“Now Geoffrey Huntress’ strange resemblance to me is all accounted for,” he went on, after a fit of musing; “he is my father’s son and—my half brother, and to him will belong all Robert Dale’s fortune if he should ever learn the secret of his birth. Now I understand why he was given into Jack and Margaret Henly’s care. It would have been very awkward for the heir of half Jabez Mapleson’s fortune if that New Mexican escapade had leaked out. But I cannot comprehend how the boy became an imbecile—an accident, Mr. Huntress said—and I suppose those people got tired of caring for him and cast him off. No; that can’t be, either, for that woman seemed terribly upset about it. It’s all a wretched puzzle, anyhow.
“Zounds!” he continued, with sudden energy, “the governor is a wonderful actor. He never betrayed himself by so much as the quiver of an eyelid, this morning, when we talked about this girl’s disappearance. I wonder what he will do about that money? Will he dare keep it? or will he try to find the boy and make it over to him in some roundabout way? No; I do not believe he will ever run any risk of having that New Mexican escapade revealed. He couldn’t quite stand that, and my haughty mamma would never forgive him. He will keep the money, and say nothing. Geoffrey Huntress will never get his fortune, for I shall keep the secret that I have this day discovered closely locked in my own breast. Neither he nor my father shall ever learn through me that he is an heir of the houses of Dale and Mapleson.
“He loved her, though—I am sure he loved her!” he resumed, his eyes falling upon that still open letter. “This shows it in almost every line; and his face to-day, as I caught a glimpse of it through the window, as he bent over that trunk, looked as if he had just buried the dearest object of his life. It must have been hard to look at all her pretty fixings and remember that one short, happy year; for they were very happy, according to Bob Whittaker’s story. That is the reason he keeps this house, and all in it, so sacred. Why couldn’t he have married her, like a man? Money! money! I believe it is only a curse to half the people in the world.”
He arose, folded the letter, and put it in his pocket; then going to the old mill, he unfastened his horse, mounted, and rode back to Vue de l’Eau, looking stern, and grave, and unhappy.
CHAPTER XXXVI.
“HE IS NOT NAMELESS.”
October and November passed without any event of special interest occurring in connection with any of our characters.
In Brooklyn, in the home of August Huntress, these were very busy days, but every member of the household was full of hope and happiness.
Gladys and Geoffrey saw but comparatively little of each other, except during the evening, for Geoffrey went early to the office in New York every morning, and did not return until dinner time at six; but both were looking forward to the thirtieth of December, the date set for their union with all the fond anticipations of young and loving hearts.
Their engagement was formally announced immediately after it was decided that Geoffrey was to go abroad, and cards for the wedding were issued by the first of December.
Congratulations poured in upon the young couple from all quarters, and, the winter being an exceptionally gay one, invitations abroad were numerous and pressing, their friends urging their presence, since they were to lose their society entirely during their long absence in Europe.