" he asked, glancing at the card that was suspended by a silken cord from her corsage. * Gladys opened and held it up before him, with a smile. It was full, and she was glad it happened so. His face fell, for his quick glance detected Geof frey s name against several dances. "I am too late, I perceive," he said, with a bow; "but, perchance I may be more fortunate before the month is out." Something in his tone more than the words made her regard him closely, and a sort of chill smote her heart as she marked the peculiar gleam in his eye and the resolute lines about his mouth. Some one claimed her just then, and, with a polite bow, she excused herself and left him, glad to get away from his presence. The next time they met was more than a week later, at the opera. Gladys was spending a few days with her friend, Addie Loring. It was to be her last visit before her marriage, and the two girls were making the most of it. Mr. Loring invited them to accompany him to hear Parepa Rosa, and sent word to Geoffrey to join them; but he had an engagement for the first half of the evening, and could not; he would, how- FOR LOVE AND HONOR ever, join them later, he said in the note that he sent his betrothed. Mrs. Loring was not well, and did not feel equal to going out, and so her husband had to be both chaperon and escort for the young ladies. Everet Mapleson saw them the moment they en tered their box, while it was not long before Miss Loring discovered his vicinity, when she bowed and smiled most cordially. A moment later she leaned forward and whispered to her father, who nodded assent, and then made a signal for Everet to come and join his party. The young man needed no second invitation, and was soon seated between the two young ladies, gaily parrying Miss Loring s witty shots at his having come to the opera all alone, when there were so many belles and beauties who would have been de lighted to share the pleasure with him. Gladys drew herself a little apart. She felt un comfortable to have him there, under any circum stances, while, too, she was interested in the opera, and it annoyed her to have those around her convers ing, even though it was scarcely above their breath. When the curtain went down, after the second act, Addie Loring raised her glass and began gaz ing about her. Suddenly her face lighted, and, bending forward, she waved her hand to some one in the audience near them. u Oh, papa," she said, turning eagerly to her father, "there is Sadie Nutting ! She must have re turned on the last steamer. See ! she is beckoning to me. Will you take me to her just for a few mo ments, while the curtain is down? I am sure Gladys and Mr. Mapleson will excuse us and entertain each other while we are gone, and we won t be five minutes." Mr. Loring glanced at Everet, hoping he would offer to escort his daughter, for he was too comfort ably seated to care to be disturbed. But the young man had no such intention; this was just the opportunity he had been wanting, ever since he came to New York, and he meant to improve it, even though he should have only "five minutes." He said: "Certainly, certainly," to Miss Loring, "go, by all means, to see your friend, if you wish," and he watched the father and daughter with a secret thrill of triumph as they went out, leaving him alone with Gladys. She was greatly disturbed by the incident. She could not blame Addie, for she knew that she was ignorant of her feelings toward Everet Maple- son; but she wished, with all her heart, that Geof frey would come, so that she need not be alone with Everet. The moment the doors closed upon Mr. Loring FOR LOVE AND HONOR 1J.3 and his daughter, Everet turned smilingly toward his companion, and drew his chair nearer to her. "Thank the fates, and that giddy girl, for this supreme moment," he began, in a low, passionate tone; adding: "Gladys, have you forgotten our last private interview at Vassar?" Gladys looked up at him, both startled and in dignant. "I should be glad to forget it, Mr. Mapleson, if you would allow me to do so, for your sake as well as my own, " she returned, with cold dignity. "I do not wish you to forget it, Gladys," he re turned, with increasing fervor, "for I love you a hundredfold more to-night, and I must unburden my heart to you, or it will burst." "Mr. Mapleson!" Gladys said, half rising from her chair, a flash of anger in her eyes, "you shall not say such things to me; you know you have no right " "I have a right," he interposed, hotly; "a right because of my deathless love and my indomitable purpose to win yours in return." "You cannot! how dare you?" Gladys began again, but he would not let her go on. "I dare, because I must dare or die! Oh ! Gladys, I love you so ! have pity on me I" he said, and his voice died away in an agonized whisper, showing how terribly in earnest he was. The young girl was deathly pale now, and trem- FOR LOVE AND HONOR bling in every limb; but she faced him with blazing eyes and curling lips, her perfect form proudly erect. "You are no gentleman," she said, scornfully, "to say such words to one who, in less than two weeks, will be the wife of another man; to take advantage of me during the absence of my friends, and in a place like this force such a declaration upon me." "I could not help it; I had no other time; you avoid me upon every occasion," he returned, the blood flushing his face hotly at her scorn. "I have no choice; your looks, your acts all com pel me to " "I cannot help them when I am near you I forget everything but that I love you !" he pleaded in ex cuse. "Shame! Where is your sense of honor, that you persist in such language to the affianced of an other?" she panted. "Twice you have thrown that in my teeth," he retorted, fiercely, and fast losing control of himself. "Have you no shame, that you confess yourself the affianced of a nameless outcast?" "He is not nameless, and you have no authority for calling him an outcast," retorted Gladys, proudly, all her spirit rising to arms at this attack upon her absent lover. "Haven t I?" sneered the hot-headed young man. "Listen. I have been looking up Geoffrey Dale s pedigree, since I saw you last. I have traced him FOR LOVE AND HONOR to his birthplace. His mother was a poor, but beau tiful girl, without a home, without friends. She had a rich lover, who could not marry her without sacri ficing a fortune, and he loved his money too well to do that, so he sacrificed the girl instead. He took her to a remote mining district, where, hidden away from every one who ever knew her, she lived with him for one short year, and died when her child was only a month old. That child was Geoffrey Dale ; his mother s name was Annie Dale, and he has no right to any other, except the one that has been given him for charity s sake. You have a right to be proud of your betrothed, Miss Huntress." "I am proud of him !" Gladys returned, in a firm, even tone. Astonishment at Everet Maple- son knowing so much about Geoffrey had contributed more toward calming her excited nerves than almost anything else could have done. "Yes, I am proud of him," she repeated, with a change of emphasis, "and you have told me nothing new, Mr. Mapleson, excepting that this young girl had no home or friends, and that the man who took her to New Mexico was rich, and wilfully wronged her. Indeed, I know even more than you have told me." "More! Do you know who his father was?" Everet Mapleson exclaimed, with a start. "No, nor do I wish to, if he was guilty of the atrocious act you have named," Gladys returned, with withering scorn. "But the sin will some day 146 FOR LOVE AND HONOR recoil upon his own head; it can never change my regard for one who is innately noble and true." "And you do not shrink from becoming the wife of one upon whom shame has rested from the hour of his birth?" demanded Everet Mapleson, regard ing the beautiful girl with astonishment. "No," she replied, steadfastly; "no shame rests upon him; that all belongs to the preceding genera tion; but I should shrink with loathing from the man who betrayed Annie Dale, as you represent, were he lord or prince he is only worthy of my contempt, and I would scorn him as I would the veriest black leg in this city." The young man flushed hotly. It was not pleasant to listen to such words, believing what he did; they touched a sensitive spot. "But this man of whom I have told you is a gen tleman, nevertheless," he said. "A gentleman?" The words were uttered in the quietest possible tone, but the contempt which trembled through it was matchless, and made the young man wince as under a lash. "Your distinctions are more nice than wise, Miss Huntress; but, mark my words, you shall never marry this man s illegitimate son!" he hissed, driven almost to a frenzy by her words, her look, and tone. She turned upon him, her face colorless, but with eyes gleaming like two points of fire. FOR LOVE AND HONOR 14-7 "You insult me, sir! You insult one who is a hundredfold more noble than yourself, by the use of such vile language. But," and she raised one daintily gloved hand to enforce her words, "were his name doubly tainted by the sin of others, it could not smirch the man I honor the man I love. It will be the proudest day of my life when I wed Geof frey Dale Huntress, as I shall, in spite of all that you have told me to-night, ay, even though you should do your worst, and proclaim it from every house top in this city." She was glorious, in her haughty pride and indig nation, as she gave utterance to these loyal senti ments, and Everet Mapleson instinctively shrank before her with a sense of shame and humiliation. At that moment the doors behind them swung open, and Geoffrey himself entered the box. CHAPTER XII A THREAT AND A WEDDING RING GLADYS first impulse, upon beholding her lover, was to spring toward him, denounce the man who had so insulted her and him, and demand to be con ducted from his presence. But her judgment told her that this would be very unwise; there must be no scene in that public place; there must be no quarrel between these two men, and perhaps it would be better that Geoffrey should never know that Everet Mapleson held the secret of his birth. She knew that he would never rest until he had wrung it from him, and that, she be lieved, would never be done without bitter feelings, and perhaps strife. So, with a mighty effort, she controlled herself, drew her cloak about her shoulders to hide the heav ing of her bosom, as she arose and turned a smiling, though still pale face, toward her lover. "You have come, Geoffrey; I am very glad. You will recognize an old classmate in Mr. Mapleson," she said, as she moved her chair farther into the 148 FOR LOVE AND HONOR 149 shadow of the draperies and made room for Geof frey between herself and her other companion. Everet regarded the girl with wondering admira tion. He knew that she was laboring under intense excitement, and that it required no light effort on her part to conceal it. He understood her motives that she wished to avoid a quarrel and a scene, and he thought her tact inimitable. Geoffrey greeted his former college-mate courte ously, which greeting Mapleson returned with a cold, rather supercilious bow. He was always conscious of his own moral inferiority w 7 hen in Geoffrey s pres ence, and the feeling galled him excessively. Geoffrey saw at once, in spite of Gladys efforts to conceal it, that something had gone wrong with her, and he rightly guessed that Everet Mapleson had been the cause of it. He gently seated her, and then placed himself beside her, while Mr. Loring and his daughter returned at that moment, and the party settled themselves very comfortably for the remain der of the evening. Everet devoted himself exclusively to Miss Lor ing, much to that young lady s secret delight; her father gave his attention entirely to the stage, thus leaving Geoffrey and Gladys to themselves. "What is it, dear? what has troubled you?" Geof frey asked, bending tenderly toward his betrothed, as he became more conscious of the difficulty she was laboring under to retain her composure. 150 FOR LOVE AND HONOR Gladys stole one little hand confidingly into his, under cover of her opera cloak. "Never mind, Geoff, now that I have you here; I will tell you some other time," she whispered, as she involuntarily turned her still flashing eyes to ward young Mapleson, while a slight shiver ran through her frame. Geoffrey s glance followed hers, and his face clouded. "Has he dared " he began, sternly. "Hush !" she returned ; "it is all past ; he will never dare again." She saw that Geoffrey needed but a word to make him demand an explanation of his rival, and she feared the worst from a meeting between them; so she resolved that she would not tell him what Everet had told her regarding his parentage; at least, not until after their marriage; perhaps, when they were on the ocean, where it would be impossible for him to take any aggressive measures until time had served to cool his anger, she might reveal to him what she had learned. So she tried to smile and appear interested in the opera, while every moment she wished it would end so that she might be released from that terrible con straint. It was over at last, to her intense relief. Everet Mapleson escorted Miss Loring from the building, but when the party reached the sidewalk FOR LOVE AND HONOR 151 they found such a crowd before them that they were obliged to step back and wait for it to disperse be fore they could get to their carnage. In doing this, Everet Mapleson had managed so that he should stand close beside Gladys, for he had determined to fire a parting shot at her. He had been covertly watching her ever since their interview, and her attitude of trust and confidence toward Geoffrey had been almost maddening to him. She was beautiful beyond comparison when she faced him in her indignation, defending her absent lover, and resenting the insult offered to herself; he had never seen her so spirited before, and it lent an added charm to her fascinations, while he was filled with impotent rage that he was powerless to awaken any feelings in her heart for him, save those of scorn and contempt. "Why should he win?" he cried within himself, as he marked Geoffrey s air of tender proprietor ship; "he who has not even a name to offer her, while I, who am heir to the proud escutcheon of Mapleson, and to a double fortune, perhaps a triple one, if he never discovers who he is, am able to excite noth ing but aversion and contempt. I swear I will not submit to it, and I will find some way to part them, even now. He has crossed my path too many times. I have never forgiven him on the old score, and I will never forgive him for being an interloper in my 152 FOR LOVE AND HONOR All this was in his mind as he stood close beside the young bride-elect, while waiting for Mr. Lor- ing s carriage, and some evil spirit possessed him to assail her again. "Miss Huntress," he whispered, so close to her ear that no one could possibly hear him in the tumult around them, "doubtless you have heard that old saying, There is many a slip twixt cup and lip. Gladys never noticed him by so much as a glance. She might have been some beautiful statue, and deaf to all sounds, for any evidence that she gave of hav ing heard him. And yet he knew she could not have falied to catch every word that he had uttered. His blood began to boil at being thus ignored. "Do you imagine that I shall tamely submit to see another man win you, and he so far beneath you ? // shall never be!" Gladys turned at this, and looked straight into his eyes, and actually smiled a smile that drove him almost to a frenzy; it was like a winter s sunbeam reflected from ice sharp, dazzling, chilling. "The future tense is not applicable in this case, Mr. Mapleson," she retorted, in as icy a tone, while the air with which she settled her small hand more firmly within her lover s arm plainly said, "I am already won!" Everet Mapleson ground his teeth in baffled rage. It was evident that in an open battle Miss Huntress was too much for him. FOR LOVE AND HONOR 153 "Wait," he whispered again; "the thirtieth may tell a different story; at all events, you are warned. * She did not deign to notice his threat, and, an opening now presenting itself, Mr. Lorin^ led the way to the carriage, where, after assisting his com panion to enter, Mr. Mapleson took his leave of the party and went his way. Geoffrey was very much disturbed when Gladys told him that Everet Mapleson had again presumed to address words of love to her for she had de cided that this was all the explanation of the affair at the opera that she would give him at present and it required all her power of persuasion to pre vent him from demanding an apology for the insult. "Let it pass, dear; pray let us have no trouble at this time," she had urged. "But you are almost my wife, Gladys, and it is a terrible affront to me as well as to you," Geoffrey returned, hotly. "He is so far beneath you, Geoff, morally, that I cannot bear to have you lower yourself enough to notice him, and believe me, he received a lesson that he will not soon forget," Gladsy concluded, with a spirit and energy that both amused and delighted Geoffrey, who well knew what his betrothed was capable of when once thoroughly aroused, and he could imagine something of the scorn which the of fender in question had called down upon his devoted head by his presumption. So he finally promised 154 FOR LOVE AND HONOR that he would not agitate the matter further, and he realized that it might result in a scandal that would prove very annoying just at that time. It seemed, too, as if Everet Mapleson himself had no desire to come in contact with his successful rival, for he suddenly dropped out of society, and was seen no more during the interval between that occurrence at the opera and the thirtieth. He was greatly missed, however, by many of the languishing belles, for he was esteemed "a great catch," and had been most industriously angled for by numerous anxious mammas, and scheming fathers with a doubtful bank account. Miss Addie Loring, perhaps, really took his sud den and unaccountable absence more to heart than any one else, for she had secretly begun to entertain a tender liking for him. During the last week before the wedding, that event became the chief topic of the day in the circle in which Gladys and Geoffrey moved, for the match was considered a most romantic one, and both par ties were especial favorites, while for brilliancy and magnitude it was to be the affair of the season. Gifts of every description poured in upon the young couple, for whom their friends seemed unable to do enough to manifest their regard. "Mamma, I have silver and china enough to set up four establishments; what shall I do with it all?" Gladys laughingly remarked, one morning, after the FOR LOVE AND HONOR 155 arrival of numerous packages and cases. "While as for jewelry, bric-a-brac, and ornaments," she con tinued, "I shall never have room nor opportunity to display them all." "You have been most lavishly remembered, dear," returned Mrs. Huntress; but she sighed while she smiled over the evidences of her daughter s popu larity, as she thought of the care and responsibility which it would entail upon her in the future. "It is very, very nice to be remembered by one s friends, and pleasant to know that one has so many," Gladys said, thoughtfully taking up a delicate vase, which rude handling would have crushed to atoms, but which she knew represented a large amount of money, "but if they would only give me some simple little token, just to show that they really care for me, I should not feel quite so overwhelmed. Per haps I am too sensitive and notional, but I think the weight of obligation which is sometimes imposed upon brides is almost frightful, that is, unless they marry as I am not doing men who can enable them to indulge in similar extravagance in return later on." "There is a good deal of sense in what you say, Gladys," returned her mother, "but these beautiful and expensive things represent branches of indus tries, and somebody must purchase them in order that certain classes of artisans may live. It is hard to know where to draw the line in these things. It 156 FOR LOVE AND HONOR would not be so questionable, though, if people would be really honest in their gifts and offer only what they could afford, instead of trying to outdo others from a feeling of vanity." But, in spite of these practical discussions, there seemed to be no end to the accumulation of wedding gifts up to the last moment. The wedding-day dawned, a bright, mild winter morning, and every hour was filled with preparations for the important ceremony that was to occur early in the evening. Geoffrey saw but little of his betrothed that day, for he had many duties to attend to relating to their departure, and last instructions to receive regarding the business he had undertaken. But about two in the afternoon he came home to find Gladys just going to her room, from which she would not come forth again until she was prepared for her marriage. "I am only just in time, I perceive, to take leave of Miss Gladys Huntress," he said, smiling fondly upon her, as he drew her into the music-room, and shut the door, for a few moments private chat with her. "You do not look more than sixteen," he con tinued, touching the light rings of hair that lay on her forehead, and smoothing the great satiny braid, that had been allowed to hang, like a schoolgirl s, down her back, until the hair-dresser should come, FOR LOVE AND HONOR 157 "and very little as if a few hours would make you somebody s wife." Gladys flushed at that last word, though a happy little laugh rippled from her lips. "Perhaps I shall appear more matronly by and by," she said. "It is possible that putting Mrs. before my name may make quite a change. How queer it will seem to be married and yet be Gladys Huntress still?" Geoffrey s face clouded, and a pang shot through his heart. "I wish it could be otherwise, darling, I wish I had an honored name to give you," he said, regret fully. Gladys put up her hand and drew down his head until their lips met. "Dear Geoff, forgive me," she pleaded, in a tone of self-reproach, "I was very thoughtless to make such a speech. I shall be just as happy to be called Mrs. Geoffrey Dale Huntress, as anything else; my pride will not consist in my name, but in my hus band." His arms closed about her more fondly. He knew that she loved him with all the strength of her pure and noble nature that she had chosen him from among the many admirers who would gladly have bestowed a proud name, as well as for tune, upon her, and that he ought to be content. But he was not; it rankled, like a thorn in his heart, 158 FOR LOVE AND HONOR that he had no name to give her that for want of one he was compelled to assume hers. Neither he nor Gladys had ever been told of her adoption; both believed that she was August and Alice Huntress own child, and, somehow, a feeling of obligation, that was almost degradation, would now and then assail him, that he was obliged to identify himself in this way. "Geoffrey," Gladys continued, seeing the cloud still on his face, "do not allow so slight a thing to cast a shadow over our joy to-day. I am so happy life looks so bright to me, that I am almost afraid it is all a dream, and I shall wake up to find it all gone from my grasp." He could not resist her bright, tender face, nor the beautiful, trustful eyes as they were raised to his. "My own love," he replied, his face clearing, "it is no dream to either of us it is all a delightful reality, and anticipation of the happiness before us, during the coming six months, is like a poem to me. But," he added, " I suppose I must not detain you here have you everything that you need or wish for to-night?" "I believe so; but truly, Geoff, I wish it were all over," Gladys confessed, clinging to him. "Some times I have been sorry that we agreed to have all this fuss and excitement. I feel as if the occasion is almost too sacred for the gaze of the curious, and to be mixed up so with show, dress, and so many FOR LOVE AND HONOR 159 other petty details. If we could only have just a few of our especial friends with us, and say our vows quietly and solemnly, right here at home, I believe I should like it much better." This had been Geoffrey s feeling all along; but it was Mr. Huntress desire to have a brilliant wed ding, and he could not find it in his heart to oppose any reasonable wish of one who had been so kind to him. "Well," he answered, "we can comfort ourselves with one thought; the fuss and excitement will not last long, then we shall have each other all to our selves. But, darling, see here." He drew a tiny case from his pocket, and, opening it, disclosed a heavy gold circlet resting in its bed of velvet "have you any idea how strong this little fetter is going to be? only death will ever break the tie that it will cement." Gladys bent forward to look at the mystic symbol, the vivid color surging to her brow. "Oh, Geoff! what a heavy one; is it marked?" she said. "Yes, and that is why I show it to you it may not be marked in a way to please you," and he held it toward her for examination. "Please take it out yourself and let me see I do not want to touch it," she said, drawing slightly away. He laughed. 