Colonel Mapleson sprang forward to lift his wife, amazement depicted on every feature.

August Huntress appeared like a man suddenly deprived of his senses, and stood spell-bound, gazing with a look of awe upon the prostrate woman before him, whom he instantly recognized as Mrs. Marston, the mother of Gladys.

Geoffrey, after one astonished glance at this vivid tableau, started forward to assist Colonel Mapleson to bear his wife to a sofa at one end of the room.

“Shall I ring for assistance?” Mr. Huntress asked, rousing himself with an effort from his state of stupefaction, and reaching toward a bell-pull.

Colonel Mapleson turned sharply upon him, with a stern, troubled face.

“Did you ever meet my wife before, sir?” he demanded.

“I—I think I did, once—years ago,” Mr. Huntress replied, shrinking from compromising the lady, yet forced to tell the truth.

“Where?” was the terse query.

“Perhaps,” returned the gentleman addressed, while he met his host’s searching gaze frankly and steadily, yet with conscious dignity; “perhaps it would be as well to give our immediate attention to the recovery of your wife, and allow her to make her own explanations when she is able to do so.”

It was a polite way of telling him that he would say nothing more until Mrs. Mapleson gave him permission to do so.

Colonel Mapleson bowed acquiescence.

“Hand me a glass of water, if you please,” he said to Geoffrey, and glancing toward a table on which there was a water service. “We will do what we can for her ourselves, without having any prying servants about. I do not believe my wife ever fainted before.”

He sprinkled her face vigorously, bathing her temples, and chafing her hands, to restore circulation.

She began to recover almost immediately, and before the expiration of ten minutes was able to sit up, and called for water to drink.

Her self-possession returned at the same time, and looking up in her husband’s face, with her usual brilliant smile, as she passed back her empty glass, she remarked:

“I hope, William, that you and your guests will excuse my sudden indisposition. It was a startling greeting, a sorry welcome to strangers. But you did not present me to the other gentleman.”

She glanced inquiringly about for Geoffrey, who was standing a little back of her.

As their eyes met, she started, opening her lips as if about to address him, believing him for the instant to be Everet.

But her mind worked very rapidly, and she checked herself.

She remembered that she had seen a young man at Yale who strangely resembled her son, and that his name was Huntress.

This must be he. But what could he want there in her home? And why had his coming so disturbed her husband, who was usually the coolest and most collected of men?

The blood suddenly leaped to her temples, and then as quickly receded, leaving her very pale, as the answer throbbed in her brain: “A secret in his early life.”

Colonel Mapleson was watching her every expression; he marked the quick color, then her pallor, while he wondered what secret of her past life lay in her acquaintance with August Damon Huntress.

He, however, introduced Geoffrey, whom Mrs. Mapleson greeted very graciously, remarking that she believed she had seen him at the last commencement of Yale, when he had taken his degree at the same time with her son, “whom,” she added, with a covert glance at her husband, “you resemble to a remarkable degree.”

Colonel Mapleson’s heart throbbed heavily. He knew the moment had come when he must unvail a portion of his life which he had believed was buried in oblivion.

“Estelle,” he began, taking a chair and turning his face a little from her, “my object in asking you to meet these gentlemen was because I have a confession to make to them, and—to you; a confession of such a painful nature that I felt I could make it only once, therefore I wish you to hear it at the same time.”

Mrs. Mapleson glanced from him to Geoffrey. She was very quick, and immediately she recalled what Dr. Turner, of Boston, had told her only the previous summer; for it was she who had been his visitor that day; she who had been searching for August Damon’s address in the Boston Directory. She remembered he had told her that the man for whom she was inquiring had adopted and was educating a boy of great promise, and now, in view of his wonderful resemblance to Everet, she began to suspect something of the nature of her husband’s confession.

“It is the strangest thing in the world,” she thought, as she turned her eyes upon Mr. Huntress, and realized who his children, by adoption, were.

“It is the strangest thing in the world,” was echoed in Mr. Huntress’ brain, as he met her glance, and, with a sudden heart-throb of joy, realized something that she did not.

“I will go back as far as my boyhood,” Colonel Mapleson resumed. “You have heard me say, Estelle, that I was in the habit of visiting Vue de l’Eau, often spending weeks and sometimes months with Uncle Jabez when I was a boy. I think I could not have been more than twelve, when, during one of those visits, I became acquainted with a young girl just about my own age, who resided near here with her mother. I refer to Annie Dale.”

