With a smile of rare sweetness and beauty, he said: “Your candor and frankness deserve confidence in return, and I will give it so far as it is within my power to do so, and yet I fear that you will be disappointed. Your surmises are incorrect in many respects, and yet contain a great deal of truth, and I will try, so far as possible, to be as frank with you as you have been with me. In the first place, I must say to you, that regarding Lyle’s true parentage, whether or not she is the child of the Mavericks, I know, positively, nothing more than do you, yourself.”
He smiled as he noted Miss Gladden’s look of astonishment, and continued:
“Like you, I have my suspicions that she is not their child, and have had them since first seeing her, years ago. As in your case, my suspicions long ago changed to conviction, and my convictions are probably even deeper than yours, for the reason, that in form, in feature, in voice and manner, in every expression and gesture,” his voice trembled for an instant, but he controlled it, “she is the exact counterpart of another; some one whom I knew in a life as remote, as far from this as it is possible to conceive. But I have no direct proof, not a shadow of tangible evidence with which I could confront Maverick and denounce him with having stolen the child, and, knowing him as I do, I know that for Lyle’s sake, until I have some such proof, it were better to remain silent.”
“Pardon me for interrupting you,” Miss Gladden exclaimed, “but that is a contingency that never entered my mind, that Lyle had been stolen from her parents! That is far worse than anything I had dreamed of.”
“Nevertheless, if she is not their child, she was stolen, and just in proportion as the former is improbable, the latter is probable, almost certain. You will now see wherein your supposition that my interest in her was due to her connection in my mind with some one I had formerly known, was correct. I took a special interest in her for this reason; it was a pleasure to teach her, to note her mind expanding so rapidly, to watch her as she developed physically and mentally; every day growing more and more like the one I had known. I enjoyed tracing the resemblance day by day, though it often caused me almost as much pain as pleasure,––but when I heard her sing, that was too much,––it was more than I could bear,––it was like compelling some lost soul in purgatory to listen to the songs of paradise.”
There was a tremor in Jack’s voice, and he paused, touched even more deeply by the sympathetic tears glistening in the beautiful eyes full of such tender pity, than by the bitter memories passing before his own mind.
“What has perplexed me most,” he continued, “is the fact that Lyle has seemed unable to recall anything relating to her early childhood. I have tried in every way to arouse her memory, and that was my chief object in allowing her to see the photograph of which she told you; but, as she often says, the first few years of her life seem to be only blank. I cannot account for that.”
“Still,” said Miss Gladden, “these dreams of hers show that there are memories there, and something may yet recall them to her mind.”
“That has been my hope,” he replied, “that is what I have been waiting for all these years, for her mind to recall some incident, or some individual, that would furnish the needed proof as to her parentage.”
“Do you think,” asked Miss Gladden, after a pause, “that it would be wise to give Lyle a hint of our suspicions?”