On the Bygone.
“And where had my father been at the time?” said Brace Norton, after sitting with knitted brows listening to his mother’s narrative of the past.
“France—abroad—to avoid arrest; for his affairs in connection with the mine were then in a sad state. It was his absence which made matters wear so suspicious an aspect.”
“Suspicious? Yes,” said Brace, angrily, “suspicious enough to base minds! How long was he away?”
“Five, nearly six, months,” said Mrs Norton.
“But you never believed this charge, mother? You never thought my father guilty?”
“Guilty? No!” exclaimed Mrs Norton, proudly. “Your father, Brace, is the soul of honour, and above suspicion; but matters shaped themselves most cruelly against him.”
“That Gurdon must have had the cross,” said Brace, after a thoughtful pause; “and you say that he obtained his deserts—transported?”
Mrs Norton nodded her head.
“But Lady Gernon’s disappearance—what could have become of her? Was it possible that she was deluded away out of revenge—perhaps with the cross for a bait—by some one or other of Gurdon’s associates, so that she fell into some trap?”