“Did he never mention where he spent his time?” Geoffrey asked, “or speak of ever taking me away with him?”
“No, sir, never a word; the most he ever said was that he should put ye to some school as soon as ye were old enough.”
“Did he—did he appear to be fond of me?” Geoffrey inquired, hesitatingly, a hot flush rising to his cheek.
“That he were, sir; it was as much as ever he’d let ye out of his arms from the time he came till he went, though he never staid very long, and I’ve seen the tears a-standin’ in his eyes when he parted from ye.”
“How long before—my accident was his last visit?”
“It must have been more’n a year, if I remember right; but the money came regular, and Margery seemed happier when he didn’t come—she was always afraid he’d take ye away from her. I’ve often wondered what he did when he came again and found ye gone—it must have been a mortal blow to him,” Jack concluded, and then dropped into a fit of musing.
CHAPTER XXVIII.
GEOFFREY VISITS THE SCENE OF THE TRAGEDY.
“Where do you intend to go from here, Jack?” Geoffrey asked at length, breaking a silence of several minutes, during which both had been busy with various thoughts and emotions.
“To California, sir. I’m bound to have a last look at all the places I’ve ever been in, though it’ll be a sad day that lands me there. My poor girl and I saw many happy days on that little farm just out of San Francisco. I didn’t own it, we only hired it, for we hadn’t money enough then to pay for a home; but I’d gladly give up every dollar I’ve earned since if I could only have my girl back again,” Jack concluded, with another heart-broken sob.
His grief and remorse were painful to witness. His face was almost convulsed, great drops came out upon his forehead, and he trembled with emotion.