The haughty heir of the house of Mapleson winced visibly beneath the scathing words.
“Nevertheless,” said Geoffrey, with deliberate emphasis, in reply to what he had said, “Colonel William Mapleson will have to answer to me, personally, for the wrong—if wrong there was—that he did my mother. Now, sir, we have had enough of this for to-night, and you can go! Shall I call a carriage for you, or do you prefer to walk?”
Everet burned to defy him in this, but he knew it would be useless to resist the resolute purpose which he read in every line of his stern face; so, after a moment’s hesitation, he said he would walk; and, with a sullen scowl on his face, and wrath flaming in his heart, he left the house and bent his steps toward the nearest hotel.
Neither Geoffrey nor Mr. Huntress thought of retiring that night, though the physician soon after went away, saying Gladys would do well enough for several hours, and he would come around in the morning; while Mrs. Huntress caught a little sleep upon the lounge in her daughter’s room. They sat together until morning, reviewing Geoffrey’s life and laying plans for future action.
When morning dawned it broke upon a saddened, yet, withal, upon a thankful household. Saddened because of the terrible ending of all the bright hopes which they had cherished only a few hours previous, but thankful because Gladys awoke once more herself, and that no harm had befallen Geoff, as they feared, during his long absence from home.
But Gladys was very sad, and could not refer to the events of the night before without becoming greatly agitated; but her long rest had given her strength and more of self-control, while she had been greatly comforted upon being told that she need never look upon Everet Mapleson’s face again unless she chose, and that an appeal to the law would soon free her from the hateful tie that bound her to him.
She nearly broke down again, however, when Geoffrey went to her, late in the day, and clung to him almost hysterically; but he spoke cheerfully, and tried to comfort her with brighter hopes for the future, although his own heart was terribly burdened by the great sorrow that had fallen so like a thunderbolt upon them both.
“Oh! Geoff,” Gladys burst forth at one time during the interview, “must all Brooklyn and New York ring with this dreadful story!”
“No, my darling. Uncle August and I have been considering that matter, and we think that no one, save those of us who already know the truth, need learn anything of it. I am surprised that your father and mother were enabled to act so discreetly during all the confusion last night—not even a servant suspects anything wrong as yet,” Geoffrey said, reassuringly.
“But will he keep still about it?” Gladys asked, with a shiver of aversion, as her mind reverted to Everet Mapleson.