“And your father—who and what was he, Gerald?” eagerly questioned Lady Bromley, as he paused suddenly.
Again the young man flashed a look of surprise at his companion, and flushed slightly.
“Pardon me if I seem unduly curious,” said her ladyship, laying her hand fondly upon his shoulder as she caught the look. “I am, perhaps, overstepping the bounds of etiquette in catechizing you thus, but I have a reason for it which I will explain presently. You have already told me that you do not remember either your father or mother.”
“No,” replied Gerald, “my father, who must have been considerably younger than Aunt Honor, went to sea and never came back, and that is about all that I know regarding him; for auntie never seemed to like to talk about him. My mother died of quick consumption when I was an infant only a few months old, and was buried in Ashton, a small town in Rhode Island, where, later, I buried auntie. This is about all that I know concerning my personal history, for my aunt was always so busy trying to make a living for us, she never seemed willing to stop to answer my boyish questions. So I finally grew tired of having her say bruskly, though not unkindly, ‘Oh, go away, child; I’m busy now, and can’t be bothered,’ and thus I gradually came to look upon my birth and early life as a sort of vague dream, and to realize that my chief concern was to improve my time, and get what education I could to fit myself for the future that lay before me. And yet, since I have grown older, I have sometimes thought that Aunt Honor intentionally evaded me and kept back from me facts regarding my parentage. But she was always very good to me—she denied herself a great deal to keep me at school. I really believe that she worked beyond her strength, and that was what caused her to drop away so suddenly.”
“Have you no relics—no keepsakes, that belonged to your mother? Have you no record of her marriage, or her wedding-ring?” asked Lady Bromley.
“No; I was so intent upon my boyish pursuits I never thought to ask for anything of the kind; indeed, I doubt if I even knew that such things were requisite accompaniments to marriage while Aunt Honor lived; you know, I was only fourteen years of age when she died,” Gerald responded, with a sigh.
“Yes, I suppose it is not strange that you did not think of such things at that age,” said Lady Bromley, adding, as she smiled kindly into his rather troubled face: “And now I am going to tell you why I have been so exceedingly inquisitive—perhaps you may have deemed me rudely so. I made a discovery this afternoon, Gerald, which I am impressed will be of great interest to you, even if it does not throw any light upon your own personal history. It was to prepare you somewhat for this that I have questioned you. I took a notion into my head that I would have that ancient cricket of yours made over into something respectable, and, upon removing various coverings, I found that the top of the thing is a kind of box, with a cover which fits snugly into it.”
“That is curious!” Gerald observed, with sudden interest.
“It is; and what is still more so, is the fact that the receptacle is packed with papers.”