160 FOR LOVE AND HONOR "Why, you dear little goose! are you supersti tious?" "N o; but somehow I do not wish to touch it until after you have put it where it belongs," she answered, softly. He removed it from the case, holding it so that she could see the engraving on its inside surface, and she read, "G. D. to G. H. Dec. 30, 18 ." "G. D. !" she repeated, looking up questioningly. "Yes," he replied, gravely. "Forgive me for re ferring again to an unpleasant topic, but I could not bring my mind to add another H. there. If I have a right to an honored name, and find it out some time, then I will have the initial inserted you see, I have had space left for it. Do you mind?" "No, Geoff," Gladys returned, after a moment s thought, though her heart sank at his words, as she remembered what Everet Mapleson had told her, "you have done perfectly right to mark the ring as you wish, and, of course, no one save ourselves ever need know anything about it." He put it away with a sigh of relief. "I am glad that you approve, dear," he said, smil ing, "and now mind that your glove is properly ar ranged, and no other ring on this, my especial finger; for this ring must never come off after I have once put it on, unless we find another initial to add to the others. Now, good-by, love, for the next three hours, until we meet again at the church." CHAPTER XIII THE WEDDING GLADYS went to her room with a sweet and tender gravity on her beautiful face. Every passing moment made her feel more sen sibly the sacredness of the vows that she was about to take upon herself, and the responsibilities she was so soon to assume. "I know this great joy is far more than I deserve," she murmured. "I cannot understand why no shadow has ever been allowed to cloud my life, when so many are born to a lot of sorrow, trial, and toil. I will try to lift the burden from some hearts in the future; I will not live all for self, but reflect some of my own happiness, if I can, to brighten other lives less favored than mine." Could any bride, on the eve of her marriage, have made a holier resolve than this? Very lovely she looked, when she came forth from her chamber, in her spotless wedding attire. Her simple, yet elegant dress, of white ottoman silk, was made en tram, and its only garnishing was the voluminous vail, which covered her from head 161 162 FOR LOVE AND HONOR to foot, and was caught, here and there, in graceful draperies, with clusters of orange blossoms and lilies-of-the-valley. Unlike many brides, she was not pale, but a deli cate and lovely color was on her cheek. Her eyes were brilliant and expressive with the deep and holy joy that filled her heart, and she was calm with that perfect content which an unwavering confidence and affection alone could give. She rode alone with her father, who was to give her away, to Plymouth Church, where Geoffrey was to meet her. He was not there when they arrived, although he left the house some time previous to their own departure, and they waited for him in the vestibule, but somewhat anxiously, as it was already five minutes past the hour set for the ceremony. At last there was a slight commotion about the door, and a voice was heard to say: "He has come! All is well now!" Gladys looked up as he came forward, and thought he looked a trifle pale and excited, but it might be because the light was dim, while her vail rendered everything a little indistinct. He nodded and smiled reassuringly at her, how ever; they would not let him come near her, for her dress was all arranged to go in, and must not be disturbed, while her maidens were hovering about her like a band of fairies around their queen, and, with girlish superstition, they waved him off, saying FOR LOVE AND HONOR 163 he must not speak to her again until after the cere mony. Mr. Huntress interviewed him regarding the de lay, and then came and told Gladys it had been caused by a change in clergymen at the last moment. Their own pastor had been summoned by telegraph to a brother who was lying at the point of death, only a little more than an hour previous, and had been obliged to send a stranger a friend who happened to be visiting in his family to officiate in his place. This was the only shadow that had marred the young bride s joy that day. She dearly loved her noble pastor, and was deeply disappointed not to have him pronounce her nuptial benediction. But she had no time to express it, for Mr. Hun tress gave the signal to the ushers to throw open the church doors, while the groom, followed by his at tendants, passed down the one aisle, and Gladys, on her father s arm and attended by her maids, went down another. They all met at the altar, where the strange clergy man was already awaiting them. Everybody wondered at the self-possession and the lovely bloom of the bride. But the secret of it was that Gladys forgot herself and all her surroundings; forgot the crowd of wit nesses behind her; the curious glances the place everything in the solemn moment and the vows she was plighting. 164- FOR LOVE AND HONOR The clergyman, stranger though he was, made the service very beautiful and impressive, while the few words of kindly advice and congratulation which he uttered at its close, when he pronounced the young couple husband and wife, were exceedingly apt and well chosen. Then it was all over, and those two, before whom life seemed reaching out so fair and full of promise, passed slowly down the center aisle, every eye fol lowing them, while every lip seemed to have some thing to say in praise of them. Gladys was very quiet as her husband put her into the carriage, for the solemnity of the service was still upon her. He, too, seemed in a like mood, for he only gathered the hand that wore his ring close within his own, and thus they sat, mute from excess of joy, during their drive home. Very tenderly the young husband helped his bride to alight, led her up the steps, never relinquishing her hand until he placed her beneath the magnificent arch at the lower end of the drawing-room, where they were to receive the congratulations of their friends. They had driven back very rapidly, and thus they had gained several minutes to themselves before the arrival of any others. "My darling! my wife!" said the exultant young husband, as he stretched forth his arms to gather his beautiful bride to his breast. FOR LOVE AND HONOR 165 Gladys looked up with a startled, searching glance. Something in his tone had struck strangely on her ears. She saw that he was still somewhat pale, but his whole face was lighted with triumph. "Geoff " she began, then the word suddenly froze on her lips, a bewildered look shot in her eyes, when all at once she started away from him, flinging out her arms with a wild gesture of horror and loath ing, her face as white as her dress, her eyes almost starting from her head. "EVERET MAPLESON! Oh! heaven! how came you here?" she shrieked. He strode up to her, the look of triumph still on his pale face. "Because I have a right to be here beside my wife!" "Never! never!" she panted, wildly. "You have no right I am not your wife!" "But, my darling, you are. I have never left your side for an instant since we were pronounced, before God and man, to be husband and wife. You are mine, Gladys ! by the laws of the land, as well as by the laws of God! You plighted your vows to me in the presence of hundreds of witnesses, and I shall claim you before all the world!" She never moved while he was saying this. She stood looking at him with that wild, incredulous light still in her eyes, that deadly whiteness on her face, 166 FOR LOVE AND HONOR her arms still outstretched in that attitude of horror and loathing. She was like a beautiful piece of sculpture that had suddenly been transformed from a happy, living being into pulseless marble by the blighting influence of some congealing wand. "Can you not believe it, and be sensible?" Everet Mapleson for it was really he went on rapidly, for the sound of wheels from without came to him, and he knew that the room would be full in a few moments. "Do not make a scene. You are mine, and no earthly power can sever the bonds that unite us ! I love you madly ! I worship you ! There is nothing I will not do to prove my devotion to you ! I have given you a proud name; I have wealth, po sition, influence, and I am your slave if you will give me but a crumb of love upon which to feast my hungry heart. Gladys, again I implore you not to make a scene ! Receive your friends as if nothing unforeseen had happened, and they will never sus pect; and to-morrow we will go away over the ocean, and leave the world to get over its astonishment as best it can." He paused, for the horror, the despair on her face, which grew every instant more terrible, filled him with fear and dismay. She did not stir; she was as if frozen in that at titude. She simply stood staring into his face, her own as rigid as a stone, but with such suffering, such FOR LOVE AND HONOR 167 anguish, in that fixed gaze as he had never seen de picted in human eyes before. Steps and voices sounded in the hall. He caught a glimpse of Mr. and Mrs. Huntress hurrying in, to be the first to congratulate their darling. Another minute, and he knew there must come a fearful disclosure and explosion. He moved a step nearer the motionless girl and attempted to take one of those outstretched hands in his. His touch seemed to unlock those tense nerves and muscles as if by magic. She shrank away from him with a low, shuddering cry, and then, without word or warning, fell for ward, and would have dropped to the floor had he not caught her in his arms. Mr. Huntress, who entered the room at that mo ment, sprang forward, with a cry of alarm. "What is the matter?" he asked, his attention all concentrated upon Gladys, and never suspecting the dreadful trick that had been played upon them all. "The excitement has been too much for her, I fear," Everet responded, in a low tone. Mr. Huntress took the senseless girl from him, saying: "Open that door behind you; we must get her away before that crowd comes pouring in. My poor girl! what can have caused this unusual fainting turn?" 1G8 FOR LOVE AND HONOR Everet eagerly obeyed his command, and Gladys was borne into a small sitting-room, and laid upon a soft there. The next moment Mrs. Huntress anxious face ap peared in the doorway. "Oh, August, what has happened?" she cried. "Gladys has fainted, from some cause or other. Go, Geoff," he continued, turning to Everet, "and send some one immediately for Doctor Hoyt." The young man hastened to obey, glad to get away from the sight of that white, rigid face for a mo ment. He found a servant in the hall, dispatched him for the family physician, and then went back to his post beside Gladys. He was nearly as pale as the unconscious bride, for he knew that the truth must soon some out, and, hardened and dogged as he was, the prospect of the inevitable explosion was not a pleasant one. Mrs. Huntress was on her knees beside her daugh ter, bathing her face with water, which she had poured from an ice-pitcher standing near. She had thrown back the delicate vail, and it lay all in a heap, like a fleecy cloud, about the pretty brown head upon the sofa-pillow, while Mr. Hun tress had torn off his gloves, and was chafing the small limp hands with anxious solicitude. "What could have been the cause of this? When was she taken ill?" he asked, half turning toward FOR LOVE AND HONOR 169 Everet, but still keeping his eyes fastened upon the face he loved so well. "Just before you entered," Everet answered, in a clear, natural tone. Mr. Huntress started, and turned a questioning glance upon him. There eyes met, and held each other for one brief moment. Then Mr. Huntress dropped the hands he was chafing, arose slowly to his feet, his own color fast receding. "Geoffrey?" he said, in a doubtful tone, going close up to the young man. "No, sir; Everet Mapleson, if you please," re plied the young man, haughtily, as with a mighty effort he braced himself for the encounter. "By heaven, // is!" August Huntress hoarsely ex claimed, and recoiling as if he had been struck a heavy blow. "What what is the meaning of this ?" "It means that your daughter has become my wife instead of marrying Geoffrey Dale, as everybody supposed she was going to do." Mrs. Huntress sprang up with a faint shriek at this. "No, no !" she cried, "that cannot be." Then, as she peered closely into his face, and realized the truth of the fearful disclosure, she tot tered feebly toward her husband, moaning: 170 FOR LOVE AND HONOR "Oh, August! he has practiced a terrible decep tion upon us, and it will surely kill Gladys." She was almost as helpless as the unconscious girl herself, and her husband was forced to put her into a rocker that stood near him, simply because he, too, was so weakened and unmanned by what he had heard that he was unable to support her. But a terrible wrath began to rise within him; with it came a false kind of strength, and turning toward the wolf who had thus stolen into his house hold, he commanded, in a fearful voice: "Young man, explain yourself!" "Willingly, sir; the sooner the truth is out, the better it will suit me," Everet replied, haughtily. "I have loved your daughter for more than three years. Twice I have offered myself to her, and twice been rejected. When I learned of her engagement to the low-born boy whom you adopted, and whom I have despised and hated from the very first of our acquaintance, I vowed it should never be consum mated. I worshiped her, and I resolved that I would win her at any cost. I have done so; she is mine, wedded to me this night, in the presence of yourself and hundreds of others, and I shall assert my claim in spite of you all. I hoped, in the excitement and confusion, and from my close resemblance to Hunt ress, that I should escape discovery until our de parture from New York. If we had not reached the house quite so early if the guests could have fol- FOR LOVE AND HONOR 171 lowed close upon us and kept Gladys attention from being especially called to me, I think I could have warded off detection until we were well on our way to Boston. She seemed turned to stone when she did recognize me, and realized how she had been duped, and when I attempted to reason with her she swooned." For a minute after Everet concluded, Mr. Hunt ress stood like one dazed by some fearful shock, his glance wavering between the still unconscious bride and the man whose victim she had become. "It is a fraud !" he cried at last. "You have prac ticed a most damnable fraud upon us all; but I hope that you do not imagine for a moment that you can enforce your claim. The courts of New York will promptly annul the marriage." "Allow me to suggest, sir, that you will first have to prove your point regarding fraud," Everet re torted, with quiet defiance. "Miss Huntress has been heard to affirm that she could distinguish be tween Geoffrey Dale and myself without any diffi culty, and yet she went to the altar with me and pledged herself to me without a demur." Mr. Huntress groaned. "Was that strange clergyman a tool of yours?" he demanded, excitedly. "Was that all a clever de vice of yours also ?" "No. Strange as it may seem, he was substituted just as I related to you, although it proved a most 172 FOR LOVE AND HONOR fortunate circumstance for me; but the telegram which called your pastor from his home was not a bona-fide one. I never should have dared to face him, who has so long known Geoffrey, for he would have detected the trick at once." "Scoundrel !" said Mr. Huntress, between his teeth. "Where is my son? where is Geoffrey?" "I cannot tell you, sir. I think, however, he has also been invited out of town for a few hours, at least," Everet returned, a little smile of triumph curv ing his lips as he became more accustomed to the situation and realized his power. Mr. Huntress caught it, and a dusky flush mounted to his forehead. "Leave this house instantly!" he commanded, un able to control himself any longer in the face of such effrontery. "I could not think of it, sir," Everet quietly re plied, and composedly seating himself by a window. "My place is beside my wife, and here I shall stay until she shall be able to accompany me elsewhere." What Mr. Huntress would have done next it is impossible to say, but before he could even reply, the door opened and Doctor Hoyt entered. "What am I wanted for? Bless me! what does this mean?" he exclaimed, glancing about him with undisguised astonishment, and perceiving the con dition of the newly made bride. "Gladys was taken ill immediately upon returning FOR LOVE AND HONOR 173 from the church," Mr. Huntress hastened to ex plain, suddenly bethinking himself that it would be wise to avoid a scandal, at least until he could take legal advice and see what hope there was of a re lease for Gladys from the hateful bonds that bound her. "Ah, yes a protracted swoon, caused by excite ment or some sudden shock," said the energetic little doctor, with a professional air, as he took one of the limp, white hands that lay on Gladys still breast, and felt for the pulse. He could not find any, nor was there any move ment about the heart, and he began to look very grave. "She must be put to bed immediately, and there must be perfect quiet throughout the house," he said. "Huntress, you must explain this to your guests, and get them away as soon as possible. It is unfortu nate, but I won t answer for the consequences if there is any confusion when she comes to herself. Here, madame," to Mrs. Huntress, "get this finery off her head and loosen her corsage, and you, sir," to Ev- eret, whom he supposed to be Geoffrey, "unlace those pretty number twos, and give the blood a chance to circulate in her feet." His coming seemed to put life and confidence into the nearly distracted parents. Mr. Huntress braced himself to encounter the crowd of wondering people in the drawing-room, 174 FOR LOVE AND HONOR and, going out, explained as briefly as possible the sudden illness of the bride, and the sympathetic guests, with a few well-bred expressions of regret, immediately dispersed, and in less than fifteen min utes the mansion was cleared and the stricken house hold left to itself, while not a suspicion of the fearful truth had got abroad. CHAPTER XIV WHAT BECAME OF GEOFFREY GLADYS lay so long in her swoon that not only her friends but the physician also became greatly alarmed lest she should never rally; the shock which had caused this suspension of animation might end in death. Everet Mapleson, too, as he sat alone in that small room back of the drawing-room, was in a very unenviable frame of mind. He knew that if Gladys should die her death would lie at his door; he would really have been her murderer, and such a disastrous result of his reckless plot he had never contemplated. He had fondly hoped, as he told Mr. Huntress, that, in the excitement and gaiety of the evening, sur rounded by friends and receiving their congratula tions, he could easily play Geoffrey s part, and she would not detect the imposition until they should start off alone upon their wedding journey. He had practiced many little mannerisms that were peculiar to Geoffrey, changing his voice, as far as he could, to imitate his, and had not reckoned upon the keen ness of love to discover the fraud so readily. 175 176 FOR LOVE AND HONOR He had expected that Gladys would be very un reconciled and unreasonable at first, but he had hoped, when she realized that there was no help for the deed, she might resign herself to the inevitable, and that he would gradually win her love by the in fluence of his own for her and his devotion to her. He had been wholly unprepared, however, for the exceeding horror and loathing which she had evinced upon discovering him, and she had thoroughly fright ened him by her rigid despair and the terrible leth argy which had followed it. When they bore her away to her room he fain would have followed, his anxiety was so great upon her account; but as he essayed to do so, Mr. Hun tress turned upon him in sudden fury. "Stay where you are!" he commanded, u or, what would be better still, leave the house altogether." "I shall not leave the house, sir," the young man answered, doggedly, and he resumed his seat, re solved to brave it out to the end, though a sickening fear was creeping over him that the end might be such as would make him wish he had never been born. So the poor little bride was borne from his sight, her bridal robes were removed, and everything done for her recovery that love could do or professional skill could suggest. Strange though it may seem, no one, save the physician, suspected the cause of this sudden attack. Mr. Huntress had confided the circumstances at- FOR LOVE AND HONOR 177 tending it to Doctor Hoyt, because he felt that he ought to be informed in order that he might work un- derstandingly, but not even a servant dreamed that their beautiful young mistress had been married to the wrong man. "August, I am nearly wild about Geoffrey, as well as Gladys," Mrs. Huntress said, to her husband, as together they bent over the unconscious girl, anx iously watching for some sign of returning life. "Do you believe that wretch would dare to harm him?" "No, indeed, dear. I feel sure that our Geoff is safe enough. I judge, from the fellow s words, that he has been decoyed to some place, where he was to be detained until the wedding was well over, and Mapleson well on the way to Boston with Gladys. Heavens! what an escape for the dear child!" he concluded, growing white over the contemplation of the young girl s sad fate if Everet had succeeded in keeping up the deception until after the steamer had sailed. "But is it an escape?" Mrs. Huntress whispered, with quivering lips. "Can the marriage be an nulled?" "Certainly, Alice," her husband emphatically re plied, "because we can prove the man a scoundrel and an impostor." "It will make a terrible scandal," sighed his wife. "Better that than that our dear one should be doomed to a life of misery. I will spend my last dol- 178 FOR LOVE AND HONOR lar to give her back her freedom and punish that audacious wretch," said Mr. Huntress, with firmly compressed lips. "Poor Geoff!" he added, after a pause, "I wonder where he can be; he must be in a terrible state of mind, wherever he is," concluded Mr. Huntress, with a weary sigh. But they could not think of much save Gladys, while she lay in such a critical condition, and they hung over her with white faces and sinking hearts, while they anxiously watched the physician s every look and movement. After what, to them, seemed an eternity of time, a faint sign of life began to show itself; the heart slowly resumed its motion, the pulse gave forth a feeble throb, a faint tinge of color flickered in the drawn lips, and the chest began to heave with the renewed action of the lungs. "She will weather it," Doctor Hoyt said, under his breath, but in his brisk, decisive way, which in stantly carried conviction and comfort to those par ents fond hearts. But when she did come fully to herself, and looked up into those earnest faces above her, when reason and memory reasserted themselves, that same look of horror came into her eyes, that rigid settling of her features returned, and were followed by another swoon, although not so frightful or prolonged as the first one had been. It was ten o clock before the physician succeeded FOR LOVE AND HONOR 179 in arresting the tendency to fainting, and she came fully to herself. "Geoffrey!" she moaned, as soon as she could speak, and looking around for the dear face, while a shudder shook her from head to foot. Doctor Hoyt shot a warning look at Mr. and Mrs. Huntress; then said, in a reassuring tone: "He is all right, and shall come to you when you are rather more like yourself. Now, drink this for the sake of getting a little strength." He put a glass to her lips, and she drank mechan ically. Then, pushing his hand away, she struggled to a half-sitting posture, and looked fearfully about the room. As her glance fell upon her wedding finery, which had been hastily thrown upon some chairs, she was seized with another violent shivering, and fell back among her pillows, covering her eyes with her hands, as if to shut out from sight and memory the fearful ordeal through which she had passed a few hours previous. But the potion which the physician had adminis tered was a powerful narcotic, which began almost immediately to take effect, and sleep soon locked her senses in oblivion. Hardly had she begun to breathe regularly, and the weary watchers about her bed to hope that the 180 FOR LOVE AND HONOR worst was over, when the great clock in the hall below struck the hour of midnight. At the last stroke the door of the sick-room swung softly open, and Geoffrey s face, pale, haggard, and anxious, appeared in the aperture. It required a mighty effort on the part of Mr. and Mrs. Huntress to refrain from uttering an exclama tion of joy at sight of him. But the doctor held up a warning finger. Mrs. Huntress, who had half started from her chair, sank back to her post beside Gladys pillow, while her husband, with a look of intense relief, stole quietly from the room. We must now go back to the hour when the wed ding party started from the house for the church. Geoffrey, as has been stated, left a little in ad vance of the others, as he desired a few moments interview with the clergyman before the ceremony. Not a thought of foul play entered his mind as he drove away, neither had he a suspicion that a different carriage had been substituted for the one he had ordered, that having been suddenly and cun ningly sent off to the station for an imaginary arrival on the evening express. He was so absorbed in his own thoughts that he did not even observe the route the driver was taking, until he suddenly noticed that the speed of the horses had greatly increased and he was rolling along at a FOR LOVE AND HONOR 181 remarkable rate through quiet and almost deserted streets. It was quite dark, but the street-lamps gave light enough to show him that he was a long distance from the place where he wanted to go. He tried to lower the window beside