He found Gladys watching for him as before.
He went up behind her chair, leaned down, and whispered in her ear:
“The man’s name is—William Dale, and he registered from Fort Union, New Mexico.”
Gladys looked around, a startled expression on her face.
“William Dale!” she repeated; “then he must be——”
“My father, and—a parent to be proud of, surely,” the young man interposed, with exceeding bitterness. “Oh, Gladys!” he continued, in an agonized whisper, “I feel as if I should go mad—I can bear anything better than dishonor.”
Gladys turned and laid her soft cheek for an instant against the hand that was resting on the back of her chair.
The involuntary and sympathetic caress comforted him more than any words could have done, for it seemed to say, no matter what lay away back among those early years before she knew him, nothing could change her love for him, and he would always be the same to her.
“I wish I could know the story of my mother’s life,” Geoffrey continued, with a sigh, while a moisture gathered in his eyes. “Poor woman! I am afraid that her fate must have been a sorrowful one. Darling, I believe I shall go to New Mexico and see what I can learn about this man who registered from Fort Union.”
“Oh, Geoff, I fear it will only be chasing a ‘will-o’-the-whisp!’” Gladys said, looking distressed.