“Yes; he and his wife used to know my father and mother.”
“You will excuse my suggesting it, but it might be wise for you to eat something here before you go over. Hastings isn’t much in the habit of entertaining strangers, and I don’t think he sets a very good table.”
“I think there will be a good supper to-night,” said Gerald. “At any rate I will risk it.”
He proved to be right. Mrs. Hastings was a good cook when she had the wherewithal, as her husband expressed it, and she did her best, going herself to the village market for supplies. It is safe to say that Gerald fared better than he would have done at the hotel.
He was very cordially received by Mrs. Hastings, who indulged in reminiscences of his mother, to which he listened eagerly.
“She was a good woman,” said Mrs. Hastings, “and I was grieved to hear of her death. I am sure she would have lived longer but for the wicked plot of Bradley Wentworth against your father.”
“You knew about it?”
“Yes; and I could not bear to think that my husband was aiding and abetting him in his wicked scheme. I hope the time will come when his injustice will be repaired.”
“I think it will, Mrs. Hastings. To that end I have been working ever since my father’s death. I think Providence directed me to your husband as the man who could help me. His testimony will be most important.”
“And it will be forthcoming, Gerald,” said Mr. Hastings. “I have stood by Bradley Wentworth long enough. I never liked him as well as your father, and I am prepared to help you because you are the son of Warren Lane.”