him. It was immovable. He tried the other, but it was as fast as the first one. He thumped on the front of the carriage, to at tract the attention of the driver; but a crack of the whip was the only answer. He shouted, commanding the man to stop, but the horses only went on the faster. Driven to desperation, Geoffrey drew back, and, with one powerful blow from his foot, shivered one of the windows to atoms. At the sound of the breaking glass, the coachman slackened the speed of his steeds. "Driver, where are you taking me?" Geoffrey shouted, thrusting his head from the window. "I want to go to Plymouth Church." "Oh ! Plymouth?" replied the man, in a tone of innocent astonishment, as if he had been bound for some other church, and was surprised to learn that he had made a mistake. Geoffrey was unsuspicious enough to believe this, yet he was very much annoyed. He desired to see the clergyman before the cere- 182 FOR LOVE AND HONOR mony, and he knew it was already past the hour set for his marriage. "You have no time to lose," he shouted again to the driver. "I fear you have made me late, as it is; get me there as quickly as you can." "All right, sir," came back the answer, while the carriage suddenly turned a corner, and the man whipped the horses to a run. Geoffrey had no overcoat with him; he thought he should not need it, the day had been so mild, and he would be shut into a close carriage; but now the chill night air came in through the broken window, and he began to suffer with the cold. On and on the carriage went, faster and faster the horses flew, until suddenly Geoffrey discovered, to his dismay, that he was rolling over an open country road, while the lights of the city were gleaming far behind. Again he leaned forth and shouted to the driver to stop ; that he was wrong. But this time there came no answer, save the whiz and crack of the lash, and the sound of the horses hoofs upon the road. He began to fear that the man was intoxicated. He called, he commanded, he threatened; all to no purpose, except to make the driver urge his horses to go faster and faster. They were far out in the suburbs now, with the FOR LOVE AND HONOR 183 houses few and far between, and Geoffrey was nearly in despair. What would the wedding party think, upon reach ing the church, to find no bridegroom there? What would Gladys think? What would those hundreds of guests say when they should discover there could be no wedding? What would be the end of this dreadful adventure? Could it be possible that the man who was driving was some insane creature, carrying him to destruc tion? Every possible explanation, save the right one, flashed through his mind as he sat there, utterly powerless to help himself, yet almost crazed with anxiety and suspense. He shouted himself hoarse, without eliciting the slightest response or attention. He leaned as far out of the carriage as he was able, to look at the man on the box, but could only dimly distinguish a figure muffled to the ears in a huge ulster, but as motionless as a statue, except for that periodical swing of his right arm in wielding the whip. Geoffrey dared not leap out, even though in his desperation he was strongly tempted to do so; he realized that such a hazardous proceeding might result in instant death, while there was no way by which he could climb to the top of the carriage to reach the driver; there was nothing that he could 184 FOR LOVE AND HONOR do but submit to the inevitable, and await further developments. So, wearied out and thoroughly chilled by the keen night air, he first stuffed one of the cushions into the broken window, then sank back inco a corner, and surrendered himself to his fate. For three long hours he sat there and was driven at a rapid pace, knowing not whither he was going. At last, to his infinite relief, the carriage stopped. Taking instant advantage of this circumstance, Geoffrey leaped to the ground, and turning furiously to the driver, he demanded what he meant by bring ing him there. The man might have been a deaf mute for all the notice he took of either the young man s question or passion. He neither spoke nor moved, except to quickly turn his horses about and drive rapidly back in the direction from which he had come, leaving his vic tim standing in the middle of a lonely road with not a house in sight. For a moment Geoffrey was so bewildered that he did not know what to do; he had not the slightest idea where he was, only he was sure that he must be miles and miles from Brooklyn. But his insufficient clothing but illy protected him from the cold, and he soon began to realize that he could not stand there long without great danger to himself. FOR LOVE AND HONOR 185 He began to walk rapidly, and soon found him self ascending a hill, and upon reaching the top he saw, beneath him, the lights of a small village gleam ing through the darkness. Quickening his steps he reached it after ten or fif teen minutes, and, to, his joy, discovered that a line of railway passed through it. Following this he soon came to the station, where he found a sleepy-looking agent and telegraph oper ator, who regarded him and his immaculate dress- suit with undisguised astonishment. He inquired when the next train went to Brooklyn, and to his dismay learned that this was only a branch road, and that no train was due there for an hour. It was small comfort, too, to be told that it would be only a freight train with a passenger car attached that it would stop at every station where there was freight to be delivered or taken up; that it would be a full hour reaching the main line, where he would have to wait another hour for a train to Brooklyn. All this delay he knew would prevent him from reaching home before midnight, and then there flashed upon him, for the first time, a suspicion that he had been brought to that remote place by no in toxicated driver s freak, neither had he been the victim of a maniac s frenzy, but that his abduction had been deliberately and cunningly planned to pre vent his appearance at his own wedding to hinder, if possible, his marriage with Gladys. 186 FOR LOVE AND HONOR But who could have perpetrated such a dastardly act, and what could have been the ultimate object? It did occur to him that Everet Mapleson might have had something to do with it, but he quickly abandoned that idea for, much as he distrusted and disliked him, on many accounts, he could not think anything so bad as this of him little dreaming how much worse he had done while, too, he believed he had left the city more than a week previous. He was very cold, and he knew he could not be three hours more on the road without a coat or wrap of some kind to protect him; but how to procure it was a question he could not solve, for the station- master told him there was not a clothing store in the place. While he was hovering over the fire in the ladies waiting-room, shivering with the cold, and feeling inconceivably wretched, a tall, portly woman entered, bearing a large gripsack in one hand, a heavy shawl and waterproof in the other. She wore a long circular of some rough cloth, which completely covered her from her neck to her heels, a knitted hood upon her head, a pair of brown woolen mittens on her hands, and looked so warm and comfortable that Geoffrey shivered afresh. His eyes fastened themselves instantly and en viously upon the shawl she carried. A bright idea struck him, and, addressing her FOR LOVE AND HONOR 187 courteously, he asked her if she would sell it to him, explaining briefly that he had been on his way to a wedding in a close carriage, when accident threw him unprotected out into the cold. "I will give you twenty dollars for that shawl, madame," he said, knowing well, however, that it was not really worth half that sum. But she refused his offer the shawl had belonged to a sister who had but just died, and she could not part with it; however, she would sell him the circu lar she had on, she said, for half what he had offered for the other wrap, and wear that herself. This proposal pleased him even better than his own, for he would be far less conspicuous in the dark circular, and he never had felt better over a bargain, or experienced a greater sense of personal comfort, than when he gave up his ten dollars and wrapped himself in the shabby garment, just as the lazy train came puffing up to the station. He found a seat near the stove, and strove to possess his soul in patience until he should reach the main line. The waiting at the junction, however, was even a greater tax upon his nerves, but it was over at last, and, boarding the Brooklyn train the moment it stopped, he was soon rolling rapidly toward home. He reached Brooklyn only a little before mid night, called a carriage and arrived before his own door five minutes before the hour struck. He let 188 FOR LOVE AND HONOR himself quietly in with his latch-key, and, fearing he hardly knew what, stole up to Gladys room, where he had observed a light, and seen shadows on the curtains before entering the house. CHAPTER XV AN ACCIDENT REVEALS AN HEIRLOOM "My dear boy!" cried Mr. Huntress, under his breath, as he stepped out into the hall beside Geof frey, cautiously closing the door after him, and then seizing him warmly by both hands, "where on earth have you been, and what has happened to you?" "The most mysterious and villainous thing that could happen," replied Geoffrey, with a gloomy face. "I have been kidnapped carried miles and miles away and it has taken me hours to return." "I suspected as much," said Mr. Huntress, sternly. "Then you haven t attributed my absence to any fault of mine, Uncle August?" "No, indeed, my boy. I knew better." "What made you suspect foul play? But first tell me about Gladys. How has she borne it?" Geof frey asked, with a wistful glance at the door beyond which his darling lay. Mr. Huntress shot an anxious look at him. Clearly he had no suspicion of what had occurred during his absence. "Gladys has suffered a great deal mentally, but 189 190 FOR LOVE AND HONOR she is sleeping now," he said, gravely, and wondering how he could ever tell him the terrible truth. "It must have been dreadful. I can imagine the consternation of everybody when they discovered there would be no wedding," said Geoffrey, excitedly, while he began to pace restlessly up and down the corridor. "How awkward! how wretched for my darling! how uncomfortable for you and Aunt Alice ! How did you manage ? What could you do or say?" "Come with me, Geoff, where we can talk without fear of disturbing Gladys, and I will tell you. I have something very strange to tell you, too," said Mr. Huntress, linking his arm within that of the young man and leading him to an alcove over the front entrance. "Something strange," Geoffrey repeated, in a startled tone. "Very. There has been a most villainous plot connected with this affair." From Mr. Huntress manner, Geoffrey saw that something of a very grave nature had occurred. "What is it?" he demanded. "Tell me at once; I can bear anything better than suspense." "Geoff, there was a wedding!" "Uncle August!" "But no one save ourselves and our good doctor, as yet suspects that there was anything wrong about it." FOR LOVE AND HONOR 191 "Are you crazy? What do you mean?" cried the young man, breathlessly. "A wedding? That could not be. Gladys could not have been the bride." "Gladys was the bride, and every guest believes that you were the groom." Geoffrey sank upon a chair, his strength all gone, while a dim suspicion of the horrible truth began to take form in his mind. "What can you mean?" he gasped, hardly above a whisper, a deadly pallor on his face, an agonized look in his eyes. "Be calm, my boy," said his uncle, laying his hand affectionately upon his shoulder. "A dreadful thing has occurred, but it was all a farce a fraud, rather which the law will set right in time, and Gladys may yet be yours " "Heavens ! Uncle August, you are driving me mad! Explain! explain! I cannot bear these enig mas !" cried the poor fellow, springing to his feet in a fearful state of agitation, while a cold perspiration started out all over his face. Mr. Huntress gently forced him back into his chair and began at once to tell him all that had oc curred, from the moment of the departure of the bridal party from the church, up to the present hour. Geoffrey sat throughout the fearful recital as if he had suddenly been turned to stone, and when at last it was concluded, there were several moments of dreadful silence. He seemed paralyzed, mentally 192 FOR LOVE AND HONOR and physically, by the blighting affliction which had overtaken him, and by the bold daring of the enemy who had thus ruined his dearest hopes. Agony, however, at last broke the spell. He arose, and stood pale and stern before his uncle. "Where is he?" he demanded, in an awful voice, although it was barely audible, "where is that treach erous villain who has robbed me of my wife and broken her heart? Tell me, for there must be a terrible settlement between him and me. Where is Everet Mapleson, Uncle August?" "Here!" responded a defiant voice close beside them, and, wheeling suddenly about at the sound, Geoffrey saw his rival standing between the parted draperies that separated the alcove from the main hall. "I am here to answer for myself," he continued, in the same tone, while he looked as pale and reso lute as Geoffrey himself, "but first I demand tidings of my wife." That word was like a blow to Geoffrey, who stag gered back with a groan of anguish. But he quickly rallied. "She is not your wife!" he said, fiercely; "a farce an act of fraud, could never make her such." "You are a trifle premature in your statement," retorted young Mapleson, with a sneer. "I do not deny that my purpose was accomplished by some- FOR LOVE AND HONOR 193 thing of strategy, but it was accomplished, notwith standing Gladys Huntress was married to me to night, and it is simply useless to contest the fact." "You may have gone through the marriage service- with her; but you personated me, and it was only a. mock ceremony. Besides, there were certain prelim inaries to be attended to your intentions made known your certificate to be properly filled; with out these there could have been no legal marriage," Geoffrey returned, sternly. Everet Mapleson smiled superciliously. "All that you mention was most carefully attended to, sir," he said, with an air of triumph that was simply maddening to his listeners. "The clergyman was duly apprised of my intentions, and received a handsome fee, fifteen minutes before the arrival of the bridal party at the church; the ring had been purchased and carefully marked and now adorns the hand of the bride. Not a single detail has been omitted, I assure you, to make my position and my claim secure." "Bah! your audacity is astounding!" said Geof frey, contemptuously. "It was a barefaced fraud, and the marriage will never stand in law," persisted Geoffrey, firmly, but, oh ! with such a sinking agony in his heart. "Prove it if you can," retorted Mapleson, arro gantly. "You will not find it an easy thing to do, 194 FOR LOVE AND HONOR however, for I shall make a desperate fight to thwart you." "Wretch! how dare you attempt such a diabolical plot?" Mr. Huntress demanded. "I was desperate enough to dare anything, sir," Tlveret replied, addressing him with more respect than he had yet shown. "With the love I bear your -daughter I could not brook defeat. I vowed that I would win her at any cost, and but for my own Indiscretion all this fuss might have been avoided. I was so elated by my success in having the marriage performed that I could not resist taking advantage of my position, and, in attempting to salute my bride after our return to the house, she recognized me. If I had done nothing to attract her especial attention to me, the next two hours might have been tided vover well enough, and, once on the way to Boston, >en route for Europe, I could have laughed at any out side interference." Geoffrey shivered. It was dreadful to have to listen to these revelations, and to realize what a nar- TOW escape Gladys had had, for he knew that if Everet Mapleson had succeeded in deceiving her until the steamer sailed, the shock of her discovery, when alone, and in the power of the audacious scoun drel, might have resulted in her death. Even now they might not be able to secure her release, and she would still have to remain his wife in the sight of the FOR LOVE AND HONOR 195 world, but no moral obligation bound her to him, and no power could ever compel her to live with him. "Could you ever hope to gain any satisfaction in the presence of a wife who would loathe the very sight of you, and whom you knew would never cease to love another?" Mr. Huntress demanded, with curling lips. Love begets love, you know, and I imagine it would not have been such a hopeless task, after all, to win the heart of my wife, with such devotion as I have to offer her," Everet Mapleson flippantly replied. Geoffrey s blood boiled as much at his confident,, arrogant tone, as at his words, and almost before he had concluded, he walked straight up to him, seized him by the coat-collar, wheeled him about, and marching him to the head of the stairs, pointed below and said, in a stern, authoritative tone, as he released his hold of him: "Go!" The young man was so taken aback by this sum mary act that he did not even offer to resist until he reached the top stair, when he put out his hand and seized the railing. He turned, with blazing eyes, and faced Geoffrey, but the expression which he saw upon his face warned him that he had no irresolute spirit to deal with. "Go !" reiterated Geoffrey, inflexibly, "or I may 196 FOR LOVE AND HONOR be tempted beyond my strength and forget one of the thou shalt nots. "I will not! he returned, as resolutely, all his antagonism aroused. "Do you imagine that, after having struggled so desperately to attain the dear est hopes of my life, I will fly like a coward in the very hour of their achievement?" But even while he spoke, with all the bravado of which he was master, he shifted uneasily before the -terrible look in Geoffrey Huntress eye. Yet it aroused all the passion in his nature; the hot blood mounted to his brow, coursing in an angry tide through all his veins, and before either of his companions could suspect his intention, he swung aloft his right arm to smite his rival to the floor. But the blow never descended. In his hot-headed anger he forgot the danger of his position, made a misstep, lost his balance and fell headlong down the long flight of stairs, and then lay silent and motion less, while those two men above looked down upon him with white, startled faces, and hearts throbbing heavily with a sickening fear. The stairs were carpeted and thickly padded, so that his fall had not been a very noisy one; yet the disturbance was sufficient to bring both Mrs. Hunt ress and the physician forth from Gladys room, in .-a state of alarm and consternation. "What is it? Oh, August, what has happened? * cried Mrs. Huntress, clinging to her husband. FOR LOVE AND HONOR 197 "That villain played the spy upon us, and in at tempting to strike Geoffrey, lost his balance and fell,"" Mr. Huntress explained, adding, anxiously: "But pray go back and stay with Gladys; let her know nothing of this, even if she wakes, and we will take, care of this fellow." He led her back to the young girl s room, and was: greatly relieved to see that she was still sleeping heavily, and had not been conscious of the confusion outside. The doctor and Geoffrey, meanwhile, had sprung down the stairs, lifted the prostrate man, and carried him into one of the rooms below. A careful examination convinced Doctor Hoyt that there were no bones broken, the thickly carpeted and padded stairs had doubtless been his salvation in this respect; if he had suffered no internal injury,, he had surely escaped in a wonderful manner. The force and shock of the fall had stunned him; but it was not long before he began to rally and look about him. As he sat up, rubbing his confused head and try ing to realize what had happened to him, Doctor Hoyt glanced curiously from him to Geoffrey. Both were dressed in evening suits, both were very pale, and their resemblance to each other was: something wonderful. "I do not wonder that the scamp succeeded in his villainous scheme," the physician said, in an aside, 198 FOR LOVE AND HONOR to Mr. Huntress. "I never saw twins that were more of an exact counterpart of each other. "Well, how do you find yourself now?" he added, in his abrupt, professional way, turning to Everet. "I believe my shoulder is sprained," he replied, cringing with pain, as he attempted to move his left arm. "Any peculiar faintness at the stomach any in ternal pain?" "No, I reckon not; I have hardly come to myself yet, though." The doctor made another examination. "You ll do," he said, as he completed it; "there are no bones broken or out of joint, and if there was anything very wrong inside it would begin to show itself. It s lucky for you that you haven t a dislocated neck. The next time you want to play pugilist don t choose a flight of stairs for your battle- ground. Now, if you ll take my advice, you ll make tracks for your hotel, give yourself a good rubbing all over with alcohol, and go to bed." Everet glanced darkly at the man, and it was on his tongue to tell him that he should do no such thing; but he had been too thoroughly shaken up by his fall to feel in a very defiant state, and he realized, too, that he had received very good counsel, which it might be wise to heed. Mr. Huntress, after hearing the doctor s verdict, Lad slipped quietly from the room, feeling greatly FOR LOVE AND HONOR relieved; but he returned in a few moments with several small articles in his hand, which he had picked up in the hall and on the stairs. There was a small pearl-handled knife, a Russia- leather wallet, two or three pieces of gold, and some of silver. These he handed to the young man. "They must have slipped from your pockets as you fell," he said. Everet received them without even a civil acknowl edgment, and replaced them in his pockets. "Does this belong to you also?" Mr. Huntress asked, holding out a small, glittering peculiarly shaped object. "Yes; thanks," he now had the grace to say, in arc eager tone. "It is a pocket-piece and an heirloom; I would not lose it for a great deal," and he held out: his hand for it. Geoffrey glanced up carelessly at these words? then he stepped quickly forward, his eyes glitter ing, a strange expression on his face. "Let me look at that, if you please," he said. Mr. Huntress passed it to him, although Everet. Mapleson frowned at the act. If Geoffrey had been pale before, he was ghastly- now as he received that small object on the palm of" his hand. It was half of a knight-templar s cross, which had -200 FOR LOVE AND HONOR been broken diagonally, and was beautifully enam eled and engraven! He turned it over, holding it nearer the light to examine the back of it. "Ha !" he exclaimed, with a violent start, while he glanced wonderingly at Everet, who was also re garding him with astonishment. "Will you tell me how this happens to be in your possession?" Geoffrey asked, meeting his eye. "Certainly," the young man returned, with mock politeness; "it belonged to my great-grandfather, who served in the Revolution. He became a knight- templar just before enlisting, and was presented with that emblem by the lodge of master masons over which he had served as W. M. The date of the presentation, with my venerable relative s name, is engraved on the back, as you perceive." "What became of the other portion of it?" Geof frey asked. "My father has it." "Your father has it?" "Yes," curtly responded Everet, annoyed by this questioning, yet impelled to reply by something that struck him as peculiar in Geoffrey s manner. "It was broken by accident," he added, "after my an cestor s return from the war, never having left his person during all that time, and he gave one half to his son as a pocket-piece, he said keeping the other himself. At his death his portion was given FOR LOVE AND HONOR 201 to my father, who had been named for him, and, when I was of an age to appreciate it, my grand father s half was handed down to me." "And your father you are sure has the other part of it now?" Geoffrey inquired, with pale lips. "Yes," Everet said, with a shrug of his shoul ders; "we have always regarded them as heirlooms, and have been careful not to lose them." "/ have a pocket-piece which 7 have been care ful not to lose since it came into my possession," Geoffrey remarked in a hard, dry tone. He took something from one of his pockets as he spoke, laid it beside that other piece lying in his palm, and held it out for Everet Mapleson to see. CHAPTER XVI GEOFFREY LEARNS THE TRUTH AT LAST IT was that portion of a knight-templar s cross which old Abe Brown had given to Geoffrey when he was in Santa Fe the previous summer. It matched Everet s exactly, and the two frag ments formed a perfect cross as they lay together in Geoffrey s palm. Everet glanced at it, then shot one quick, fright ened look into Geoffrey s stern face. "Where did you get it?" he demanded, in husky tones, and starting to his feet in great excitement "It was found in Santa Fe, where your father where my father lost it." "Your father?" cried Everet, in a startled tone. "Yes, Everet Mapleson, you and I are brothers! "It is a lie!" hoarsely shouted Everet, recoiling, yet knowing but too well that he spoke only truth; "do you suppose I would own " "Stop!" commanded Geoffrey, sternly; "do not utter words which you may have bitter cause to re gret later. This broken emblem, which I thought so 2C2 FOR LOVE AND HONOR 203 valueless when it came into my possession, now be comes the strongest link in the chain of evidence that proves my identity. Last summer I traced this man to Santa Fe, and there lost his trail. There was only this paltry piece of gold, with the name William en graven upon it, to show that he had ever been there. I believed that my father s name was William Dale, for I learned that a man bearing that name had lived in a certain mining district of New Mexico, where, as I was told, I was born and my mother had died. I found my old nurse and her husband, who related all they knew of her life there, and into whose care my father had given me after her death. They, how ever, did not even know his place of residence or ad dress; letters, he told them, would reach him super scribed Lock Box 43, Santa Fe. At Santa Fe I was given this piece of jewelry by a man who had been postmaster there many years ago, and who remem bered the man that lost it, but could not recall his name. Upon it was engraven William, which I had been told was my father s first name, and now I find the other half of the cross bearing that of Ma- pleson on it. Is your father s name William Dale Mapleson?" Geoffrey suddenly asked, as if the thought had just come to him. "No," was the curt, scornful reply, although it was evident that the speaker was striving to con ceal the agitation which Geoffrey s account had caused. 