At that moment a servant appeared at the door and was about to enter upon some trifling errand. Seeing the eager, intent look upon the faces of both men, she quietly withdrew, unobserved.

Geoffrey sat up, amazed.

“Surely you cannot mean that—that Gladys is to go as my wife?” he exclaimed, flushing hotly.

“And why not? You expect to marry Gladys some time,” was the calm reply.

“Yes, I hope so, Uncle August; but I am not now in a position to properly take care of a wife.”

“But we are going to pay you a good salary and defray your traveling expenses also, if you go abroad for us.” said Mr. Huntress. “You will have to be away for several months, and I know that Gladys will grieve sadly over the separation. I have given the subject a good deal of thought; and I have talked it over with mother. Gladys wants a trip abroad, we want her to have it, too, and neither of us feels like crossing the ocean; therefore we have decided that the best arrangement, for all parties, will be to have a wedding and send you two off together on a bridal trip. Of course we shall miss our daughter—we shall miss you both for that matter; but the earlier you go the sooner we shall have you back again. What do you think of the proposition?”

“Nothing could give me greater happiness than to have my dearest hopes realized in this unexpected manner; but I had made up my mind not to claim the fulfillment of Gladys’ promise to me until I could make a place for myself in the world, and provide a generous support for her,” Geoffrey replied, with still heightened color.

“Nonsense!” began Mr. Huntress, and then suddenly checked himself. “No, it isn’t nonsense, either,” he added, “such a resolve was both a wise and a noble one, and worthy of you, Geoff. Under different circumstances I should feel that it would be wiser for you to wait until you were established in some profitable business. Somebody, however, must go abroad for the firm. I do not want to, neither of the other partners can leave, and so we have agreed to send some one in my place. Besides this, I am what would be termed a rich man, though I haven’t as much as the Astors or Vanderbilts, and all that I have will some day belong to Gladys—except a little slice that I had made up my mind to lay aside for you—and she may as well begin to reap the benefit of it now. I want her to see the old country; she is just fresh from school, and in the right trim and mood to enjoy it; she would grieve and mope to have you go and leave her behind, so I want you to go together. I know that you would have a jolly time of it. So we will have a little knot tied beforehand, to make everything all right and proper, and then you may enjoy your honeymoon to your heart’s content.”

Geoffrey’s heart was beating with great, heavy throbs of joy over these plans.

No thought of any such delightful scheme had for an instant entered his mind; indeed, he had feared that it would be a long time before he should feel that he had a right to ask Gladys to be his wife, and now every obstacle had been removed, and an easy path to the very summit of his hopes laid out for him.

“Well, Geoff,” continued Mr. Huntress, who had been watching him while something of this was passing through his brain, “what lies heavy on your mind now? You look as somber as if I had been plotting to separate a pair of lovers, instead of giving them to each other with my fondest blessing.”

Geoffrey looked up with gleaming eyes.

“I am anything but ‘somber’ over your proposition, Uncle August. I am simply trying to realize my great happiness,” he said, in a voice that vibrated with joy; “but what will Gladys herself say to this plan?”

“Go ask her, my boy. I’ll bet a big apple she won’t say no,” returned the gentleman, with a sly wink and a chuckle. “Hold on a minute, though, Geoff,” he added, as the young man sprang to his feet to obey him, “I want to tell you a little more about the business part of the plan, before you get immersed in the lovely part of it. You’ve three months yet before you, as we do not want you to sail before the last of December, or the first of January—rather cold weather for a pleasure trip across the Atlantic, eh?” and he shivered at the thought; “but we can’t have everything just as we want it. Another thing; owing to some details connected with our Boston house, you will be obliged to sail from that city instead of going direct from New York.”

“We occasionally have some very pleasant weather in January; perhaps the fates will be propitious and give us a pleasant passage,” said Geoffrey, smiling; “besides, I think I have heard that some of those Boston steamers are fully as comfortable and safe as those running from New York.”

“Well, comfort yourself all you can, my boy. I don’t envy you, however,” retorted the elder gentleman, with a grimace. “Meantime,” he continued, “we shall want you over at the office to receive instructions and gain a little knowledge regarding your duties on the other side.”

“I do not care how soon you set me at work,” Geoffrey eagerly replied, for he was longing with all his heart to become a man of business, and to feel that he was really doing something toward providing for his bride.

“I imagine that we shall all have enough to do if there is to be a wedding,” said Mr. Huntress, smiling, “for mother and I want to marry our only daughter off in good shape, you know. There, that is all just now; you may go and find out how Gladys feels about it.”

Geoffrey departed with a bounding heart, yet hardly able to realize the good fortune that had so unexpectedly fallen to his lot.

He found Gladys in the music-room, running through some new pieces which he had purchased for her the day before.

