“I have written to New York to-day,” said Geraldine, “giving to Esther a copy of what she is to write and send to me by return of mail. As I cannot get the New York post-mark I shall tear off the half sheet where the superscription naturally would be, leaving only the body of the letter. This I shall rub and smoke until it looks old and worn, and then bring it to you, who the day following must find it,—in Oliver’s presence, if possible; of course your glasses will not be handy and you will ask him to read it. He’ll probably tell of it at Beechwood, or if he does not, you can, which will answer quite as well. I can’t explain all about the matter, though I may some time do so, and I assure you, dear Mrs. Thompson, that if my end is secured, I shall be willing to pay you something extra for your assistance.”
Geraldine had spoken so rapidly that Hepsy had not quite comprehended the whole, and clutching her dress she said:
“Yes, yes, but one thing I want to know. Is Mildred Helen Thornton’s child, or is that all a humbug, got up to stop her marriage?”
Geraldine had not intended to confide the whole in Hepsy, but to a certain extent she was rather compelled to do so, and she answered hastily:
“Yes, all a humbug, and I’ll give you twenty-five dollars a year as long as you do not tell.”
Hepsy was bought, and offered to swear on a “stack of Bibles high as the house” that she’d be silent as the dead, but Geraldine declined the pleasure of receiving the oath, and after a few more remarks, took her leave.
For a time after she was gone, Oliver sat completely stunned by what he had heard. Then the thought burst upon him, “How delighted Milly will be,” and he determined to be himself the bearer of the joyful news. He could write it, he knew, but there might be some delay in the mails and he would rather go himself. Geraldine could not receive an answer from Esther Bennett until the second day, and on the third Hepsy would probably take to Beechwood this new proof of Mildred’s parentage. By that time he could find Mildred and bringing her home could confront the wicked plotters and render their plotting of no avail. Once he thought to tell the Judge, but knowing he could not keep it, he decided not to do so. Lawrence was better that day,—the crisis was past, the physicians said, and having no fears for him, he resolved to keep his secret from every one. By going to Springfield that night he could take the early train and so reach Dresden the next day, a thing he greatly desired to do, as it was the day once appointed for Mildred’s bridal. He glanced at his gold watch, Mildred’s gift, and saw that it wanted but half an hour of the time when the last train was due. Hastily changing his clothes, and forgetting all about his feeble health, he went down-stairs and astonished his grandmother by saying he was going to Springfield.
“To Springfield!” she screamed, “when you can scarcely set up all day. Are you crazy, boy? What are you going there for?”
“Oh, I know,” he returned, affecting to laugh. “It’s just occurred to me that I must be there early to-morrow morning, and in order to do that, I must go to-night.”
He did not wait for further comment from old Hepsy, who, perfectly confounded, watched him till he disappeared in the moonlight, muttering to herself: