“Freddie!” she whispered, aghast.
Sprudell stared at her, puzzled.
“It must be! The name is too uncommon.”
“I don’t understand.”
“He must have been my brother—my half-brother—my mother was married twice. It is too dreadful!” She stared at Sprudell with wide, shocked eyes.
Sprudell was staring, too, but he seemed more disconcerted than amazed.
“It’s hardly likely,” he said, reassuringly. “When did you hear from him last?”
“It has been all of twelve years since we heard from him even indirectly. I wrote to him in Silver City, New Mexico, where we were told he was working in a mine. Perhaps he did not get my letter; at least I’ve tried to think so, for he did not answer.”
Indecision, uncertainty, were uppermost among the expressions on Sprudell’s face, but the girl did not see them, for her downcast eyes were filled with tears. Finally he said slowly and in a voice curiously restrained.
“Yes, he did receive it and I have it here. It’s a very strange coincidence, Miss Dunbar, the most remarkable I have ever known; you will agree when I tell you that my object in coming East was to find you and your mother for the purpose of turning over his belongings—this letter you mention, an old photograph of you and some five hundred dollars in money he left.”