He went up to her, captured the two small hands that were evoking such sweet strains from the piano, and drew her to a small sofa that stood near.

“My darling, I have a very important communication to make to you,” be said, bending toward her and fondly touching her forehead with his lips.

“‘Very important?’” she repeated, archly. “You look as if it was very pleasant, too.”

“It is to me, and I hope it will prove the same to you. What do you suppose our paterfamilias has been proposing to me this morning?” the young man asked, with a luminous face.

The beautiful girl thought a moment before replying, the quick color leaping to her cheeks.

“I believe I can guess it!” she exclaimed, clasping her hands with a gesture of delight. “Oh, Geoffrey, is he going to take us all to Europe? That is it!” she added, exultantly. “I know by your tell-tale face. How perfectly charming!”

Geoffrey smiled wisely.

“You have guessed too much and too little, my sunbeam,” he said.

“What a paradoxical statement, my learned Bachelor of Arts! I expected better things of you,” retorted Gladys, merrily.

“You have yet to find my statement true, in spite of the seeming paradox,” he replied, with mock dignity. “Somebody is going to Europe—we are not all going, however.”

“Oh, Geoff! you are not to be left at home, are you?” cried his betrothed, in a disappointed tone, her face paling at the thought.

“Guess again, my lady,” he said, teasingly.

“Well, I know that papa would not go without mamma, and I am sure she would never cross the ocean without him, and they certainly would not take such a trip and leave me behind,” responded Gladys, with a puzzled air.

“‘Plato, thou reasonest well,’” quoted Geoffrey, an amused twinkle in his eyes; “and not to keep you longer in suspense, I will inform you that Uncle August has some business abroad, which, as he cannot make up his mind to the voyage, he thinks I can attend to, and he has proposed that I take you along with me. We are to have a six months’ trip, combine business with pleasure, and get all the enjoyment we can out of it.”

Gladys gave one startled, astonished glance at her lover’s face as he concluded, and then her face clouded and her eyes dropped beneath his.

“Did—papa propose that to you?” she asked, in a low tone, a burning blush suffusing her face.

“Yes, dear. He said you had long wanted to go abroad, and he thought this would be a fine opportunity for both of us. Doesn’t the idea please you?”

Geoffrey knew well enough what was passing in her mind, but he was so jubilant and so confident of the issue of the interview that a spirit of mischief possessed him to tease her a little.

“I should love to go abroad—I have always longed to go, as papa says,” Gladys answered, gravely, and with still downcast eyes; “but—I do not think I can go without papa and mamma.”

“Why?” returned Geoffrey, in a pretended surprise. “Uncle August thought, as you and I were both fresh from school, we should appreciate and enjoy the sight-seeing much better to go together.”

“It would be lovely, but—Geoff, you know I cannot go—so,” she persisted, with a crimson face, and a suspicious tremor in her voice.

He gathered her close in his arms, and laid her head against his breast.

“Darling, forgive me for teasing you,” he said. “Of course, you cannot go—‘so’; but, Gladys, will you go with me as my wife?”

He could feel the quick bounding of her heart at this unexpected proposition, and he knew well enough that she would raise no more objections to the trip abroad.

He then repeated the conversation that had passed between her father and himself that morning, telling her how surprised he had been at the plan, and how, at first, he had hardly felt it right to adopt it, considering his rather doubtful position in life. Still, he had reasoned, if he could save Mr. Huntress from a dreaded journey in the dead of winter, and if his services were to be worth the generous sum he had named as his salary, he might feel justified in waving his own scruples and in accepting the great happiness offered him, though he never would have dreamed of proposing such a measure himself.

“My Gladys,” he said, in conclusion, “it is very sudden, and there is only a short time, before I must go. Will you come with me, or must I go by myself?”

There was a minute of silence, then Gladys raised her head, and laid her lips softly against her lover’s cheek.

“Under such circumstances, you may be very sure that I shall not let you go alone,” she murmured, with a happy little laugh.

His arms closed more fondly about her. He bent and kissed her lips, his face radiant with joy.

“Oh! my darling, who would have believed eight or nine years ago that such happiness could fall to the lot of the poor boy whom you rescued from a mob in the street,” he said, in a tremulous tone.

They discussed their anticipated trip fully and freely after this, laid out their route, and formed many a pleasant plan for the coming years.

The whole family held a council that evening, and it was decided that preparations for the wedding should be entered upon immediately, and that the marriage should occur just previous to the sailing of the steamer on which the young couple would embark for Europe.

Mr. and Mrs. Huntress found it somewhat trying to contemplate the loneliness which they knew would follow the departure of their children, but they believed that the arrangement would be for their interest and happiness, and they would not mar their joy by giving expression to any feeling of sorrow or regret.

