Geoffrey assured her of his full and free pardon, and actually expressed the hope that he and his half-brother might some time come to regard each other, at least with a friendly, if not with brotherly, affection.
His return was a very joyous one.
Gladys had been assured by her father, long before this, that she was free; that no tie bound her to Everet Mapleson; that the events which had occurred upon the night set for the wedding had been simply a farce, the result of fraud of the worst type, which rendered the ceremony illegal.
She was almost like her old, bright self when Geoffrey arrived, although not quite so strong as formerly, for she had suffered a fearful shock, and it was not surprising that its effects should yet be visible.
Only a few days after Geoffrey’s return, Mr. Huntress’ beloved pastor and his wife were invited to dine with the family, and later in the evening, when the servants were all below—everything having been confidentially explained to the reverend gentleman previous to his visit—Geoffrey and Gladys stood up in the drawing-room and were quietly made one, while only those who were acquainted with the private history of the young couple ever knew of this second ceremony, their fashionable friends and the world all believing that the real marriage had occurred at the time of the brilliant wedding before described.
No one was surprised that the European trip was postponed until warmer weather. “A sea voyage in the dead of winter was a thing to be dreaded; besides, Mr. and Mrs. Huntress had finally decided to brace up their courage and go with them, if they would wait until spring.”
They sailed about the middle of May, and had an unusually smooth passage. They spent a whole year abroad—a year of delight, and such as few experience in this world, and then returned to Brooklyn, where Mr. and Mrs. Geoffrey Dale Mapleson set up their own establishment on Clinton avenue, not a stone’s throw from their former home.
The change in Geoffrey’s name, together with the discovery of his parentage, had been very easily explained, and then, of course, everybody said “they always knew that he and Everet Mapleson must have the same blood in their veins; but it was really a very romantic circumstance—Geoffrey having been injured and carried off by his nurse’s husband in a fit of drunkenness, and never discovering his parentage until now.”
The next fall, after the young couple’s return from Europe, Colonel Mapleson and his wife paid them a visit, and it was noticeable that a great change had come over the strangely-wedded pair.
The stately and soldierly colonel was devotedly attached to his beautiful wife, who had acquired a peculiar gentleness and sweetness, in place of her former imperious manner, which made her tenfold more attractive. It was evident, too, that she was strongly attached to her noble husband.