204, FOR LOVE AND HONOR Geoffrey stood silently and thoughtfully observ ing the cross that lay in his hand and the name in scribed upon it. He no longer had any doubt about his being able to solve the mystery of his birth, though he greatly feared that the solving would only serve to confirm his worst fears. "Then," he said, in a cold, hard tone, "he dropped that of Mapleson and assumed that of Dale for pur poses best known to himself, for I know now, as well as I wish to, that your father and mine are one and the same person. I know that he must have taken a beautiful girl to the mining region of which I have spoken that she lived there with him as his wife under the name of Dale. He called her Annie. I have seen her grave, and those who knew them both claim that he loved her as his own life, and was broken-hearted when she died. Whether she had any legal claim upon him; whether I, the child who was born to them there, can claim honorable birth and an honorable name, are points which remain to be proved. Do you know aught of this story?" Geoffrey demanded of Everet, in conclusion. The young man did not reply for a moment. He seemed to be considering whether it would be best to conceal or proclaim what he had discovered, and denounce the man, whom he had so long hated, as the illegitimate son of his father. FOR LOVE AND HONOR 205 Suddenly he threw back his head in a reckless way, an evil light in his eyes, a curl of scorn on his lips. "Yes," he said, "I do know the story from be ginning to end. I know that a girl named Annie Dale disappeared very mysteriously from Richmond more than twenty years ago; that she fled to her lover, who met her at Kansas City, and then took her to that mining village among the mountains of New Mexico, where she lived with him as his mistress, though nominally as his wife, until she died." "That man was William Mapleson, your father?" said Geoffrey, in a tone that was terrible from its calmness. "That man was William Mapleson, my father," repeated Everet, defiantly, though the blood mounted hotly to his brow as he said it, showing that he was not yet quite hardened enough not to feel something of shame over the confession. "Did he give you the history of that exceedingly honorable portion of his life?" Geoffrey asked, with curling lips. "No ; I found it out for myself. I have never felt at ease with your resemblance to me; it has haunted me day and night," Everet replied. "A slight cir cumstance occurred to arouse my suspicions that there might be some natural cause for it. I began to trace the mystery, and followed it up until I learned the truth that you were Annie Dale s child, and she was what I have already told you. I sup- 206 FOR LOVE AND HONOR pose, in point of fact, that we are, in a certain way, related to each other," he went on, with a disagree able shrug. "If, under the circumstances, you can derive any comfort from it, much good may it do you." Geoffrey grew crimson, and, for a moment, his eyes blazed wrathfully at this taunt. "Was Mr. William Mapleson at Saratoga during any portion of last summer?" he asked, struggling for self-control. "I believe he ran up there for a few days when he come North to join my mother at Newport," Everet returned, wondering what the question could have to do with the point under discussion. Geoffrey glanced significantly at Mr. Huntress. "What was his object in registering there as Wil liam Dale?" he asked. Everet looked up, astonished. "He did not," he said, skeptically. "He did. I met him one morning in Congress Park. He accosted me by your name, believing me to be yourself, and then became greatly agitated upon being informed of his mistake and told who I was. My suspicions were aroused, for I have always been on the alert to discover my parentage, and I begged an interview with him. He appointed one for five o clock at his room, number forty-five, at the United States Hotel. I was punctual, but when I inquired for the gentleman who occupied room forty-five, I FOR LOVE AND HONOR 207 was told that he had left at noon. I examined the register, and found his name entered as William Dale, from Santa Fe, New Mexico. "Then it must have been some one else," Everet affirmed, perplexed over the affair, and yet instinc tively feeling that his father must have been con cerned in it, though just how he was at a loss to imagine. "That was the thread by which I traced him to Santa Fe, and from there to that mining village, where I learned the story of my birth and my moth er s death; and this story will have to be sifted to the bottom," Geoffrey concluded in a resolute tone. "Really, I do not see what use there will be in raising a row over the affair," retorted Everet, with a supercilious glare at the young man. "There are hundreds of men who have been rather gay and wild in their youth, and if there have been girls in the world who were foolish enough to accept their fa vors, it is nobody s business but their own, and worse than folly to rake it over. Colonel William Maple- son is a man who occupies an honorable position and bears a proud name. He is a high-tempered gen tleman, too, and I warn you will brook no nonsense from any one." Doctor Hoyt, who had been an interested listener thus far during the interview, turned abruptly on his heel, with an expression of supreme contempt at this speech. 208 FOR LOVE AND HONOR "Honorable position proud name, forsooth! Possesses more temper than morality, I should judge, if his son is a specimen of the race," he muttered, and then passed upstairs to ascertain if all was going well with his fair patient. The haughty heir of the house of Mapleson winced visibly beneath the scathing words. "Nevertheless," said Geoffrey, with deliberate emphasis, in reply to what he had said, "Colonel William Mapleson will have to answer to me, per sonally, for the wrong if wrong there was that he did my mother. Now, sir, we have had enough of this for to-night, and you can go! Shall I call a carriage for you, or do you prefer to walk?" Everet burned to defy him in this, but he knew it would be useless to resist the resolute purpose which he read in every line of his stern face; so, after a moment s hesitation, he said he would walk; and, with a sullen scowl on his face, and wrath flam ing in his heart, he left the house and bent his steps toward the nearest hotel. Neither Geoffrey nor Mr. Huntress thought of re tiring that night, though the physician soon after went away, saying Gladys would do well enough for several hours, and he would come around in the morning; while Mrs. Huntress caught a little sleep upon the lounge in her daughter s room. They sat together until morning, reviewing Geoffrey s life and laying plans for future action. When morning dawned it broke upon a saddened, yet, withal, upon a thankful household. Saddened because of the terrible ending of all the bright hopes which they had cherished only a few hours previous, but thankful because Gladys awoke once more her self, and that no harm had befallen Geoff, as they feared, during his long absence from home. But Gladys was very sad, and could not refer to the events of the night before without becoming greatly agitated; but her long rest had given her strength and more of self-control, while she had been greatly comforted upon being told that she need never look upon Everet Mapleson s face again un less she chose, and that an appeal to the law would soon free her from the hateful tie that bound her to him. She nearly broke down again, however, when Geoffrey went to her, late in the day, and clung to him almost hysterically; but he spoke cheerfully, and tried to comfort her with brighter hopes for the fu ture, although his own heart was terribly burdened by the great sorrow that had fallen so like a thunder bolt upon them both. "Oh, Geoff," Gladys burst forth at one time dur ing the interview, "must all Brooklyn and New York ring with this dreadful story?" "No, my darling. Uncle August and I have been considering that matter, and we think that no one, save those of us who already know the truth, need FOR LOVE AND HONOR learn anything of it. I am surprised that your father and mother were enabled to act so discreetly during all the confusion last night not even a servant sus pects anything wrong as yet, Geoffrey said, reassur ingly. "But will he keep still about it?" Gladys asked, with a shiver of aversion, as her mind reverted to Everet Mapleson. "I think he will be very glad to, dear at least for the present," Geoffrey said, confidently, "until he finds out just what steps we intend to take. It would be very mortifying to him to have his villainy dis covered, and become a target for everybody to shoot at, because he failed to get possession of the bride he had strained every nerve to win, while we shall do our utmost as soon as I return." "Return! Where are you going?" "Ah! has not Aunt Alice told you? I am going South immediately, to try to get at the truth regard ing my birth." He then told her something of the revelations of last night, and she was greatly astonished and shocked to learn of his relation to the man who had so injured them both. "Brothers, Geoff? Just think of it!" she cried, wonderingly. He smiled somewhat bitterly. "I fear if what he says is true, that the house of Mapleson will not own me either as a son or a FOR LOVE AND HONOR 211 brother. However, I wish to know the truth, what ever it is, and then just as soon as I return we will try to have that wretched fraud of last night recti fied." "Can it be done without publicity, Geoffrey?" Gladys asked, anxiously. "Yes, I believe it can be arranged so that very few will ever be any wiser for what has happened." This was one of the things that Mr. Huntress and Geoffrey had talked of the night before, and the events of the next few days confirmed them in the belief that all scandal might be avoided. The next morning Mr. Huntress went to the house where Everet Mapleson had been accustomed to stop, but he was not to be found there. He had left nearly two weeks previous the day after he had met Gladys at the opera they discovered later. Afterward they learned that he had hidden him self in a little town a few miles out of the city, and there matured his plans, and hired his accomplice to assist in his miserable plot on the evening of the wedding. Upon leaving the Huntress mansion, after his interview with Geoffrey, and the discovery that he knew so much of his history, he had stolen away to the nearest hotel, where, after thinking everything quickly over, he began to realize that he could never compel Gladys to acknowledge herself as his wife; 5212 FOR LOVE AND HONOR he believed, too, that the courts would, upon learning the facts, annul the marriage. "Oh ! if I had only kept still, and got her away before the deception was discovered, my triumph would have been complete, and now I have lost everything," he groaned in impotent wrath; and yet he was so furious at Geoffrey that he vowed he would make a desperate fight against a divorce, if for nothing but to keep the lovers apart. But until they should take some decisive step he resolved to kept still and out of sight, for he also was far too proud to care to become the subject of a scandal. It occasioned no surprise among the friends of the Huntress family when they learned that "young Mrs. Huntress" had not been able to sail for Europe, and that the trip was to be postponed for at least another month possibly until spring. Her physician also prohibited all callers and ex citement, giving as a reason that her strength had been overtaxed, and she had barely escaped nervous prostration. People did not wonder at this; it appeared very reasonable, for they knew the season had been very gay, that the young couple had been in great demand, and all this, together w r ith the excitement and care of preparing for such a wedding, was enough to wear out any young girl. So Gladys and her mother remained quietly at FOR LOVE AND HONOR 21S home, hedged about with these restrictions, while Geoffrey and Mr. Huntress went South. Mr. Huntress had insisted upon accompanying the young man, for he was determined that full justice should be done the boy whom he had reared and loved as his own son. If Colonel Mapleson had wronged his mother he should at least tell the story kindly and courteously to her child; if he had inher ited anything from her it would be his business to see that he had his rights. The weary travelers reached Richmond late one afternoon. They found that Vue de 1 Eau Colonel Mapleson s estate was a long distance from the city, and they would be obliged to hire some convey ance thither. This was not an easy thing to accomplish, for the night promised to be very dark, the roads were muddy, and the weather unusually cold for that genial climate. But by offering a generous sum, for he was anxious to have the ordeal before them over as soon as possible, Mr. Huntress succeeded in get ting a man to take them to their destination. It was seven o clock when they at last reached the home of the proud Southerner, and the two men alighted before the door with grave faces, and nerves that were none too steady, in contemplation of the interview before them. "Yes, sah, Massa Mapleson s home, sail," the dusky-skinned servant replied to Mr. Huntress* FOR LOVE AND HONOR inquiry, and then obsequiously led the way through the magnificent hall, which divided the stately man sion through the center, to a spacious and richly fur nished library at its lower end. U A. D. Huntress and Son," Mr. Huntress wrote on a card, and handed it to the servant to be given to his master, and then they sat down to await his coming. Five minutes later though it seemed as many hours to those impatient men Colonel Mapleson appeared in the doorway, opposite August Hunt ress. He was a tall, rather spare man, with a finely shaped head proudly poised above a pair of military- looking shoulders, a massive brow, surmounted by a wealth of iron-gray hair, regular, handsome, yet rather haughty features, a keen, eagle-glancing blue eye, and an energetic manner. Geoffrey recognized him instantly. It was the same man whom he had met in Congress Park at Saratoga. "Ah! Mr. Huntress," remarked the gentleman, courteously, as his visitor arose to greet him; "glad to see you, sir glad to see you I" Then espying Geoffrey whom, having been seated on his right and a little back of him as he entered, he had not at first seen, he started, his face lighted with pleasure, and he went toward him with out stretched hand, exclaiming, heartily: FOR LOVE AND HONOR 215 "Holloa! Everet! where on earth did you drop from? I supposed you still in New York having a gay time." Mr. Huntress came forward at this, saying: "You have made a slight mistake, sir; this young man is my son by adoption Mr. Geoffrey Dale Huntress." Colonel Mapleson recoiled, an ashen pallor over spreading his face at these words, a look of fear fol lowed by one of dismay, then of conviction springing into his eyes, which were fastened upon that familiar yet strange face. Then he staggered toward a chair, sank heavily into it, his head dropping upon his breast, while he murmured, in a tone of awe mingled with agony: "At last! at last it has come!" There was an awkward silence after that, during which the man appeared to be absorbed in painful thought. Mr. Huntress broke it at last by remarking in a grave tone: "I told you, Colonel Mapleson, that this is my son by adoption; we have recently learned that he is your son by the more sacred tie of blood, and our errand here to-night is to learn how much or how little that may mean." The man sat suddenly erect, as his guest concluded this speech, and looked almost imperial as he bent his keen, flashing eye full upon August Huntress, a 216 FOR LOVE AND HONOR firm purpose written on his face, and a look, also, which plainly told that he had never yet turned his back upon danger, trouble, or an enemy, and never would. "You shall learn that, sir." he said in a clear, proud tone; Annie Dale was my lawful wife, and he," extending a hand that trembled visibly toward Geoffrey, "is our son!" CHAPTER XVII FURTHER DEVELOPMENTS MR. HUNTRESS was struck dumb with astonish ment by this unexpected declaration; but Geoffrey sprang forward, clasped that extended hand, and exclaimed, in a voice that shook with emotion: "Oh, sir, I can never express my gratitude for that blessed assurance !" Colonel Mapleson s figures closed almost con vulsively over the young man s hand, while he turned his gaze upon him, searching his face with eager, hungry eyes. "Geoffrey," he murmured, in a trembling tone, "you are my Annie s boy." His lips quivered, a great trembling seized him, and he seemed on the point of breaking down utterly. It was several minutes before he could collect him self sufficiently to speak, although he struggled man fully with his emotion. At length he turned again to Geoffrey, to whose hand he had clung all the time, saying: "How like you are to Everet, my other son. I mistook you for him when I first entered the room." 217 218 FOR LOVE AND HONOR "So you did upon one other occasion if you remem ber," Geoffrey returned. The man made a gesture of pain. "Ah !" he said, humbly, "you will forgive me, I hope, when I explain why I avoided you at that time. But this meeting has unnerved me. I find myself unable to either think or speak collectedly. Will you both remove your outer coats, and then, Geoffrey, tell me the story of your life of your adoption by this gentleman, while I try to recover myself. But first tell me have you both dined? Shall I not order something for you?" he concluded, with thoughtful hospitality. They assured him that they had dined just before leaving Richmond, and needed nothing; and then, having removed their overcoats as requested, Geof frey began his tale. His face had brightened wonderfully during the last few moments; the expression of tense anxiety, of doubt and apprehension, had all faded from it, and he looked more like himself than he had done since the day of his interrupted marriage; it was such a blessed relief to know that no stigma was attached to his birth. He told all that he had learned of his history through Jack and Margery Henly, and how he had so strangely come upon them while striving to follow up the faint clew that he had obtained of his father at Saratoga; of his having been found so helpless FOR LOVE AND HONOR 819 and forlorn in New York by Mr. Huntress; of the restoration of his mental faculties through his kind ness and interest, and of the happy life that he had since led as a member of his household. The only incidents that he omitted were those in which Everet his father s other son had been concerned, and which he would not then pain him by mentioning, though possibly they might have to told later. Colonel Mapleson listened with rapt interest and attention throughout the whole recital, and appeared deeply moved during that portion which related to his mental infirmity. When it was all told, he seemed to fall into a painful reverie; his face was inexpressibly sad, his attitude despondent, as if memories of the past, which had thus been aroused, came crowding thick and fast upon him, filling him with sorrow and regret. Finally he aroused himself with a long-drawn sigh, and, rising, went to a handsome desk which was in the room, in which he unlocked a small drawer, and taking a box from it, brought and laid it upon the table by which Geoffrey was sitting. "I had grown to feel almost as if this portion of my life had been blotted out," he said; "at least until it was so suddenly recalled to me by meeting you at Saratoga last summer. But our mistakes rise up and confront us; our sins find us out when we least expect 220 FOR LOVE AND HONOR i 1 -. Open that box, Geoffrey, and draw what comfort you can from its contents." Geoffrey s face flushed at being thus addressed. He had come there with his heart full of bitter ness toward the man who, he believed, had done his mother an irreparable wrong. But now he found those feelings fast changing to pity and sympathy for him. His manly confession had more than half conquered him at the outset, while his tender memories of the acknowledged wife of his youth, and the fond inflection with which his voice was filled every time he uttered his own name, told him that some of his dearest hopes had clus tered around those early days when he had been a wee infant, and stirred a tenderness within his own heart for his father which he had never imagined he could feel. He untied the faded blue ribbon that bound the box which Colonel Mapleson had given him, with fingers that trembled visibly, removed the lid and found a thin, folded paper within. He opened it. It was an old telegram addressed to William Mapleson, Santa Fe, New Mexico, and contained these words: "I will come, Will. Start at ten on the eighth," There was another paper underneath this, and his heart beat rapidly as he drew it forth. FOR LOVE AND HONOR A blur came before his eyes, a nervous trembling seized him, making the paper rattle in his grasp, for something seemed to tell him, even before he looked at it, what it was. Yes, it was even as he had surmised, for there, in black and white, as plain and strong as the law could make it, was the certificate which proved the legality of the bond that united William Mapleson and Annie Dale, and dated only a few days later than the tele gram which he had just seen. They had been married in Kansas City immedi ately upon the arrival of Miss Dale, by the Rev. Dr. A. K. Bailey, of the Episcopal Church. A song of thanksgiving arose in Geoffrey s heart as he read this, for it proved that his mother had been an honored wife that no stain had ever rested on his birth; he was the legitimate son of William and Annie Mapleson, and the burden of fear and dread, that had so long oppressed him, was rolled away from his heart at last. There was something else in one corner at the bottom of the box a tiny case of black morocco. Geoffrey seized it eagerly, turned back the lid, and a small, heavy ring of gold lay before him. His heart leaped anew at the sight of it; nothing had been neglected to do honor to the beautiful girl whom William Mapleson had loved. He turned it toward the light and read on its inner surface: "W. M. to A. D., Aug. I2th, 18 " 222 FOR LOVE AND HONOR A heavy sigh, that was almost a sob, burst from him, though it was one of joy instead of sorrow. "A fortune could not purchase these from me," he said, looking up with moist eyes, while he reverently laid back in their place the priceless treasures he had found. A spasm of pain contracted Colonel Mapleson s face at his words, for he could well understand the feeling that lay behind them, and he could not fail to realize, too, something of the questionable position which his boy had occupied all his life. He was very grave and thoughtful, and Mr. Hunt ress, as he watched him, could see that he was strug gling with some weighty matter that lay upon his conscience. At length he lifted his head, with a quick, reso lute motion, showing that he had settled it, whatever it was. "Mr. Huntress and Geoffrey," he said, glancing from one to the other; "I have a long story to tell you, and a hard one, too, for not a soul in the world save you two and the clergyman who performed the ceremony really knows that I was ever married be fore the present Mrs. Mapleson became my wife. I am bound to tell this story not only to you, but also to her; that, as you cannot fail to understand, will be the hardest part of my confession." Both his listeners sympathized with him deeply. They could easily perceive how humiliating it would FOR LOVE AND HONOR be to this proud man to make such a disclosure to his wife after having deceived her for more than a score of years; yet both knew that it was an act of justice which should be performed in order that Geoffrey might be acknowledged as a son and heir, and thus attain his proper position in the world. "It is a painful story, too," the colonel went on, "for Geoffrey. I loved your mother with all the strength of my nature as a man loves but once in his life and when I lost her the world became a blank to me, while even now it is almost more than I can bear to speak of it. I cannot tear the wound open and live over all that experience more than once, and if you do not object, I would like Mrs. Mapleson to be present while I make my confession." Mr. Huntress urged him to act according to his own wishes in the matter. As far as he was con cerned Mrs. Mapleson s presence would make no difference, unless the situation should prove to be too trying for her. "She must know it within a few hours at the farthest, and it will also be necessary for her to meet you; so it might as well be done at once. What do you say, Geoffrey?" Colonel Mapleson asked, turn ing to his son. "Do just what you think will be for the best, sir, * he replied; and his father immediately arose and left the room. "Estelle," he said, going into his wife s boudoir, FOR LOVE AND HO^OR where she sat, handsome and stately, reading the latest magazine, "will you come down to the library for a little while. I have some callers to whom I wish to introduce you." Something unusual in her husband s tone made Mrs. Mapleson drop her book and search his face. He was white to his lips. "Why, William, what ails you? Has anything happened to Everet?" she questioned, anxiously, her motherhood aroused for her child. "Everet is well, so far as I know, but " "Surely you are ill, or you have bad news?" she interrupted. "No, I am not ill, although some business of a painful nature has upset me a trifle," he answered, knowing that he was looking wretched, and not attempting to conceal his agitation. "You know I do not like to be mixed up with busi ness transactions," his wife replied, with an impa tient shrug of her shapely shoulders. "But I particularly desire your presence while I make a statement to those gentlemen," Colonel Ma pleson said, striving to speak more calmly, though the hand that was resting on the back of Mrs. Maple- son s chair trembled in a way to really startle her. "Why, William," she said, facing him, "have you been getting into financial trouble at your time of life?" FOR LOVE AND HONOR 225 "No; it is an error a mistake made long years r.go that I wish to rectify," he gravely answered. "Who are these people?" she asked, still search ing his face earnestly. "A Mr. Huntress and his son from New York." "Huntress !" repeated the lady, reflectively. "Where have I heard that name before ?" "Never mind now, Estelle; you can think of that some other time. Please do not keep me waiting." He took her hand, laid it on his arm, and led her from the room, while she wondered to see her proud husband in that mood, for there was a gentleness about him, mingled with a humility and a depreca tory air, that was entirely foreign to him. Not a word was spoken by either as they passed down the grand staircase. Colonel Mapleson was too absorbed in the painful duty before him, while "coming events" seemed already to have "cast their shadows" upon the handsome face and proud spirit of his wife. A painful expression almost convulsed Colonel Mapleson s face as he paused irresolutely a moment before the library door. But his hesitation was only for an instant. The next he turned the handle, led his wife within the room, when he closed and locked the door to insure freedom from interruption. Then he led his companion straight to August Huntress. 