“My dear boy!” cried Mr. Huntress, under his breath, as he stepped out into the hall beside Geoffrey, cautiously closing the door after him, and then seizing him warmly by both hands, “where on earth have you been, and what has happened to you?”
“The most mysterious and villainous thing that could happen,” replied Geoffrey, with a gloomy face. “I have been kidnaped—carried miles and miles away—and it has taken me hours to return.”
“I suspected as much,” said Mr. Huntress, sternly.
“Then you haven’t attributed my absence to any fault of mine, Uncle August?”
“No, indeed, my boy. I knew better.”
“What made you suspect foul play? But first tell me about Gladys. How has she borne it?” Geoffrey asked, with a wistful glance at the door beyond which his darling lay.
Mr. Huntress shot an anxious look at him.
Clearly he had no suspicion of what had occurred during his absence.
“Gladys has suffered a great deal mentally, but she is sleeping now,” he said, gravely, and wondering how he could ever tell him the terrible truth.
“It must have been dreadful. I can imagine the consternation of everybody when they discovered there would be no wedding,” said Geoffrey, excitedly, while he began to pace restlessly up and down the corridor. “How awkward!—how wretched for my darling!—how uncomfortable for you and Aunt Alice! How did you manage? What could you do or say?”