“Then how do you know?”
“He has fled.”
“Fled?”
“Yes. I went to the ‘United States’ at five this afternoon. I called a servant to show me the way to room number forty-five, and was told that the gentleman who had occupied it left at twelve to-day.”
“How very strange!” said Gladys, astonished.
“No, it is not strange,” Geoffrey returned, bitterly; “the man is a miserable coward, and he dare not meet me; his history is doubtless one of shame and wrong—he knew that I would force it from him, and he fears to remain and confess it. But, Gladys, I shall find him yet—some day I will compel him to face me and own the truth. I will hunt him down! he shall not escape me!”
“Oh, Geoffrey, pray do not let it trouble you so—there may have been some other reason for his going,” said the young girl, laying her hand sympathetically on his arm.
“No—I tell you he was afraid to meet me, and his guilt is evident in his flight; he never would have run away like this, if there had been no guilty secret in his life which he was anxious to conceal from me.”
“Did you learn his name?” Gladys inquired.
A deep flush arose to Geoffrey’s brow, and he gave a start of annoyance.