226 FOR LOVE AND HONOR "Mr. Huntress, allow me to present to you my wife, Mrs. Mapleson," he said by way of introduc tion. The lady glanced into the gentleman s face. In stantly her own froze into a look of horror; a shock went quivering through her frame like the blow of an ax upon a tree. She started wildly back from him, her eyes dilated, her lips apart. "August Damon!" she gasped, and sank fainting to the floor. CHAPTER XVIII COLONEL MAPLESON S STORY COLONEL MAPLESON sprang forward to lift his wife, amazement depicted on every feature. August Huntress appeared like a man suddenly deprived of his senses, and stood spellbound, gaz ing with a look of awe upon the prostrate woman be fore him, whom he instantly recognized as Mrs. Marston, the mother of Gladys. Geoffrey, after one astonished glance at this vivid tableau, started forward to assist Colonel Mapleson to bear his wife to a sofa at one end of the room. "Shall I ring for assistance?" Mr. Huntress asked, rousing himself with an effort from his state of stupefaction, and reaching toward a bell-pull. Colonel Mapleson turned sharply upon him, with a stern, troubled face. "Did you ever meet my wife before, sir?" he demanded. "I I think I did, once years ago," Mr. Hunt ress replied, shrinking from compromising the lady, yet forced to tell the truth. "Where?" was the terse query. 227 228 FOR LOVE AND HONOR "Perhaps," returned the gentleman addressed, while he met his host s searching gaze frankly and steadily, yet with conscious dignity; "perhaps it would be as well to give our immediate attention to the recovery of your wife, and allow her to make her own explanations when she is able to do so." It was a polite way of telling him that he would say nothing more until Mrs. Mapleson gave him per mission to do so. Colonel Mapleson bowed acquiescence. "Hand me a glass of water, if you please," he said to Geoffrey, and glancing toward a table on which there was a water service. "We will do what we can for her ourselves, without having any prying servants about. I do not believe my wife ever fainted before." He sprinkled her face vigorously, bathing her temples, and chafing her hands, to restore circula tion. She began to recover almost immediately, and before the expiration of ten minutes was able to sit up, and called for water to drink. Her self-possession returned at the same time, and looking up in her husband s face, with her usual brilliant smile, as she passed back her empty glass, she remarked: "I hope, William, that you and your guests will ex cuse my sudden indisposition. It was a startling FOR LOVE AND HONOR 229 greeting, a sorry welcome to strangers. But you did not present me to the other gentleman." She glanced inquiringly about for Geoffrey, who was standing a little back of her. As their eyes met, she started, opening her lips as if about to address him, believing him for the instant to be Everet. But her mind worked very rapidly, and she checked herself. She remembered that she had seen a young man at Yale who strangely resembled her son, and that his name was Huntress. This must be he. But what could he want there in her home? And why had his coming so disturbed her husband, who was usually the coolest and most collected of men? The blood suddenly leaped to her temples, and then as quickly receded, leaving her very pale, as the answer throbbed in her brain: "A secret in his early life." Colonel Mapleson was watching her every expres sion; he marked the quick color, then her pallor, while he wondered what secret of her past life lay in her acquaintance with August Damon Huntress. He, however, introduced Geoffrey, whom Mrs. Mapleson greeted very graciously, remarking that she believed she had seen him at the last commence ment of Yale, when he had taken his degree at the same time with her son, "whom," she added, with a 230 FOR LOVE AND HONOR covert glance at her husband, "you resemble to a remarkable degree." Colonel Mapleson s heart throbbed heavily. He knew the moment had come when he must unvail a portion of his life which he had believed was buried in oblivion. "Estelle," he began, taking a chair and turning his face a little from her, "my object in asking you to meet these gentlemen was because I have a con fession to make to them, and to you; a confession of such a painful nature that I felt I could make it only once, therefore I wish you to hear it at the same time." Mrs. Mapleson glanced from him to Geoffrey. She was very quick, and immediately she recalled what Dr. Turner, of Boston, had told her only the previous summer; for it was she who had been his visitor that day; she who had been searching for August Damon s address in the Boston Directory. She remembered he had told her that the man for whom she was inquiring had adopted and was edu cating a boy of great promise, and now, in view of his wonderful resemblance to Everet, she began to suspect something of the nature of her husband s confession. "It is the strangest thing in the world," she thought, as she turned her eyes upon Mr. Huntress, and realized who his children, by adoption, were. "It is the strangest thing in the world," was FOR LOVE AND HONOR 231 echoed in Mr. Huntress brain, as he met her glance, and, with a sudden heart-throb of joy, realized some thing that she did not. "I will go back as far as my boyhood," Colonel Mapleson resumed. You have heard me say, Estelle, that I was in the habit of visiting Vue de 1 Eau, often spending weeks and sometimes months with Uncle Jabez when I was a boy. I think I could not have been more than twelve, when, during one of those visits, I became acquainted with a young girl just about my own age, who resided near here with her mother. I refer to Annie Dale." Mrs. Mapleson gave a violent start at this; a light broke over her face, which instantly became crimson, then grew as suddenly white. "We became very fond of each other," her hus band proceeded, without noticing her emotion, "and we were together day after day, week after week, playing ball, hoop, battledore and shuttlecock, sail ing our boats together on the stream which feeds the pond that used to run the old mill, riding horseback together in fact, were scarcely separated from the beginning of my stay until its end. It was always the same every time I came; I always sought my charming little companion on the day of my arrival, and gave her my last good-by when I went away. "This went on for several years, until I grew to love her with all the strength of my young heart, and I fondly believed she returned my affections, 32 FOR LOVE AND HONOR although she was so modest and shy that she never betrayed it, at least after she grew to womanhood, save by evincing pleasure and a sort of trustful con tent in my society. "There came a time when I resolved to confess my feelings toward her and learn if possible if she returned them, but before the time for my visit arrived that year, Uncle Jabez died and everything was changed. This uncle," said Colonel Mapleson, glancing from Mr. Huntress to Geoffrey, "made a very singular will a very arbitrary and unnatural will. He divided the whole of his property, which was very large, into two portions, one of which he bequeathed to me, the other to his niece, Miss Estelle Everet, who is now my wife upon the condition that we would marry each other. He gave us until Miss Everet would be twenty-five to make up our minds; if we both refused to comply with his wishes at the end of that time, and each married some one else, the whole fortune was to go to a certain Robert Dale, who was first cousin to our uncle. If either of us died during that time, such an event would free the other party and he or she would inherit the for tune thus left; if either married during that time the same result was to follow. I was at that time in my twenty-first year, Miss Everet was seventeen. "You can perhaps imagine something of my feel ings upon learning the contents of this will. I had always expected to inherit a share of my uncle s FOR LOVE AND HONOR 233 property, for I was a favorite with him, and he had hinted that I was to be his heir; but I had never dreamed of being hampered with any such arbitrary conditions. I was very indignant. So was my cousin, for, although we had always been the best of friends, we felt that this was a matter in which we should have been left free to choose for ourselves. How ever, the property was divided between us, and we found ourselves independent. I was an orphan, and had been entirely dependent on my uncle; I had just completed my education, and was thinking of estab lishing myself in some business, when I suddenly awoke to the fact that I was rich and could live as I chose, provided, at the expiration of eight years, I would marry the woman my uncle had chosen for me. But I loved Annie Dale, and I knew I could not marry any one else while my heart belonged so entirely to her. I became so wretched and unhappy over my situation, while at the same time I could not make up my mind to part with my newly acquired fortune, that I could not come here to Vue de 1 Eau to live, where I should have to meet her constantly; so I had the house closed and started off on a trip through the West. "During my wanderings I went to New Mexico, where I heard the most wonderful stories regarding the wealth of the Morena Mines. A bright idea sud denly came to me. I would invest in them I would throw myself in the business of mining during the 23-i FOR LOVE AND HONOR next few years; if what I heard was true I could easily double, perhaps treble, what money I put into them before I should have to give up my fortune according to the conditions of my uncle s will the money thus earned would be legitimately mine. I could then make over to my cousin my share of Jabez Mapleson s fortune, and be in a comfortable situa tion to marry the girl I loved. "Inspired with enthusiasm over this idea, I bought largely in the Morena Mines, and then bent all my energies toward the one object of my life. The first three years I was very successful, and if my luck con tinued, I knew that by the end of another three I might snap my fingers over Jabez Mapleson s will, and secure the wife of my choice. But just at this time a terrible temptation presented itself to me. "Annie Dale s mother had been a widow for sev eral years. Her husband was a cousin of my uncle s, and when Mr. Dale died, leaving his wife and child destitute, Uncle Jabez had given them the use of a small cottage on his estate and increased the small annuity, which Mrs. Dale possessed, to a sum that enabled them to live comfortably with economy. Afterward, when Annie grew older, they opened a small private school, and, having succeeded in secur ing all the pupils they could accommodate, they de clined receiving further aid from him. They lived very poorly andmeagerly, however, and it galled me to see their poverty; so, upon coming into possession FOR LOVE AND HONOR 235 of the estate, I took advantage of their absence on a visit at one time, and had the cottage thoroughly repaired and newly furnished in a style to suit my self. Mrs. Dale was almost inclined to be angry with me for this, saying it was far too elegant for their position in life; but the deed was done, and I laughingly told her it was only a poor return for all the trouble I had given her as a boy, when I tracked her spotless floors with my muddy boots, and de pleted her larder with my rapacious appetite, as, day after day, I shared Annie s lunch. "But I am getting away from the temptation of which I began telling you, which came to me after I had been three years in the mines. Annie s mother died very suddenly after an illness of only a week, and I did not learn of the fact for nearly two months afterward. I wrote at once to Annie, begging her to choose some elderly companion and remain where she was to consider the cottage still her home and accept aid from me until I could return and make some permanent arrangement for her. I told my self that if I could only keep her there in seclusion for a couple of years longer, I should then be in a position to return and ask her to become my wife. But in a cool, dignified letter she refused my re quest, telling me that her plans for the future were already made, and that she was on the eve of leaving for Richmond, where she was going to remain with 236 FOR LOVE AND HONOR an old nurse, until she could obtain a position as governess in some family. "For a week after receiving this letter I fought a terrible battle with myself. I could not endure the thought of that delicate girl going out in the world to toil for the bread she ate. On the other hand, if I yielded to my own desire, and asked her to marry me, it would doom her to a life of hardship almost as severe, for I could only make over my share of Uncle Jabez s fortune to my cousin at a sacrifice that would leave me almost a beggar. I could not force a sale of mining interests without losing nearly all that I had made during the last three years. I was nearly distracted, and I imagined a thousand evils and dangers that might result from Annie becoming a governess. Not only would such a life be a bur densome and disagreeable one, but, worse than that, she was liable to meet some one who would be at tracted by her beauty and sweetness some one who would win her, and thus I should lose her. "The thought was unbearable, and I resolved upon a desperate measure. I wrote again to her, confess ing my love that I had always loved her, and beg ging her to come to me and share my life in the West. I told her that I would gladly give up for tune everything if she would become my wife; and I meant to, by Another year, or as soon as I could sell to advantage. I told her, also, that I could not come on for her, as my interests at the mines FOR LOVE AND HONOR 237, would not admit of my being absent long enough for that, but I would meet her at Kansas City, Missouri, where we would be immediately married, and then proceed to our simple home among the mountains of New Mexico. I begged her not to say anything to any one about where she was going until after our marriage, when I preferred to announce the fact my self. I sent her a route carefully mapped out, and a check ample for all her needs, begging her to tele graph me the day and the hour that she would start. You have the telegram she sent in reply there," Colonel Mapleson said, turning to Geoffrey, and glancing at the package which still lay on the table beside him. "I have always kept that precious bit of paper," he resumed, "for its contents made me almost wild with joy when I received it. I set out immediately to join my dear one, reaching Kansas City only a few hours previous to her own arrival. I had everything arranged, however, and we drove directly from the station to the house of a prominent clergyman of the city, where we were married in the presence of his household, and three hours later we were on our way to New Mexico. "But I knew it would never do for me to take my wife to the Morena Mines, where I was known by men who were also from the South, and through whom the knowledge of my marriage would soon travel back to Virginia. Only a short time previous 238 FOR LOVE AND HONOR I had bought out a man in another district, getting his claim for a mere song, and not a soul in the place knew me. I resolved to take Annie there, make just as pretty and comfortable a home as I could for her, call myself William Dale, going back and forth from one mine to the other, as my business de manded it, until I was satisfied to sell out altogether and return to Virginia, proclaim my marriage, and give Miss Everet the other half of her fortune. But when I confessed this to Annie, as of course I had to do in order to assume her name, she was very unhappy. She was not lacking in spirit, either, and made me almost despise myself for the part I had played. " I would never have come to you if I had known this, she said. I hate deception and double-dealing of whatever nature. You might have told me frankly how you were situated, and I would have waited and been faithful to you until you could have openly made me your wife. " But you would not have allowed me to take care of you, I replied. " No, she answered, flushing; my pride would not have yielded to that, but I could have done very well for myself for a while, and waited patiently until it was right that we should be married. "I had a hard task to pacify her. She was deter mined at first that the whole truth should be con fessed, saying she would not occupy a false position. FOR LOVE AND HONOR 239 But when I told her that it would ruin me to force a sale of my stock; that I should lose all the hard labor of the three years that I had spent there, and not even then be able to replace the money from Uncle Jabez s fortune which I had invested, she be came more reasonable. I promised that if she would try and be patient and happy for a year, I would replace every dollar that was not my own, and have something handsome besides, as a capital for myself. "I honestly meant to do all this, for I knew that I should never thoroughly regain the respect of my wife until I had redeemed my position and hers be fore the world." CHAPTER XIX THE COLONEL S STORY CONCLUDED "ANNIE and I were very happy," Colonel Maple- son went on, after a momentary pause, "during the year that followed happy in spite of a little cloud that had arisen so soon after our marriage, for our prospects were very encouraging. I was doing finely. Every month my profits were increasing, and thus the time of our emancipation was growing nearer. If I could only replace what now no longer properly belonged to me, Annie said she would be content to remain in that mining country as long as I desired. She was willing to live simply, even fru gally, if I would only do right, acknowledge our mar riage before the world, and not have to hide like a couple of criminals. "Our joy was increased tenfold when, a little be fore our first anniversary, a bright, handsome boy was born to us." Again Mrs. Mapleson started and shot another glance at Geoffrey. "That explains it all," she murmured. "Yes, Estelle," replied her husband, who caught 240 FOR LOVE AND HONOR 241 the words, "that explains why this young man resem bles Everet to such a wonderful degree. They are both thorough Maplesons. My wife," he continued, a sudden pallor settling over his face, and speaking now with visible effort, "began to recuperate almost immediately after his birth, her color and strength returned, her spirits seemed as light as air, and she was as happy as the day was long, in the possession of her new treasure, while she was the most devoted little mother imaginable. She named her baby her self. Geoffrey Dale Mapleson, she said he was to be called, only we shall have to drop the Mapleson for a while, I suppose only a little while longer, Will, she pleaded, as she twined her arms about my neck and drew my head down close to the little one lying beside her. " My darling, I told her, in six months, at the farthest, you shall go back home as Mrs. William Mapleson. We will call it our real wedding jour ney. Estelle shall have her money, then we will come back here for a few years longer, after which, if all continues to go well, we shall have no cause to regret Jabez Mapleson s fortune. "I shall never forget the look of joy on her face when I made that promise, and all during the even ing she was as gay as a child, and more lovely than I had ever seen her. The next morning I was obliged to leave her for a couple of days. I had to go to the other mines, then to Santa Fe to make a 242 FOR LOVE AND HONOR deposit. My darling clung to me as I bade her good- by. Our boy was just two days old then. " My Will, my Will, somehow I cannot bear to let you go this time, even for a day, and two will seem an age ! she said, as she kissed me again and again. Then she laughed at her own childishness, told me playfully, though with tears in her eyes, to begone before she repeated her folly." A groan burst from the lips of the narrator at this point, and it seemed as if he would not be able to go on. Mr. Huntress and Goffrey both shifted their posi tion, for they could not bear to look upon his ago nized face as he thus laid bare this sacred page of his heart. Mrs. Mapleson buried her face in her handker chief, while every now and then a shudder ran through her frame. "She never kissed me again; she never called her Will again; she never knew me again," Colonel Mapleson went on, in a hollow tone, "for she took a cold that very day and was raving with delirium when I returned. She grew worse and worse, and in two weeks was dead. My bright, beautiful wife, whom I loved better than my own life, for whom I was willing to give up fortune, position, everything that I had hitherto held most dear, lay a lifeless thing of clay gone from me like a breath, leaving FOR LOVE AND HONOR 243 me broken-hearted and with my reason nearly de throned." It was truly pitiable to witness the man s emotion and his struggle for self-control. His frame shook like a tree swayed by the wind; his lips and his voice trembled so that it was difficult for him to articulate, while his broad chest heaved convulsively with the anguished throbbing of his heart. "Well," he said, after a while, U I must not dwell upon that sad time, and I scarcely know how I lived during the week that followed. We buried her in a quiet spot beneath a mammoth tree, not a stone s throw from our home, where she used often to sit on a warm summer s day with some dainty bit of work in her hands. You have seen her grave, you say," he interposed, turning to Geoffrey. "Does it look sadly neglected and overgrown? Is the stone defaced or the name obliterated by the storms of so many years?" "No, sir," his son answered, looking up with moist eyes, for he had been deeply moved by his father s story and his evident suffering in telling it; "the fence that surrounds the little lot has fallen some what to decay, but a luxuriant growth of vines hides all that. The stone still stands upright in its place, and the name Annie is as distinct to-day as it ever was." "I have never been there since we broke up our 244- FOR LOVE AND HONOR home," resumed the colonel, with a heavy sigh. "The girl, Margaret, who had served my wife most faithfully ever since our marriage, married, as you know already, a man by the name of Henly. They were going to California to live, and she said she would take care of my boy until I could make some better provision for him. I knew not what else I could do, so I accepted her offer. I broke up my home, gave away what I could not sell of the furni ture, and we left the place, the Henlys taking you, Geoffrey, to California, where I planned to visit you when I could. I returned to my interests in the other mines where I tried to drown my grief by working as a common miner. But time, instead of healing my wound, only made it rankle worse. I grew bitter and antagonistic; the happiness of others maddened me; the fortune I had before been so willing to re lease, for the sake of her I loved, I now vowed I would keep out of spite for my loss. I resolved to keep my marriage a secret. I would keep all my wealth, and as my boy grew older he should have the benefit of it, even though I should never be able to acknowledge him as mine. But I was restless, I could not remain long in one place at a time, and I wan dered from place to place trying to drown my sorrow in excitement. Four times, after an interval of six months between each, I visited the Henlys. My child was growing finely and doing well every way, so I decided to let him remain where he was until he FOR LOVE AND HONOR 245 should be old enough to go to school; then something impelled me to come back to my home. I put my affairs into the hands of an agent, and six years from the time of my leaving Vue de 1 Eau found me here again once more assuming the duties of its master. A few weeks later I met my cousin, Miss Everet. Estelle," with a glance toward his wife, "do you mind my telling it all?" "No," was the brief, low response. "She appeared very glad to renew the acquaint ance of former years, although no allusion to our uncle s will was at that time made by either of us. "She had grown very beautiful, had been much in society, and possessed charming manners. One day, during a call upon her, she playfully remarked that it was her birthday and she had not been the recipi ent of a single gift. You should have mentioned that fact before, I returned, but perhaps it is not too late even yet, for some remembrance of the day. Tell the number of your years and you shall have a rose for every one. "I knew well enough, but I would not appear to know. Twenty-four, she replied, and her face clouded as she said it. "I could tell well enough what she was thinking of; in one year more she would be twenty-five, then Rob ert Dale could claim her fortune, and a life of pov erty would lie before her. FOR LOVE AND HONOR "Instantly the thought arose in my mind, Why has my cous"in never married? I did not believe that she had remained single out of any regard for me, or from any desire to fulfil the conditions of our uncle s will; indeed, she had expressed herself so indignantly at the time of its reading, that I imag ined she would always be adverse to any such union. Still, it seemed strange that a young lady so attract ive, and eligible in every way, should have remained single, when I did not doubt, indeed I knew, she might have chosen from among a half-dozen men whose fortunes were even larger than her own. " Perhaps, I thought, she has become bitter and antagonistic is bound to enjoy her money until the last moment, and then pass it over to me. I did not want it the thought was very disagreeable to me. Perhaps she loved a poor man, and was intending to make the most of her time; perhaps, I reasoned, she has been saving her income all these years, and will marry when her twenty-five years are past; maybe she is even waiting to tire me out and get the whole for that purpose. But there appeared to be no one of whom she was fond. I noticed that she treated all gentlemen alike, even receiving my visits and at tentions with no more pleasure than those of others. Why not marry her if she will have you ? was the thought that shot through my mind, as I started out to get the roses I had promised her. I will not give up my fortune to that miser without a struggle. FOR LOVE AND HONOR 247 I might ask her to be my wife, and then, If she re fuses, I have fulfilled the conditions of my uncle s will. But, at first, a feeling of horror came over me, at the thought of giving to another the place which my Annie had filled, and I angrily repudiated it. I avoided my cousin s society for a time after that, almost hating myself for contemplating for a mo ment a marriage with her for mercenary reasons. But when she chided me gently for my neglect, seem ing to feel actual pain on account of it, those ques tions returned to me with even greater force than before, and I resolved to try to learn her mind upon the subject. "I knew that I should lead a wretched existence in this great house, with no woman to brighten it with her presence, and, perhaps, after a time, if she should consent, I might confess the great temptation and sorrow that had come to me, and perhaps she would pardon it, and be willing to receive my boy and give him a mother s care. As soon as I reached this con clusion, I made no delay about putting my fate to the test. "We were one day talking about my estate here, a*hd of some improvements I was intending to make, when I suddenly said: ; Estelle, Vue de 1 Eau has no mistress. I wonder if you could regard the conditions of Uncle Jabez s will any more favorably now than you did at the time of his death? FOR LOVE AND HONOR "She flushed hotly, and shot a quick, keen glance at me. 1 I believe we were mutually antagonistic to it, she replied. People grow wiser as they grow older, I re marked; then boldly asked: Will you marry me now, Estelle? Do you think it right for people who do not love each other to marry? she questioned. " Is that equivalent to telling me that you do not love me? I inquired. I will be frank with you, my cousin, I continued. I confess that I have not the affection for you that young lovers generally rave about; but I admire you; you are beautiful, cultured, talented, and I am free to own that you are far more attractive to me now then you were in those old days when we were both so bitter and indignant. If no one else has won your heart, I will do my best to make your future pleasant. We have only one more year of grace; we must consider this subject and reach some decision before it expires; so what say you, cousin mine? "She thought a moment, then lifted her head with a resolute air, and said: " Yes, I will marry you, William, if you are will ing to take me just as I am, without very much heart to give you, but willing to do my best to make you a good wife; I believe it will be the wiser course for both of us. FOR LOVE AND HONOR 249 "Thus our engagement was made, and we were married the following month. I have endeavored to keep my promise to my wife to make her life a pleas ant one, and until now," with a sorrowful glance at the bowed head and shivering form of his proud wife, "I believe that we have been comparatively happy in our domestic relations; at least, I have known more of quiet content than I thought it would ever be possible for me to attain. I have kept this secret the only one I ever kept from her until this hour. I did not have the courage to confess it after our marriage I kept putting it off until after my son, Everet, was born, a little less than a year after our marriage, and when I saw how my wife s heart was bound up in him, I could not bring myself to it. "Later, when I went to see how my boy was thriv ing, intending to make some other provision for him, when I learned of that tragedy in the Henly family and that both the man and boy had disappeared, I was almost glad I never had spoken of that sad episode in my life, although I spared no expense to try to trace my child. "Estelle, this is my confession; you have heard the whole, and know the extent of my deception. So many years had passed that I had grown to believe that it would never be unvailed until that day when all secrets are to be made known. This young man, whom I introduced to you as Mr. Huntress son, is my son, whom I believed lost to me forever; but he 250 FOR LOVE AND HONOR was led, most strangely led, to the discovery of his parentage, and came hither to-night to claim ac knowledgment By the way, Geoffrey, I never knew either when or how I lost that portion of the knight- templar s cross you found. I missed it shortly after my last visit to Santa Fe, but never expected to re cover it again. You shall keep it, my boy; it has always been regarded as a pocket-piece for luck; may it ever prove to be such to you. My only reason for having the Henlys letters simply directed to Lock Box 43 was to prevent my identity being discovered. I could not give them my real name, and did not like letters addressed to William Dale to come to the same box, so I just gave the number. "About my visit to Saratoga last summer," the colonel continued, after a short pause, "I have to confess to something that I never experienced before, either in times of peace or war, a feeling of cow ardice. I was on my way to Newport to join Mrs. Mapleson, and took a notion to run up to the Springs, which I had not visited for years. On the train from Albany to Saratoga an elderly gentleman accosted me, expressing great pleasure at meeting me once more, and inquired most kindly after my wife. He was a man whom I had known during that short happy year that I had spent in that mining village, and who had known me only as Captain William Dale. He, too, was going to Saratoga, and begged the privilege of accompanying me to the hotel where FOR LOVE AND HONOR 251 I intended stopping. At first I hardly knew what to do. I could not bear to undeceive him regarding my name, for it would have required explanations too painful to make to a stranger, so I finally thought it would not matter if I registered for once in my assumed name; therefore I wrote it and named my place of residence as Santa Fe, since he knew that I used to do business there. A strange fate I thought it, which threw you in my way under just those cir cumstances. You remember how I took you for Everet, at first; but I was terribly shocked when it dawned upon me who you were, and I fully intended, at the time, to keep my appointment with you for that afternoon. But when I came to think it all over quietly, to realize all the revelations that must be made to my wife, my son, to yourself, I was nearly crazed; I knew from your appearance that you had been well cared for, that life was bright and prosper ous with you, and it seemed as if I could not rake over all the past, and in the midst of my frenzy I packed my valise and left on the noon train. I have bitterly regretted it since, for my heart longed after its own; I have been ashamed that I, a Mapleson, should have turned my back and fled from any cir cumstances. I have repented of my folly, too, be cause a duty has fallen upon me, since then, which made it imperative that I should find you; but of this I will speak later. "What is it, Estelle?" he asked, as a heavy, shud- 252 FOR LOVE AND HONOR dering sigh from his wife smote his ear; "has my story been too much for you? I fear it has. Per haps I have been selfish and thoughtless in bringing you here before strangers to listen to all this, but it had to be told, and this interview must have taken place between us all. Forgive me for wounding you, and let me take you to your room; perhaps, though, you never will forgive me for the deception which I have practiced upon you." He went up to her and laid his hand upon her shoulder with more of tenderness than he was in the habit of manifesting toward the proud, handsome woman. But she put him from her with a passionate gesture, in which, however, there was a pathetic air of appeal. She arose and stood before him, her face almost convulsed with agony. "Oh!" she cried, wringing her hands, "if you had only told me all this when you asked me to marry you; or, if I had been true to my womanhood, how much we both might have saved each other! For give you for your deception? Oh! William, I have been tenfold more guilty than you." CHAPTER XX MRS. MAPLESON S CONFESSION COLONEL MAPLESON regarded his wife as if he thought she had suddenly taken leave of her senses. August Huntress heart was stirred with compas sion for the beautiful and imperious woman, for he realized full well the trial that lay before her, and could understand how humiliating it must be to have her sin find her out at this late day, when she had be lieved it buried forever. All these long years she, too, had treasured her secret, believing that no one save the strange physi cian who had attended her at the birth of her child, and those two who had adopted it, knew anything of that episode in her life, and that she had so success fully concealed her identity at the time that it could never be discovered. "What can you mean, Estelle?" demanded Colo nel Mapleson, as soon as he could collect himself sufficiently to speak. Then, as he remembered how she had greeted Mr. Huntress, how overcome she had been at sight of him, he glanced sharply toward him and knew 253 254 FOR LOVE AND HONOR instantly, from the look of sympathy on his face, that he must be in some way associated with that mysterious deception of which his wife had spoken. "I mean," the wretched woman returned, in a voice of despair, while she sank weakly back into her chair, "that the secret which you have kept concealed from me during all our married life cannot compare with what I have withheld from you ; you simply hid the fact of an earlier marriage and the existence of a son, while I committed a monstrous crime to con ceal a like secret from you." "Good heavens, Estelle !" cried her husband, starting back from her with a look of horror at her appalling statement. "I cannot believe it," and he, too, sank into the nearest chair, overcome with con sternation, and actually trembling with dread of what was to follow. Again he looked suspiciously at August Huntress, while a hundred thoughts flashed through his brain. He fully believed that he must have been con nected in some way with the crime of which his wife spoke. Had she married him clandestinely, during those early years while he had been away in the mines of New Mexico, and then deserted him to wed the other half of Jabez Mapleson s fortune and preserve her own? Had they met and loved each other in their youth ? Was that the reason why Estelle had been so indifferent to all other suitors; why she had told him FOR LOVE AND HONOR 255 she had "not much heart to give him," when he had asked her to marry him? She had called him "August Damon" when brought face to face with him, in a tone which betrayed that she had everything to fear from his presence there, and she confirmed this by fainting at his feet. But there were only sorrow and compassion written on Mr. Huntress face as he witnessed the proud woman s humiliation; there was no vestige of any latent affection, no anger or harshness, such as there would have been if she had wronged him or played him false; there was no look, save one of re gret and sympathy, as for one who, he knew, had committed some great sin that had at last found her out and must be atoned for. "What does she mean? Do you know?" Colonel Mapleson asked, huskily, as his visitor perchance feeling the magnetism of his glance turned his eyes from the bowed form of Mrs. Mapleson to the mys tified husband. "I know something, but not all," he answered, reluctantly. "Then you have met my wife before?" "Once, and only once, as I have already told you." "Where under what circumstances?" demanded the colonel, with considerable excitement. "Pardon me," returned Mr. Huntress, with dig nity, as it suddenly occurred to him what his host s suspicions might be. "I prefer that Mrs. Mapleson 256 FOR LOVE AND HONOR should herself tell you that, since it is more her secret than mine. Perhaps, however, it would be better for Geoffrey and me to retire to some other room while she speaks with you alone," and he half arose as he spoke. But Mrs. Mapleson threw out one clenched, jew eled hand, with an imperative gesture, to check him. "No," she cried, a quiver of agony in her voice; "if any one has a right to hear my confession, my story, you have;" and at this Geoffrey turned a star tled face upon the man whom he had always re garded as honorable and irreproachable one of nature s noblemen. "Oh, the curse of gold !" the unhappy woman went on, wildly. "What will it not tempt one to do? The love of it blunts" natural affection and honor, and warps the reason. It leads one to deceive, to scheme, and to sin for the possession of it. What blind fools men and women are to sacrifice so much love, a life time of innocence, purity, and happiness, for the sake of a little paltry yellow dust ! If I could but live over my life, how gladly would I endure poverty, and toil, and self-denial, to secure a quiet conscience and a heart free from its burden of sin and dread! Oh, such a life as I have led is but a miserable failure from beginning to end!" Colonel Mapleson began to be alarmed at his wife s increasing excitement, while her remorse and her ominous allusions drove him almost distracted. FOR LOVE AND HONOR 257 He arose, and, going to her side, took her trem bling hands in his, saying: "Estelle, if you cannot calm yourself, I shall insist upon your going to your room; you will surely be ill if you yield so to nervous excitement. Whatever this matter is that seems to weigh so heavily upon your mind, I can wait until you are in a better state for its recital. Come, let me take you upstairs," and he gently tried to force her to retire. But she wrenched her hands from his clasp. "No, no," she cried, with a shiver; "I will not carry this dreadful burden on my heart another hour ! For more than twenty years I have borne the brand of an inhuman monster on my soul, and I wonder that it has not transformed me into something so repulsive and loathsome that every one would shrink from me in fear and disgust. I have often looked at myself with amazement to think it was possible for any one to conceal so effectually the corruption and wretchedness and duplicity of one s nature. I believe I have realized, as no one else ever did, what the Saviour meant by a whited sepulcher full of dead men s bones. William!" turning upon her husband, with a wild, glittering eye, and searching his face with a glance of pitiful appeal, "I expect that you will despise and hate me, that our son will loathe me, when you learn what I have to tell you." The scene was becoming very painful, and Mr. Huntress, pitying her from the depths of his heart, V258 FOR LOVE AND HONOR arose and walked out of her sight, feeling that he could not look upon her agony, while Geoffrey sat spellbound, dreading the impending disclosure more .than he could express. Colonel Mapleson, feeling as if he must do some thing to calm her excitement, went to a closet, poured out a glass of wine, and brought it to her. "Estelle, drink this," he said, kindly, as he put it to her lips, though his hand shook so that he could not hold the glass steadily. She hastily swallowed it, and then pushed him from her; it seemed as if she could not bear him near her while her sin was unconfessed until he should hear and judge her, and she could know what her doom was to be. For more than twenty years he had been her hus band. He had always been kind and chivalrous in his treatment of her. At first she had been proud of him for his honor and manliness, then her pride had gradually developed into a strong, deep affec tion, which, however, she had never allowed herself to parade before him, because of his unvarying reti- cence toward her. She had tried to be a good wife to him, to win his respect by her faithfulness to duty, her devotion as a mother, and his admiration by preserving her beauty and shining a star in the so ciety they frequented; and now, after succeeding for so long a time, it drove her nearly crazy to think that perhaps the confession of her early folly would FOR LOVE AND HONOR undo all this and breed contempt for her, or worse his pity. His own deception seemed very trivial compared" with hers, for a cruel fate alone had prevented him- from acknowledging his wife and child whom he had: fondly loved and would have cherished as long as. they had been spared to him, while she had delib erately planned to abandon her delicate babe and! cast it unloved upon the care of strangers. The wine which she had drank, however, served to steady her nerves, and to give her strength for the trial before her, and after a few minutes she. raised her white, drawn face, saying: "Sit down, all of you, for my story is not a short one, though for all our sakes I will make it as brief as possible. "You will remember, William, that after I came into possession of my half of Uncle Jabez s fortune, I went abroad. I had-always had an intense longing to see Europe, and when the means to do so were at my disposal, I resolved to gratify that desire. You know, too, that as a family we had always been poor. It had been a continual struggle with us to secure even the necessaries of life, and the battle with pov erty had been a most bitter one to me. Now, I was bound to get the most I could out of life, to make up for the deprivations of my youth. I indignantly refused to marry as my uncle desired, for I, as well as you, considered that he had no right to make any 260 FOR LOVE AND HONOR such stipulations in disposing of his money; but I was young, I had seven years before me in which to enjoy my wealth, and I said I would spend every dollar of my income in being happy and making up to my family for the hardships of previous years. So I settled a comfortable income on my father and mother, and then, taking my sister Nellie for a com panion, I sailed for Europe to gratify my taste for travel and sight-seeing. We both spoke French and German fluently, for we had been faithful students, and fitted ourselves for teaching; both were self- reliant and courageous in spite of our youth our conflict with our unfavorable surroundings had made us so therefore we felt competent to travel by our selves without a chaperon, who, we felt, would hamper our movements. Some of the time we had a guide, but in England, France and Germany we were able to go about quite independently. It was perhaps a daring thing to do, but Nellie was some what older than I, and very self-possessed and digni fied in her bearing, and we never met with the slight est inconvenience from being without an escort. We had a very pleasant time together; we had plenty of money, and did not need to stint ourselves; Nell loved art, and I music, so for a year we put ourselves under the best of masters, and gave ourselves up to these accomplishments, and had our fill. But I am getting somewhat ahead of my story. "While we were in London, a few months after FOR LOVE AND HONOR 261 reaching England, we met a literary gentleman, a Mr. Charles Southcourt, who paid me considerable attention, and to whom I was very strongly attracted. We met often, too, upon the Continent, for he, also r was traveling in search of material for his writings,, and our routes frequently crossed each other. Finally, during my second year abroad, he confessed his affection for me, and asked me to marry him. He was brilliant, handsome, talented, but poor. Had he been rich I would not have hesitated a moment, for I loved him; but I knew, far too well, what pov erty was to be willing to relinquish my fortune and the handsome income it brought me, the luxuries it yielded me, to say nothing of depriving my parents and sister of the comforts and advantages they were enjoying, and I refused him. He knew4that I re turned his affection he had not dreamed of being rejected and demanded the reason. I told him frankly. He then informed me that all pecuniary difficulty could soon be removed, for there was a prospect of his soon receiving a responsible appoint ment somewhere in the far East, which would secure him an ample income which, with what he should realize from his writings, would enable him to pro vide for the comfortable support of my family, and secure to me every luxury which my own fortune was then giving me. Would I become his wife if he secured this appointment? he asked. I told him yes, and I believe if it had not been for depriving my FOR LOVE AND HONOR delicate and aged parents and sister of the comforts they were enjoying if I had only had myself to consider, I should have willingly thrown up my for tune, and become his wife, whether he secured the appointment or not. "Full of hope at having won my consent, Charlie returned at once to London we were at that time in Rome to bend all his energies to secure his coveted position. Two months later, Nellie and I returned to Paris, where we were again joined by Mr. South- court, who was jubilant, for he said he was sure of his appointment, and he showed me a letter, from a person high in authority, which seemed to promise it beyond a doubt. "About this time we received a letter from home telling us that papa was failing; the physician feared the worst, and we were told to hold ourselves in readiness to return at once if he should continue to grow worse. Mamma wrote that she could not bear to shorten our pleasure, but she knew that our own "hearts would bid us come if they found that he could mot rally; that was, however, merely a warning to prepare us; she would write again if there was any change for the worse. "I told Nellie that we must go home at once; something might happen to make papa s disease ter minate suddenly, and he would die before we could possibly reach him, if we should wait to hear from mamma again. Nellie agreed to this, but Mr. South- FOR LOVE AND HONOR 263 court was very unhappy over our decision; he could not bear the thought of separation; he said some thing might occur to make it final, unless I should marry him at once and give him the right to call me his wife before I left; in that case he would let me go and feel sure of me. At first I would not listen to this proposal. I knew but too well that if my marriage was discovered, the income from my half of Uncle Jabez s property would be stopped, and my sick and dying father be deprived of everything that had now become so necessary to him. But Char lie was so sure that he should get his appointment, when he would at once settle one-third of his income upon my parents ; he was so hopeful over his book.,, so importunate and distressed at the thought of my leaving, while Nellie also thought there could be no.) risk, that my scruples and better judgment were over come and I yielded, upon one condition that our marriage be kept a profound secret until he actually secured his position. He agreed to this, because he said he knew I should scarcely reach home before he would have the wherewithal to enable me to make over my share of Uncle Jabez s fortune to my cousin, without missing it, and so we were privately married, in Paris just before leaving for London. "Upon our arrival there we found that a steamer- had just sailed, and no other would leave for three- or four days. The very next morning we received another letter from home saying that papa had ral- FOR LOVE AND HONOR lied and was so much improved, mamma regretted she had written so discouragingly before, and told us not to think of returning until we felt entirely ready to do so. I was so happy in my new relations that I was only too glad of this respite, for the pros pect of a separation from my husband was as painful to me as to him. Three short, blissful weeks after that we spent together, and then there came a start ling cable message, bidding Nellie and me to return instantly." Mrs. Mapleson paused and struggled with herself at this point; evidently her task was a bitter one, and almost more than she was able to accomplish. "I cannot tell you of that parting," she finally re sumed; "it was almost like parting soul from body, and I shall never forget the look that was on my Charlie s face as he stood on the pier at Liverpool and watched the vessel that bore us away out of sight "We reached home just in season to be recognized by papa, to receive his dying blessing and his bidding to care tenderly for mamma, and then he was gone. Our mother was utterly prostrated by his death and the watching during the long weeks of his illness, and for months she, too, seemed to be upon the bor ders of the grave. "Meantime, I heard regularly from Charlie, and every letter told me of some delay regarding the de cision upon his appointment, but it was sure to be FOR LOVE AND HONOR 265 all right in the end, he said, and he would let me know the very moment it was decided. "You can easily realize that those months were anxious ones to me, for I feared, as the guilty always fear, detection, while, too, the deception I was prac ticing was inexpressibly galling to me. Mamma ral lied after a time, and for a little while we thought she would recover, but the improvement was not lasting, and it soon became evident that consumption had fastened upon her. "It was nearly five months since my return, and I began to be very unhappy, for there was still no favorable news from my husband. One day I was sitting alone in my room writing to him, and feeling very much depressed, when Nellie suddenly burst in upon me, her face all aglow, and bearing a tele gram in her hand. Estelle, what will you give me for good news at last? she cried gayly, and holding the telegram above her head, out of my reach. I will give you a hundred dollars, Nell, if it is good news, I answered, springing up to take it from her, my heart beating high with hope, for I felt sure that the message could contain nothing else. "I tore it open with trembling eagerness, only to find these words within: Lost; appointment given to a man named Wil- mot. Will write particulars. 