Mrs. Mapleson gave a violent start at this; a light broke over her face, which instantly became crimson, then grew as suddenly white.

“We became very fond of each other,” her husband proceeded, without noticing her emotion, “and we were together day after day, week after week, playing ball, hoop, battledore and shuttlecock, sailing our boats together on the stream which feeds the pond that used to run the old mill, riding horseback together—in fact, were scarcely separated from the beginning of my stay until its end. It was always the same every time I came; I always sought my charming little companion on the day of my arrival, and gave her my last good-by when I went away.

“This went on for several years, until I grew to love her with all the strength of my young heart, and I fondly believed she returned my affections, although she was so modest and shy that she never betrayed it, at least after she grew to womanhood, save by evincing pleasure and a sort of trustful content in my society.

“There came a time when I resolved to confess my feelings toward her and learn if possible if she returned them, but before the time for my visit arrived that year, Uncle Jabez died and everything was changed. This uncle,” said Colonel Mapleson, glancing from Mr. Huntress to Geoffrey, “made a very singular will—a very arbitrary and unnatural will. He divided the whole of his property, which was very large, into two portions, one of which he bequeathed to me, the other to his niece, Miss Estelle Everet, who is now my wife—upon the condition that we would marry each other. He gave us until Miss Everet would be twenty-five to make up our minds; if we both refused to comply with his wishes at the end of that time, and each married some one else, the whole fortune was to go to a certain Robert Dale, who was first cousin to our uncle. If either of us died during that time, such an event would free the other party and he or she would inherit the fortune thus left; if either married during that time the same result was to follow. I was at that time in my twenty-first year, Miss Everet was seventeen.

“You can perhaps imagine something of my feelings upon learning the contents of this will. I had always expected to inherit a share of my uncle’s property, for I was a favorite with him, and he had hinted that I was to be his heir; but I had never dreamed of being hampered with any such arbitrary conditions. I was very indignant. So was my cousin, for, although we had always been the best of friends, we felt that this was a matter in which we should have been left free to choose for ourselves. However, the property was divided between us, and we found ourselves independent. I was an orphan, and had been entirely dependent on my uncle; I had just completed my education, and was thinking of establishing myself in some business, when I suddenly awoke to the fact that I was rich and could live as I chose, provided, at the expiration of eight years, I would marry the woman my uncle had chosen for me. But I loved Annie Dale, and I knew I could not marry any one else while my heart belonged so entirely to her. I became so wretched and unhappy over my situation, while at the same time I could not make up my mind to part with my newly acquired fortune, that I could not come here to Vue de l’Eau to live, where I should have to meet her constantly: so I had the house closed and started off on a trip through the West.

“During my wanderings I went to New Mexico, where I heard the most wonderful stories regarding the wealth of the Morena Mines. A bright idea suddenly came to me. I would invest in them—I would throw myself in the business of mining during the next few years; if what I had heard was true I could easily double, perhaps treble, what money I put into them before I should have to give up my fortune according to the conditions of my uncle’s will—the money thus earned would be legitimately mine. I could then make over to my cousin my share of Jabez Mapleson’s fortune, and be in a comfortable situation to marry the girl I loved.

“Inspired with enthusiasm over this idea, I bought largely in the Morena Mines, and then bent all my energies toward the one object of my life. The first three years I was very successful, and if my luck continued, I knew that by the end of another three I might snap my fingers over Jabez Mapleson’s will, and secure the wife of my choice. But just at this time a terrible temptation presented itself to me.

“Annie Dale’s mother had been a widow for several years. Her husband was a cousin of my uncle’s, and when Mr. Dale died, leaving his wife and child destitute, Uncle Jabez had given them the use of a small cottage on his estate and increased the small annuity, which Mrs. Dale possessed, to a sum that enabled them to live comfortably with economy. Afterward, when Annie grew older, they opened a small private school, and, having succeeded in securing all the pupils they could accommodate, they declined receiving further aid from him. They lived very poorly and meagerly, however, and it galled me to see their poverty; so, upon coming into possession of the estate, I took advantage of their absence on a visit at one time, and had the cottage thoroughly repaired and newly furnished in a style to suit myself. Mrs. Dale was almost inclined to be angry with me for this, saying it was far too elegant for their position in life; but the deed was done, and I laughingly told her it was only a poor return for all the trouble I had given her as a boy, when I tracked her spotless floors with my muddy boots, and depleted her larder with my rapacious appetite, as, day after day, I shared Annie’s lunch.

