Mr. Huntress came forward at this, saying:
“You have made a slight mistake, sir; this young man is my son by adoption—Mr. Geoffrey Dale Huntress.”
Colonel Mapleson recoiled, an ashen pallor overspreading his face at these words, a look of fear followed by one of dismay, then of conviction springing into his eyes, which were fastened upon that familiar yet strange face.
Then he staggered toward a chair, sank heavily into it, his head dropping upon his breast, while he murmured, in a tone of awe mingled with agony:
“At last! at last it has come!”
There was an awkward silence after that, during which the man appeared to be absorbed in painful thought.
Mr. Huntress broke it at last by remarking in a grave tone:
“I told you, Colonel Mapleson, that this is my son by adoption; we have recently learned that he is your son by the more sacred tie of blood, and our errand here to-night is to learn how much or—how little that may mean.”
The man sat suddenly erect, as his guest concluded this speech, and looked almost imperial as he bent his keen, flashing eye full upon August Huntress, a firm purpose written on his face, and a look, also, which plainly told that he had never yet turned his back upon danger, trouble, or an enemy, and never would.
“You shall learn, that, sir,” he said in a clear, proud tone; “Annie Dale was my lawful wife, and he,” extending a hand that trembled visibly toward Geoffrey, “is our son!”