266 FOR LOVE AND HONOR "It was a dreadful blow! Nellie had read the message over my shoulder, and for a moment we were both so paralyzed that we could only look into each other s face in dumb agony. Then I remem bered nothing more for a week, while for a month I did not leave my bed. During this time Charlie wrote, bitterly regretting that he had sent me the message, but saying he had promised to let me know as soon as the matter was decided, and on the impulse of the moment, his judgment blunted by his own dis appointment, he had cabled what afterward he real ized must have been a cruel blow to me. He said that money had bought up the position, while he had been so certain that the influence at work for him was stronger than any amount of bribery could be. Still, he would try for something else, and do his ut most ot relieve me from my embarrassing position. "All this, however, was poor consolation for me; I could not confess my marriage and go to him a beggar in his poverty, even though my heart longed for him with all the strength of its deep and lasting love. My mother failing, slowly, but surely, was dependent upon me for every comfort that she pos sessed, and besides this I could not make up my mind to put the ocean between us when I knew I should never see her again if I did. My husband had spoken of my embarrassing position, but he did not dream one-half the truth, for I had concealed from him the fact that I was soon to become a mother." CHAPTER XXI MRS. MAPLESON S STORY CONCLUDED "Estelle !" exclaimed Colonel Mapleson, in a shocked, yet sympathetic tone, "of all the romances that I have ever read or known, this is the strangest!" "Yes," Mrs. Mapleson continued, "I had per sistently refrained from telling my husband my se cret, and Nellie alone knew it. At first I only meant to reserve it until he should come for me, as he was to do immediately upon securing his position. I was sure that, if he knew, he would instantly demand my return to him, and an open acknowledgment of our union, and so I kept putting it off, until now, that I had received that fatal news, it was too late. I could not send for him to come to me, for then the secret must come out with all its direful results, while I knew he could not take care of me in a strange country when he was so unsuccessful in his own. I was almost insane for a time, for I saw no way out of my difficulties. My mother was so feeble that she demanded the constant attendance of a nurse, and the most expensive luxuries, to prolong her life. Where would the money come from to fur- 267 268 FOR LOVE AND HONOR nish all these, if it should become known that I had violated the conditions of my uncle s will? Where, too, would the money come to meet my own expenses of maternity, and to care for the little one that would soon be mine? All too late I realized the terrible mistake that I had made in yielding to Char lie s importunities, although I loved my husband most tenderly. " What shall I do? I cried, in despair, to my sis ter, one day, when all these facts, and the terrible fate awaiting their revelation, had been reviewed for the hundredth time. " Til tell you what I ve thought of Estelle, Nellie answered, gravely. It seems a dreadful thing to do heartless, dishonorable, and everything else that is bad and yet I see no alternative. We must man age some way to keep your money at least, so long as mamma lives; we must not let her sufjer, though I d work my fingers to the bone rather than do such a thing for my own sake. William Mapleson does not need your fortune; he has enough already. Rob ert Dale, that miserable old miser, would only "hide it in a napkin," if he were to get it. So we may as well have the benefit of it, at least until Charlie is able to do something for you. Now for my plan. You have had a long illness; you are drooping, fail ing; you need, must have, a change. Mamma is quite comfortable just now, and, with the nurse to attend her, does not really need any one else. But FOR LOVE AND HONOR 269 that she may not feel lonely without us, we will send for her old friend, Miss Willford, to come for a long visit, and then we will go off on a trip for your bene fit. " Oh, Nell, will you go with me? I sobbed, in a burst of relief and gratitude. " Indeed I shall. You did not suppose I would send you off alone, I hope, she answered, and then she further unfolded her plan. "We would pretend that we both needed a change, after the confinement of the last few months. No one would then suspect any secret reason for our go ing. We would travel a while, keeping as secluded as possible, and finally go to some large city Bos ton we finally decided upon, as we had never been there, and knew not a soul living there where we would remain until after the birth of my child. Then we would give it into the care of some one, paying well for it, until my husband was in a position to claim me; and then, as soon as I had regained my strength, we would return home, and no one would be the wiser for what had occurred. "This plan gave me new courage. All my former energy returned, and I immediately began my ar rangements for my proposed trip. Mamma and her nurse both favored it, and Miss Willford was sent for. I wrote my husband of our plans or as much regarding them as we told anybody telling him how to address his letters; and then Nellie and I went 270 FOR LOVE AND HONOR away, without exciting the suspicion of any one re garding our real object. We went first to Philadel phia, where we remained in secluded lodgings for a few weeks, giving our names as Mrs. Marston and maid, Nellie Durham Nellie preferring to act in that capacity. Then we proceeded to New York, where we stopped a while, finally going on to Boston, where my little girl was born." Geoffrey turned abruptly around and faced Mr. Huntress as Mrs. Mapleson reached this point in her story. Never until that moment had he suspected that Gladys was not his kind friend s own daughter. But he knew that he had formerly resided in Boston. He remembered that Mrs. Mapleson had addressed him as August Damon, and how she had been over come upon meeting him. He remembered, too, how, when he had proposed leaving the room while she made her confession to her husband, she had said "if any one had a right to hear her story, he had," and putting all these things together, it flashed upon him that Gladys might have been that little girl who was born, under such peculiar circumstances, in Bos ton. Mr. Huntress met his inquiring glance, and smiled faintly; but he was very pale and sorrowful. It had not been an easy matter for him to sit there and listen to that story, and to have it revealed that Gladys was not his very own. He had always hoped to be able to keep the secret of her adoption. FOR LOVE AND HONOR 271 "Is it true, Uncle August?" Geoffrey questioned. Mr. Huntress nodded gravely. "How very, very strange !" said the young man, with a perplexed face. Then his countenance suddenly brightened! He leaned eagerly forward, laid his hand on Mr. Huntress knee, and whispered, excitedly: "Then he Everet Mapleson, is her half-brother, and that marriage was nothing but an illegal farce!" "That is true I have been thinking of that very thing," returned Mr. Huntress, grasping the hand upon his knee with cordial sympathy, "and though it has been very hard to have the fact revealed, that our dear girl was not quite our own, yet my joy at having that great trouble so easily wiped out of ex istence, counteracts all the pain." "What is it?" Mrs. Mapleson asked, wondering at their eager whispering and excited manner. "I will tell you later, madame," Mr. Huntress re plied. "Pardon the interruption, and pray go on." "William, the worst of my story is yet to come," Mrs. Mapleson resumed, turning with a pathetic look to her husband. He reached forth one hand, and laid it affection ately upon hers. "Do not think me so hard, Estelle," he said, in a low, kind tone; "I do not forget the beam that was in my own eye, and I have no right to criticise the mote in yours, especially when you have been so 272 FOR LOVE AND HONOR great a sufferer, and your hands were so tied by your dependent mother and sister. Your heart was all right you would never have concealed anything but for the force of circumstances." "Oh, wait; you have yet to learn that my heart was not all right," she moaned, dropping her head upon her hand. "My baby was a beautiful child I real ized that the first time I looked upon her, but I did not dare to let my love go out toward her, for I knew that I must give her up, at least for a time. And yet, what to do with her was a very trying ques tion. At first I thought of putting her into some institution, requiring some pledge that she should not be given away within a specified time. But I found I could not do this, so I advertised for some one to adopt her, promising to give five hundred dollars with the child. I received numberless letters in re ply, but only one out of them all really pleased me, and this was signed August and Alice Damon. "Ah ! now I understand," interposed Colonel Ma- pleson, glancing quickly at Mr. Huntress, and look ing intensely relieved. Then his eyes wandered to Geoffrey. "How wonderful ! that those two should have found a home in the same family!" he murmured. "I appointed a meeting with Mr. and Mrs. Da mon," his wife went on. "They came, and at once I knew that they were the very people to whom I would confide my little girl, in preference to all FOR LOVE AND HONOR others. But you gave me an assumed name," she said, pausing, and turning to Mr. Huntress. "Not an assumed name, madame, but only a part of my real name, which is August Damon Huntress," that gentleman explained. "Why did you withhold your surname from me?" "Madame, I knew well enough that your name was not Marston. I felt sure that no mother would give away her child, as you were doing, and reveal her identity. On the other hand, I did not wish the identity of the child preserved. I did not intend that you should have any advantage over me. If I took her, I meant her to be mine wholly, without running any risk of having her taken from me, or of ever learning that she had been abandoned to the care of strangers. Consequently, I gave you the name of Damon." "Well," said Mrs. Mapleson, with a sigh, "as it happened, it made no difference, but if I had sus pected it at the time, you would not have had my child, for I meant to keep track of her. / meant to have her again just as soon as my husband and I were reunited." "But you told me," began Mr. Huntress, with an amazed, horrified face "I know I did," the lady interrupted. "I promised you that I would never trouble you would never even ask to see her. I pretended to give her to you unreservedly, although, you remember, I would not FOR LOVE AND HONOR subscribe to any legal form of adoption. I allowed you and others to think me a heartless, unnatural monster for the sake of gaining for my little one a good home and loving care until I could see my way clear to demand her restoration. It was dishonora ble it was a wretched deception, but it was all a part of that terrible secret that had to be guarded at whatever cost. But I had to pay dearly for it, as you will soon realize. "My sister and I left Boston, both of us in better spirits than we had been since leaving England, for we believed that everything had been so successfully concealed there was not the slightest danger of dis covery. We came back to our home to find mamma more comfortable than when we left her, having had a bright, cheerful visit with her old friend, while she appeared delighted with the improvement which our trip had made in us. But she lived only one short month after that. She took a sudden cold, which "brought on a hemorrhage that terminated her life in a few hours. "More than this," Mrs. Mapleson went on, hur riedly, while she pressed her clasped hands over her heart, as if to hold in check its painful throbbings, while she related the saddest event of her whole life, "on the very day that she was buried a bulky package was brought to me, postmarked London. It con tained considerable manuscript, a Bank of England note for one hundred and fifty pounds, my marriage FOR LOVE AND HONOR 275 certificate, and a letter. The letter told me oh, William P she burst forth in a quavering voice, "you knew that your Annie must die. You had to face the dread fact before it really came, and you were somewhat prepared for it; but I I had no warning; the shock fell like a thunderbolt to crush me! My Charlie was dead long before I knew it. He had been in his grave nearly a fortnight when the terrible news came to me. The letter was from a friend of my husband, and stated that he had met with an acci dent that must result fatally, having been crushed in a falling elevator." The poor woman appeared hardly capable of go ing on. It seemed as if all the agony of that dreadful time was revived by this recital. "He had only a few hours to live," she went on, at last, "and, though he could not hold a pen to write me one line, he made up that package with his own hands, telling his friend that it was to be forwarded to Miss Estelle Everet. You see, he kept my secret even while dying, and would not send me one of the fond messages of which I know his heart must have been full, for fear of betraying me. He said that I would take charge of the publishing of the manu script, if I thought best to give it to the world, for the expenses of which he inclosed the Bank of Eng land note. That, however, was only a blind, for the manuscript was in such a crude state it could not be published, and he had simply taken that way to send 5276 FOR LOVE AND HONOR me, without exciting suspicion, the only existing proof of our marriage, and what little money he pos sessed. "My fond, faithful Charlie! He deserved a bet ter fate and a better wife. Of course, after that, there was no fear of discovery, even though I mourned with the bitterness of despair over my lost hopes. My mother s death was excuse enough for my grief, though people said I laid it to heart more than they imagined I could. For a long time I felt as if life was little better than a mockery. Mine certainly thus far had been a miserable failure. My husband dead, my child lost to me forever for, of course, I could never claim her now what was there in the world for me to live for? "After a time I grew bitter and reckless. I told myself if I could not have the blessings that usually crown a woman s life, I would make the most of the fortune that I still possessed; I would travel I would see the world I would not deny myself a single wish or whim. My sister and I started off again. We went to England first, where I found my husband s grave, but did not dare even to mark it with any expression of my love. We went to Egypt and Palestine, joining a party of travelers thither, and after spending another year in roving we came back once more to America. "Three months after our return, Nellie, too, sick ened and died, and I was left utterly alone in the FOR LOVE AND HONOR 277 world alone with my ill-gotten wealth and splendor. What was my money to me then? like the apples of Sodom; and yet I experienced a grim sort of satisfac tion that the income of Uncle Jabez s property was still mine, that I had outwitted the world and the lawyers or executors of Uncle Jabez s will by my art and cunning. But only a little more than a year remained before I should be twenty-five, when, if my cousin and I were both unmarried, Robert Dale would have our fortune. I grew rebellious at the thought. I had nothing but my money to live for now, and my money I wanted to keep. I had sacri ficed truth, principle, and all the noblest elements of my woman s nature for it, and I was willing to make almost any sacrifice now to retain it. "Just about this time you returned, William, and," a burning blush now suffused the face of the proud woman, "I welcomed you with secret joy, and in stantly made up my mind to marry you if you would have me. I made myself agreeable to you with that sole object in view. You know how well I succeeded, althought you did not dream that I was scheming for that, and I did not experience a qualm, since I did not deceive you regarding the state of my heart toward you ; my acceptance of you was as frank as your pro posal for my hand. Neither of us professed any love for the other; we simply decided that it would be a wise union, and that we could be a very com fortable couple. A strange, heartless arrangement, 278 FOR LOVE AND HONOR I suppose the world would have said could it have read our motives, but it would have seemed even more strange if the experience of our lives had been revealed. I was hardened and reckless then, for I felt that fate had used me very badly. I have not deserved the quiet, peaceful years quiet and peace ful but for the stings of conscience that have been my lot since. I have been growing happier during all that time, growing to " She broke off suddenly, flashing a quick, pained glance at her husband, while the blood again mounted to her brow. "During all these years," she continued, presently, "I have never learned anything regarding my child, save once. Last summer, after Everet left me at Newport, to come home, I was comparatively alone there for a few days, my friends, whom I was ex pecting to meet, not having arrived, and a sudden impulse seized me to go to Boston and try to learn something about my daughter. I had always kept the card you gave me, Mr. Huntress, and I imagined if you were still in that city I could trace you through the directory. "Upon my arrival I stepped into a drug store on Washington street and asked for the directory, to begin my search. You can imagine something of my amazement and consternation when I found myself face to face with the physician who had attended me at the birth of my child. He also recognized me, FOR LOVE AND HONOR 279 although I tried to deceive him regarding my iden tity. But he insisted that he knew me, and finding denial useless, I appealed to him for information regarding my child. He said he knew the man well who had adopted her that he had been for years the family physician; but he would not give me his name or address." "That must have been Dr. Turner," said Mr. Huntress, looking astonished; "but how could he have known that we adopted the child? We never told him that she was not our own." "True; but he was called to attend her for some slight ailment only a few days after you took her,, and recognized her; he would not, however, violate your confidence nor his sense of honor by telling me anything by which I could trace you or the child. He comforted me greatly, though, by assuring me that she was a beautiful and talented young lady; that she had received every advantage, and was surrounded by the fondest love and care. I remember now that I have seen her," Mrs. Mapleson said, with starting tears, "and my heart yearns strongly for her as I think of it. I saw her at Yale when my son gradu ated; she was with you," turning to Geoffrey, "and she is truly a lovely girl. Mr. Huntress, you have held your trust sacred, and I am deeply grateful to you." CHAPTER XXII AN UNEXPECTED RETURN "SuRELY, Estelle, your lot has been a hard one," Colonel Mapleson gravely remarked, after an op pressive silence; "your sufferings have been keener than mine, and I can only wonder how you have concealed them so successfully during all these years." "I promised that I would try to make you a good wife, and I have striven to be agreeable and com panionable 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 best to appear contented with my life." "Done your best to appear contented," repeated Colonel Mapleson, with some bitterness, but in a tone that reached her alone. 