“But I am getting away from the temptation of which I began telling you, which came to me after I had been three years in the mines. Annie’s mother died very suddenly after an illness of only a week, and I did not learn of the fact for nearly two months afterward. I wrote at once to Annie, begging her to choose some elderly companion and remain where she was—to consider the cottage still her home and accept aid from me until I could return and make some permanent arrangement for her. I told myself that if I could only keep her there in seclusion for a couple of years longer, I should then be in a position to return and ask her to become my wife. But in a cool, dignified letter she refused my request, telling me that her plans for the future were already made, and that she was on the eve of leaving for Richmond, where she was going to remain with an old nurse, until she could obtain a position as governess in some family.

“For a week after receiving this letter I fought a terrible battle with myself. I could not endure the thought of that delicate girl going out in the world to toil for the bread she ate. On the other hand, if I yielded to my own desire, and asked her to marry me, it would doom her to a life of hardship almost as severe, for I could only make over my share of Uncle Jabez’s fortune to my cousin at a sacrifice that would leave me almost a beggar. I could not force a sale of mining interests without losing nearly all that I had made during the last three years. I was nearly distracted, and I imagined a thousand evils and dangers that might result from Annie becoming a governess. Not only would such a life be a burdensome and disagreeable one, but, worse than that, she was liable to meet some one who would be attracted by her beauty and sweetness—some one who would win her, and thus I should lose her.

“The thought was unbearable, and I resolved upon a desperate measure. I wrote again to her, confessing my love—that I had always loved her, and begging her to come to me and share my life in the West. I told her that I would gladly give up fortune—everything—if she would become my wife; and I meant to, by another year, or as soon as I could sell to advantage. I told her, also, that I could not come on for her, as my interests at the mines would not admit of my being absent long enough for that, but I would meet her at Kansas City, Missouri, where we would be immediately married, and then proceed to our simple home among the mountains of Mew Mexico. I begged her not to say anything to any one where she was going until after our marriage, when I preferred to announce the fact myself. I sent her a route carefully mapped out, and a check ample for all her needs, begging her to telegraph me the day and the hour that she would start. You have the telegram she sent in reply there,” Colonel Mapleson said, turning to Geoffrey, and glancing at the package which still lay on the table beside him.

“I have always kept that precious bit of paper,” he resumed, “for its contents made me almost wild with joy when I received it. I set out immediately to join my dear one, reaching Kansas City only a few hours previous to her own arrival. I had everything arranged, however, and we drove directly from the station to the house of a prominent clergyman of the city, where we were married in the presence of his household, and three hours later we were on our way to New Mexico.

“But I knew it would never do for me to take my wife to the Morena Mines, where I was known by men who were also from the South, and through whom the knowledge of my marriage would soon travel back to Virginia. Only a short time previous I had bought out a man in another district, getting his claim for a mere song, and not a soul in the place knew me. I resolved to take Annie there, make just as pretty and comfortable a home as I could for her, call myself William Dale, going back and forth from one mine to the other, as my business demanded it, until I was satisfied to sell out altogether and return to Virginia, proclaim my marriage, and give Miss Everet the other half of her fortune. But when I confessed this to Annie, as of course I had to do in order to assume her name, she was very unhappy. She was not lacking in spirit either, and made me almost despise myself for the part I had played.

“‘I would never have come to you if I had known this,’ she said. ‘I hate deception and double-dealing of whatever nature. You might have told me frankly how you were situated, and I would have waited and been faithful to you until you could have openly made me your wife.’

“‘But you would not have allowed me to take care of you,’ I replied.

“‘No,’ she answered, flushing; ‘my pride would not have yielded to that, but I could have done very well for myself for a while, and waited patiently until it was right that we should be married.’

“I had a hard task to pacify her. She was determined at first that the whole truth should be confessed, saying she would not occupy a false position. But when I told her that it would ruin me to force a sale of my stock; that I should lose all the hard labor of the three years that I had spent there, and not even then be able to replace the money from Uncle Jabez’s fortune which I had invested, she became more reasonable. I promised that if she would try and be patient and happy for a year, I would replace every dollar that was not my own, and have something handsome besides, as a capital for myself.

“I honestly meant to do all this, for I knew that I should never thoroughly regain the respect of my wife until I had redeemed my position and hers before the world.”