Geoffrey at once entered upon his duties, and with an enthusiasm and energy that promised well for the future; while Mrs. Huntress and Gladys busied themselves about the interesting mysteries of a wedding trousseau and preparations for the grand reception, that was to follow the marriage ceremony in Plymouth Church somewhere about the last of December or the first of January.

While all these events were transpiring in Brooklyn, Everet Mapleson was living in a state of depression and unrest in his beautiful home near Richmond.

After his trip to that mining district in New Mexico, where he had visited the grave and former home of Annie Dale, he returned immediately to Vue de l’Eau, where he remained, appearing very little like the free and easy student who had been so full of life and hope at the conclusion of his college course.

Colonel Mapleson and his wife returned from Newport about the same time, and both wondered what could have occurred to change their son thus in so short a time.

Mrs. Mapleson attributed it to his hopeless attachment to the beautiful girl whom she had seen at Yale, and for whom Everet had confessed his love; but she could not get one word from him on the subject, although she had tried to gain his confidence upon several occasions.

“Father,” said the young man, coming into the library one morning, after the household had settled into its usual routine, “while you were away I visited the Hermitage, and made a singular discovery there.”

“Ah! I imagined everything of a singular character had disappeared from that place when Robert Dale departed this life. What was the nature of your discovery, pray?” Colonel Mapleson remarked, looking up from the newspaper that he was reading, and removing his spectacles.

Everet described his visit to the place, told of his energetic blow upon the desk and its results, and then produced the package of certificates and the picture which he had found, to prove his statements.

“Well, this is a singular discovery, I confess,” said his father, when he had finished. “Let me have a look at that picture.”

He held out his hand, and upon receiving it he turned to the light to examine it.

“Yes, this must be a likeness of Mrs. Dale; it resembles her strikingly, although she was greatly changed, and this must have been taken many years previous to my acquaintance with her.”

“Then you knew her?” said his son.

“Oh, yes; I’ve eaten many a fine cookie baked by her hands during my boyhood,” replied Colonel Mapleson, musingly. “Poor Robert Dale! so he treasured his love for her as long as he lived!”

“And he has left all his money to her daughter,” said Everet, touching the package of certificates that lay on the table.

“It would have been more to the purpose if he had given the family some of it while they were suffering the stings of poverty,” Colonel Mapleson remarked, his attention still riveted upon the picture.

“Did you know the daughter?” Everet inquired.

“Yes; I had some acquaintance with her.”

“Were they so very poor?”

“Well, they had a pretty hard time of it, I reckon, for a while; but I did not realize it at the time, for I was very young, only visited Uncle Jabez during my vacation; you know he sent me to Baltimore to school. Uncle Jabez gave them a cottage rent free, and gave them something besides to help eke out a small annuity that Mrs. Dale had, and that was all they had to live upon until they opened a small private school. After I came into possession of the estate I allowed them to remain in the cottage, the same as before, although they would not accept from me the money that they had received from Uncle Jabez; they were very proud.”

“Then that cottage belongs to you?” Everet remarked.

“Yes.”

“Has it ever been occupied since the Dales left it?”

“No.”

“To whom does the furniture belong?”

“How do you know that it is furnished?” Colonel Mapleson asked, turning around and glancing sharply at his son.

Everet colored.

“I was riding by there, one day, and felt a curiosity to look inside the house——”

“But the curtains are all drawn,” interrupted his father.

“True; but I managed to get a glimpse for all that,” the young man returned, lightly, although he did not care to tell just how he had learned that the house was furnished. “By the way,” he continued, “there is some strange story about the disappearance of Mrs. Dale’s daughter, isn’t there?”

“Yes, I believe so; she went away somewhere to get a place as governess, and, as she never came back, people imagined there was some mystery about it.”

“What is your theory regarding it?” Everet asked.

“My theory? I don’t know as I have any; I was away traveling at the time. She may have gone as governess into some family, who afterward went abroad, taking her with them; or, what is more likely, she may have married and removed to some distant portion of the country.”

“One would suppose that she would have wished to dispose of the furniture in her home before going away permanently,” Everet observed.

“Oh, the furniture belongs with the cottage—didn’t I tell you?” replied his father.

“No, you didn’t,” said Everet, dryly, and thinking old Jazeb Mapleson must have been pretty lavish with his money to have furnished the cottage in such a luxurious style for his poor relatives. “At all events,” he continued, “it is strange that she did not communicate her plans, whatever they were, to some one whom she had known, isn’t it?”

“Well, perhaps; but it seems to me that you are strangely interested in the fate of this girl, Ev,” and his father turned about again and looked him squarely in the face, as he said this.

Again the young man colored.

“I don’t see anything very remarkable about it, when I have just discovered a fortune for her,” he replied, after a moment of hesitation.

“Well, no; there is something in that argument, surely,” returned his father, in a tone of conviction. “How much does it amount to?” and Colonel Mapleson took up the certificates and began to examine them.