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 80 FOR LOVE AND HONOR 281 strive while my grief was so keen and fresh. But let us 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 afraid all this excitement will prove too much for you, and you had better go to rest; but, first, come 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 sympa thy 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 swept away. She could not tell whether it would create an impassable gulf between them or not, but at least she had noth ing now to conceal. She went to Geoffrey with him, prepared to wel come 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 turning my back upon you at Saratoga and let me have the satisfaction of repairing, as far as may be, the hard ships of your youth? My debt of gratitude to your FOR LOVE AND HONOR other father" with a glance at Mr. Huntress "I can never repay." Geoffrey warmly grasped that extended hand. "You have made my heart more glad than I can tell you, sir," he said. "I can forget I can overlook everything, now that I know my mother was your loved and honored wife. I came here fearing the worst fearing that a dreadful stigma rested upon my birth that I was not entitled to an honorable name." "You are entitled to much more than that, Geof frey," Colonel Mapleson returned, smiling, although his lips trembled and his eyes were full of tears; "there is a handsome fortune awaiting your dis posal." "A fortune !" said the young man, wonderingly. "Yes, inherited through your mother from that very same old miser Robert Dale of 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 shake hands with my wife," his father responded, presenting Mrs. Mapleson. "You are, indeed, very much like my son," she murmured, as she gave him her hand; "and, believe me," she added, with touching humility, "I am re joiced to have you restored to my husband, even at FOR LOVE AND HONOR 283 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, after which her husband led her from the room. He accompanied her to her own door. "Good-night, Estelle," he said, gently. "I hope you will go directly to bed and try to sleep." She turned suddenly that proud, imperious woman, who, for more than twenty years, had re pressed every sign of affection for him and threw herself upon his breast. "Oh ! William, say that you do not quite hate me for what I have told you to-night!" she cried, in an agonized 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 after all! Do you, Estelle?" he 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, in domitable spirit that had upheld her so long was sub dued at last. "I have not dared to let you see how much of my 284 FOR LOVE AND HONOR heart you have won; you know you told me you did not entertain a lover s affection for me, and I would not force mine upon you," she confessed, with her face stil! hidden upon his breast. He folded his arms more closely about her. "And / have imagined that you were holding me at arms length during 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 not realize how dear until now. We will not look backward any more, but forward; we have both erred greatly in the past, and it would 511 become either of us to criticise the other. Tell me, shall we drop the vail 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 lips against his cheek. "I do not deserve this, William," she said, humbly, "but you have made me happier than I ever expected to be again." He returned her caress with great 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 for her to pass in, then closed FOR LOVE AND HONOR 285 it, and returned to his visitors, brushing aside some truant tears as he went. His face, however, lighted with pleasure as he again entered the library, and looked into Geoffrey s noble, manly face, and realized that he was really the son of the beautiful young wife whom he so loved years ago. But the young man himself was very grave. He felt that he stood in an exceedingly delicate position. H*e had come to Colonel Mapleson, believing that he had wronged his mother, and wilfully abandoned him when a child; he had meant to denounce him for it, and reveal also the villainy of which his other son had been guilty. But he had found a father ready and eager to wel come him, ready to acknowledge the wife of his youth, and to give his son the place that rightfully belonged to him; and now it seemed almost cruel to expose the wrong of which his half-brother had been guilty. He could not endure the thought of coming between the two in any way; of destroying the confi dence of the father in the son. Something of this Geoffrey and Mr. Huntress had been considering during Colonel Mapleson s ab sence from the room. They had about decided to say nothing of the affair of the interrupted marriage, until they had seen Everet, and acquainted him with the facts which that night had revealed. Perhaps 286 FOR LOVE AND HONOR they could arrange to hush up the matter altogether, if the young man proved to be amicably inclined or reasonable; at all events, they had concluded not to mention the affair that night to, at least, give it a little more thought first In explaining about the broken cross, Geoffrey had simply said that they had seen the other half in Everet s possession, and that he knew nothing of their visit to Vue de 1 Eau. It seemed as if a great weight had been lifted from Colonel Mapleson s heart when he returned. He drew a chair near his guests, and began at once to enter more 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 Geof- rey s mother. "This, of course, now becomes yours," he con cluded, 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 Everet." "I could not take anything from this estate, sir," Geoffrey said, suddenly growing crimson. "Why not?" questioned his father. "Because you married contrary to the conditions of your uncle s will, so, in that case, I do not feel that I FOR LOVE AND HONOR 287 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 Everet." "You are very conscientious," replied Colonel Ma- pleson, gravely. 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 Mrs. Maple- son and I possess. We both violated the conditions of that will; consequently, our fortunes rightly be longed to Robert Dale, and you, being his only heir, would inherit it all." Geoffrey looked amazed at this. Such a thought had not occurred to him; but now he could not fail to see the force of his father s argument. "I do not want it I could not 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 world who would not take all they could get," replied Colonel Mapleson, feeling a certain pride in this noble renunciation of his son. "But, taking everything into consideration, it seems to me that matters are somewhat compli cated with us. I suppose Mrs. Mapleson s daugh ter 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. 288 FOR LOVE AND HONOR He could not endure, for a moment, the thought of ever having Gladys know anything about her birth. She fully believed herself to be Mr. and Mrs. Huntress own child, and he knew it would be a rude shock to her to learn that she was not, and to be told the facts regarding her parentage, and he meant to prevent it if he could. "Colonel Mapleson," he said, speaking very seri ously, "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 yearning after her child; at the same time, he could understand and appreciate Mr. Huntress sensitiveness upon the sub ject; 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 it would be a great disappointment to my wife not to be allowed to claim the relationship," he replied, thoughtfully. "I have no doubt of it, sir," returned Mr. Hunt ress; "but could she not better bear the disappoint ment than to have her child made unhappy, after all these years of content, 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 not a suspicion of the truth, and I am confident that no one, save Doctor Turner and ourselves, has FOR LOVE AND HONOR 289 the slightest knowledge of it, so that it never need be revealed. Mrs. Mapleson promised solemnly never to claim her, under any circumstances; she gave her unreservedly to us, and I cannot feel willing to have our relations disturbed. As far as any property which she might inherit from your wife is concerned, I would not give it a moment s consideration. I have an abundance, and Gladys will have it all by and by. I did 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 not need it. However, it 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 at his son. "I hope so," Geoffrey answered; "and I, too, think it would be wiser to keep the truth regarding Gladys birth still a secret. Its revelation can do no one, save Mrs. Mapleson, the least possible good, and I doubt if even she would not regret a disclosure that would result in so much unhappiness to others." "I believe you are right," Colonel Mapleson said, after thinking it over for a few moments. "I reckon it would be the better plan to allow things to remain just as they are." "I beg you will not consider me selfish or unfeeling in this matter," said Mr. Huntress, earnestly, but greatly relieved by this decision. "I sympathize 290 FOR LOVE AND HONOR deeply with Mrs. Mapleson, but I feel that she could not suffer a tithe of what my wife and daughter would endure to have their relations disturbed, not to mention my own feelings in the matter." "I understand," his host responded, heartily, "and I know it is but right and just that the one should yield in order that the many may be happy, and I be lieve that my wife will see it in the same light when she comes to consider it. But," turning again to Geoffrey, "when is this wedding to occur?" The young man colored and glanced at Mr. Hunt ress, for he hardly knew what to say in reply to this. "Well, I the day is not set yet. I was anxious to have my relations with yourself settled, and we " It was an unusual occurrence for Geoffrey Hunt ress to lose his self-possession under any circum stances; but just then he felt himself to be in a very 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 moment which attracted Colonel Maple- son s attention from him. The next instant the library door was flung open, and Everet, himself, pale and travel-stained, stood before the astonished group. "Ha !" he cried, catching sight of Geoffrey. "So you have stolen a march on me ! trying, I suppose, to FOR LOVE AND HONOR 291 browbeat the governor into confessing that romantic liaison of his youth." "Everet/" 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, addressing my guests in such an ab rupt way, not to mention your exceedingly disre spectful 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 ner vous, unnatural manner. "Silence, sir!" thundered Colonel Mapleson, look ing perfectly aghast at this strange behavior 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 she led in a certain mining district for a year," Everet 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 the 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 have suddenly taken leave o/ your 292 FOR LOVE AND HONOR senses ! I believe you are in the delirium of fever," returned his father, regarding his now flushed face and glittering eyes with alarm. "But have a care over your words. How on earth you have become possessed of such strange notions is more than I can account for." "I can easily enlighten you. I have a couple of letters in my possession that 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 wedding-ring, either, mind you. I doubt if she ever had that which was 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 tabb, before his father. Colonel Mapleson recognized them at once, while he was amazed by the fact of their being in the pos session of his son. One of the letters he remembered losing after a visit to the cottage where his Annie had once lived, and he had been greatly disturbed over the fact; but the other, and the ring which his dear wife had lost one night while sitting on the porch in their mountain home he could not understand how he came by them. "You found that ring?" he asked, amazed. "Yes. I visited a certain cottage among the moun tains of New Mexico last summer, and while stand- FOR LOVE AND HONOR 293 ing upon one of the steps leading up to the door it gave way, and underneath I found this 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 we thought it very strange that we 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 mar riage, when this was put on her finger as a guard to her wedding-ring! Annie Dale was my loved and honored wife, Everet, and Geoffrey, my son and hers," indicating the young man by a motion of his hand, "will show you the certificate of our marriage, and the ring with which she was wed !" "Your wife! Annie Dale your wife!" Everet re peated, starting back, amazed, all his color fading again at those words, and shocked into more respect ful speech by the unexpected acknowledgment. CHAPTER XXIII PEACE AT LAST "YES, Annie Dale was my wife!" Everet bent a sullen look upon Geoffrey. "Then he is not a " An imperative gesture from his father silenced the obnoxious word that trembled on his lips. "Geoffrey Huntress, as he has hitherto been known," he said, "is my son, honorably entitled to my name, and an equal share with yourself of all I pos sess a son whom I long mourned as dead, but whom I have most gladly welcomed to my heart and home this night, upon learning who he was." "Would you have done so had you not been forced to it?" Everet rudely demanded. "Everet, you are very disrespectful to-night," re turned his father, with a frown. "I cannot under stand why you should manifest such a spirit of hos tility. But we will not talk more of this now; you shall have the details of the story of my early life later. I trust, however, that your sense of what is right and just will prompt you to some acknowledg ment for your discourtesy toward your brother." 294 FOR LOVE AND HONOR 295 "My brother!" retorted Everet, aroused afresh at the word; "he has been nothing but a stumbling- block in my path ever since I first saw him; he hu miliated me before friends in a way that I have never forgiven; he thwarted me in my hopes at college and in many plans all but the last one," he concluded, with a taunting laugh, turning defiantly toward Geof frey, who was regarding him with more of sorrow than of anger. "What do you mean, my son?" demanded his father, who saw that something was very wrong be tween them, and was almost in despair over his inex plicable conduct. "Has he not told you how I cheated him out of his wife?" Everet asked, supposing, of course, that that wretched story had been rehearsed. "Cheated him out of his wife!" repeated Colonel Mapleson, growing pale, and glancing apprehen sively from one to the other. His son gave vent to a short, nervous laugh, but feeling considerably crestfallen at having so reck lessly betrayed himself, since he saw that nothing had been said about his miserable plot. Mr. Huntress here interposed, seeing that the truth must come out, and explained in a few brief sentences what had happened. Colonel Mapleson sank back white and nervous, as he listened, realizing, almost at the outset, the ter rible thing which his son had so nearly accomplished 296 FOR LOVE AND HONOR "Do you know what you have done, Everet Ma- pleson?" he said, in a solemn, impressive tone, when his visitor concluded, and the young man was startled and awed in spite of his bravado. "You have been upon the brink of a fearful precipice; you have very nearly committed a dreadful crime, for which I could never have forgiven you, for which you would never have forgiven yourself; the girl whom you have sought to make your wife is your sister." The young man grew pale, but more at his father s tone than from any conviction of the truth of his statement. But he rallied after a moment. "What stuff are you telling me?" he retorted, con temptuously. "It is no stuff; it is sternest truth; Gladys Hunt ress is an adopted daughter." "Ha!" and now Everet Mapleson seemed sud denly galvanized. "Did Annie Dale have another child?" he demanded, with hueless lips. "No; but she is your mother s child, by a former marriage." "Great heaven!" There was no defiance or recklessness in his man ner now. He sank breathless upon a chair, a horri fied look upon his face, a shiver shaking him from head to foot, perspiration starting from every pore. "My mother s child! Impossible! Who told you?" he questioned, hoarsely. "Your mother herself! She was unexpectedly FOR LOVE AND HONOR 297 brought face to face with Mr. Huntress to-night; she recognized him and fainted. Upon recovering she confessed to a former marriage, and said, in order to conceal the fact, she had been obliged to give away her child that Mr. Huntress was the man who adopted her." Colonel Mapleson then went on to explain more at length something of the occurrences of the eve ning, but he was interrupted in the midst of his re cital by Everet throwing himself prostrate upon the floor, while a heart-rending groan burst from him as he fell. When they raised him he was unconscious, and a small stream of blood was trickling from his mouth. He was carried at once to his room, a servant was immediately dispatched for a doctor, while his anx ious friends used what remedies there were at hand for his relief. When the physician arrived he said his patient had evidently been suffering from a severe cold for sev eral days, and that this, with weariness of body and a sudden shock of some kind, had brought on a hem orrhage, while there were also some indications of a brain trouble, and a severe illness would doubtless follow. Mr. Huntress and Geoffrey proposed going away early the next morning, but Colonel Mapleson, who seemed greatly unnerved by the excitement of the previous evening, begged them to remain for a few ;>98 FOR LOVE AND HONOR days at least, as he could not bear to give up Geof frey again so soon after being reunited to him. They had not the heart to leave him in his trouble after that, and consented to remain long enough to learn what the prospect of Everet s recovery would be. But he grew steadily worse, and raved in the wildest delirium, recognizing no one, although there was no return of the hemorrhage. At the end of four days Mr. Huntress decided that he must go home, but Geoffrey concluded that it was his duty to remain with his father until the crisis in Everet s illness should be passed, for Colonel Mapleson seemed to lean upon and to experience much comfort from his presence. He proved of the greatest assistance in the sick room, where he attended Everet most faithfully, and endeared himself to the whole household by his gen tleness and courteous bearing. At the end of three weeks the fever turned, and Everet was pronounced out of danger of any fur ther brain trouble, although it would be a long time before he would fully recover from the weakness of his lungs. Geoffrey withdrew himself immediately from the sick-room as soon as the patient recovered conscious ness, realizing that his presence might be annoying to Everet, and retard his convalescence ; although he remained at Vue de 1 Eau for another week, at the FOR LOVE AND HONOR 299 earnest request of both Colonel and Mrs. Maple- son. Then he felt that he could not stay longer away from Gladys, and he returned to Brooklyn, taking with him the knowledge of his father s firm and last ing affection, and Mrs. Mapleson s respect and friendship, together with the handsome fortune which he had inherited from Robert Dale, and which Colonel Mapleson had transferred to him. It had been agreed by all parties that Gladys should never be told the secret of her parentage, although Mrs. Mapleson had wept bitterly when she consented to remain all her life unrecognized by the child for whom her heart yearned inexpressibly. She could but acknowledge, however, that it would be for her daughter s happiness, and she was willing to sacrifice her own feelings to secure that. She had been greatly shocked upon learning of Everet s wretched plot, and the narrow escape he had had from committing a fearful crime, and she had pleaded with Geoffrey, when parting with him, to forgive her son for the injury he had done him, say ing she felt sure that he would deeply regret it, when he fully came to himself. Geoffrey assured her of his full and free pardon, and actually expressed the hope that he and his half- brother might some time come to regard each other, at least with a friendly, if not with brotherly, affec tion. 300 FOR LOVE AND HONOR His return was a very joyous one. Gladys had been assured by her father, long be fore this, that she was free; that no tie bound her to Everet Mapleson; that the events which had oc curred upon the night set for the wedding had been simply a farce, the result of fraud of the worst type, which rendered the ceremony illegal. She was almost like her old, bright self when Geoffrey arrived, although not quite so strong as formerly, for she had suffered a fearful shock, and it was not surprising that its effects should yet be visible. Only a few days after Geoffrey s return, Mr. Huntress beloved pastor and his wife were invited to dine with the family, and later in the evening, when the servants were all below everything hav ing been confidentially explained to the reverend gentleman previous to his visit Geoffrey and Gladys stood up in the drawing-room and were quietly made one, while only those who were acquainted with the private history of the young couple ever knew of this second ceremony, their fashionable friends and the world all believing that the real marriage had oc curred at the time of the brilliant wedding before de scribed. No one was surprised that the European trip was postponed until warmer weather. "A sea voyage in the dead of winter was a thing to be dreaded; be sides, Mr. and Mrs. Huntress had finally decided to FOR LOVE AND HONOR 301 brace up their courage and go with them, if they would wait until spring." They sailed about the middle of May, and had an unusually smooth passage. They spent a whole year abroad a year of delight, and such as few experi ence in this world, and then returned to Brooklyn, where Mr. and Mrs. Geoffrey Dale Mapleson set up their own establishment on Clinton avenue, not a stone s throw from their former home. The change in Geoffrey s name, together with the discovery of his parentage, had been very easily ex plained, and then, of course, everybody said "they always knew that he and Everet Mapleson must have the same blood in their veins; but it was really a very romantic circumstance Geoffrey having been injured and carried off by his nurse s husband in a fit of drunkenness, and never discovering his parent age until now." The next fall, after the young couple s return from Europe, Colonel Mapleson and his wife paid them a visit, and it was noticeable that a great change had come over the strangely-wedded pair. The stately and soldierly colonel was devotedly at tached to his beautiful wife, who had acquired a pe culiar gentleness and sweetness, in place of her for mer imperious manner, which made her tenfold more attractive. It was evident, too, that she was strongly attached to her noble husband. 302 FOR LOVE AND HONOR When she was presented to Gladys, she folded her closely in her arms. "My dear," she said, with a thrill of tenderness in her tones that moved the young wife strangely, "I hope we shall be very good friends, for, although Geoffrey is not my own son, / want to regard you both as my children!" Tears sprang into Gladys eyes. She lifted her face and kissed the lovely one bend ing above her. "I am sure I shall love you very, very dearly," she said. And she did. A tender friendship was begun dur ing that visit, which grew stronger and more devoted with every year, and when, at length, two little twin girls were born to Gladys, she named one Alice and the other Estelle. "For our two mothers," she said to Geoffrey, with a fond smile. Colonel Mapleson was very proud of his Annie s boy, but his happiness would never be quite complete, he said, until there could be perfect harmony between his two sons. He hoped that time would bring even that to pass, for Everet had shown great remorse over the deception that he had practiced upon Gladys, and he finally made an humble, though manly, confession to her, and entreated her pardon for the injury he had done her and her husband. But it was not until Geoffrey was called to the FOR LOVE AND HONOR 303 death-bed of his father, three years after his mar riage, that they really became friends. The making of Colonel Mapleson s will brought it about, for he consulted his sons about the matter. Geoffrey refused absolutely to be named in it, ex cept simply to receive an affectionate remembrance from his father, and this attitude excited Everet s wonder. "Why do you do this?" he asked, coldly, and re garding his brother with suspicion. "You are my father s elder son, and entitled to half his fortune." "I do not wish it, believe me," Geoffrey answered. "I have enough as it is. I can never tell you," he added, earnestly, "how much more to me than for tune, or any other inheritance, is the name that I can legally claim from our father. Let that be my share indeed, I will not have anything else." Everet stood, thoughtful and silent, for several moments. Then, with an evident effort, he looked up in Geoffrey s face, and said: "I know that you might have all, had you chosen to take it, and in that case 7 would have been a beg gar. You have led me to believe and not by this act alone, either that there is at least one truly noble, unselfish man in the world. If you do not utterly despise me, will you henceforth recognize me as a friend?" He extended his hand as he spoke, but it shook visibly, and he was very pale. It had not been an 304 FOR LOVE AND HONOR easy thing for this proud young Southerner to make such a confession and appeal. Geoffrey grasped it warmly, his manly face all aglow with sincere joy. "Not only my friend, Everet, but my brother, in name and in truth," he answered, heartily; and thus a lifelong bond was established between them, which strengthened with every succeeding year, while the desire of Colonel Mapleson s heart was granted him ere he closed his eyes upon all things earthly. A little later, Addie Loring, who during all this time had refused many an eager suitor, became the mistress of Vue de 1 Eau, where she reigned the cen ter of a happy and peaceful household. She often visited her girlhood s friend at the North, and entertained her, in turn, in her Southern home, where the elder Mrs. Mapleson was su premely content in the presence of her child and grandchildren, even though they were ignorant that no other bond save that of mutual love and sympathy united them. Mr. and Mrs. Huntress were also very happy in their children, and lived many years to enjoy them years which brought with them an "Old age serene and bright, And lovely as a Lapland night. Mr. Huntress retired from active business soon FOR LOVE AND HONOR 305 after his return from Europe, resigning his place in the firm to Geoffrey, who developed great ability as a business man, and was as energetic and industrious as if he had his fortune still to make, instead of already being the possessor of a handsome compe tence. Gladys, true to her vow upon that wedding-day, which had ended so sadly, and yet which, they all felt, had been wisely overruled, divided her time be tween the duties in her own home and the work of lightening the burdens of others, "reflecting some of the happiness of her own life upon those less fa vored;" thus laying up treasures for herself more precious and lasting than either silver or gold. "Who soweth good seed shall surely reap; The year groweth rich as it groweth old, And life s latest sands are its sands of gold." THE END DATE DUE nuBtuft UR110A IS OCT C 7 1987 3 1970 00341 9329