CHAPTER XXII.A REMARKABLE DISCOVERY.
“I shall hunt up that old hermit’s retreat to-day,” Everet Mapleson said, as he awoke the next morning. “I want to see for myself just how and where he lived. I begin to find these researches into the past somewhat interesting, if perplexing. I enjoy real romances, but not unfinished ones. I like to be able to complete a story, and have all the characters definitely disposed of. It begins to look, though, as if Miss Annie Dale was a lost heroine, and like the celebrated ‘Lost Chord,’ never likely to be recovered or accounted for.
“So this queer old character, Robert Dale, was her mother’s lover?” he resumed, as he began to dress. “How strangely things get mixed in this world. Why can’t people always love the right ones, and escape all this jealousy and disappointment? Nannie Davenport’s story is likely to be repeated in this generation. Oh, Gladys, why couldn’t you have loved me instead of that mysterious personage who seems to have won your favor? I could have given you an honorable name, wealth, and a proud position in life, while he has literally nothing to offer you. But,” his face assuming a stony expression, “I will not give you up even now! I will move mountains to accomplish my purpose, and you shall yet be Gladys Mapleson!”
After breakfasting, the young man ordered his horse to be saddled, and after inquiring of the groom the way to the “Dale Hermitage,” as the recluse’s home was called, he mounted and rode away toward the forest, in the depthsof which Robert Dale had spent so many years of his life.
It was a long ride, though a delightful one, through the spicy pine woods and over the grass-grown cart-path, where only mule teams passed now and then in hauling great logs to market.
It was nearly noon when Everet came in sight of the Hermitage, and he found it not such a rude affair, after all, as he had pictured in his imagination from the descriptions he had heard of it.
He saw that it must have been quite an expensive structure, for it was built mostly of stone, while every bit of the work had been done in the most thorough manner.
It made quite a pretty picture, standing there beneath two huge pine trees, and with the glossy ivy climbing thickly all about its rough walls, hanging in graceful festoons from the overlapping eaves and the mullioned windows.
It was composed of but one story, and a couple of granite steps led up to the one door, which was set in the center of the structure. This was not locked, and entering, Everet found himself in a narrow hall, which divided the building through the middle, and was lighted by a window at the other end.
On each side there were two rooms.
On the right was what appeared to have been the cooking and eating-room, for a great dresser had been built upon one side; a wide fire-place, with andirons and an old-fashioned crane, was opposite the entrance, and a small table, with two chairs, stood in the center of the room.
Back of this there was a smaller apartment, probably the servants’ quarters, and on the opposite side of the hall there were two similar rooms.
In the front one there stood a plain but solid desk, and a large arm-chair before it. Near it was an iron safe, but the door was swung partly open, and Everet could see that it was empty, and he thought that it had probably been used as a receptacle for the valuable manuscript of which his father had spoken. A couple of book-cases, reaching from floor to ceiling, had been built into the wall upon two sides of the room, like the dresser in the kitchen. Back of this there was another bedroom, its only furniture consisting of a single bedstead of iron.
The walls were all of rough stone, the crevices beingfilled in with cement, while all the floors were of red brick, laid in zigzag pattern.
The furniture was of solid oak, but plain to clumsiness, and everything about the place betrayed how utterly indifferent to the comforts and elegancies of life the owner had been, and Everet could not help contrasting it with the luxuries that were stored away in that little cottage which he had visited only a few days previous.
The book-cases alone possessed any claim to elegance. They were also of oak, like the other articles of furniture, but somewhat ornamented, and glazed with heavy plate glass, showing how tenderly the recluse had guarded the books that he had loved so well.
There was a spacious fire-place at one end of the room, in which there were a pair of rude andirons, and a clumsy pair of tongs, with a shovel, stood beside it.
The apartment was light and pleasant, for there were four windows in it—two on the front, which looked toward the east, and two more on the south.
It was just the nook for a student and a recluse, and, in spite of its isolation from all the world, there was a sort of charm about the place, even to the gay and society-loving Everet Mapleson.
At the back of the house there was a small wooden structure, now fast falling to decay, and a yard fenced in, where, evidently, Robert Dale had kept his one horse, cow, and hens, while beyond this there was a patch of cleared ground, which, doubtless, had once been a kitchen garden.
Everet sat down in the great chair before the desk, after completing his round of investigation, and fell to musing upon what he had seen.
He tried to imagine what the appearance of Robert Dale had been—what his temperament and disposition.
Bitter and vindictive he must have been, to have so hated his brother that he allowed him to die in poverty, and his family to struggle on for years afterward for a mere pittance, while he had thousands lying idle and useless; surly and churlish, too, he surmised, to have hidden himself away from all society there in the depths of the forest.
The place seemed invested with an unearthly mystery, and it was not strange, taking into consideration the life its owner had lived, and the death he had died, leaving no trace behind him of the vast possessions that had been his.
“If he did not dispose of his wealth while he lived, and made no will before his death; if there is money concealed anywhere and should ever be found, it would belong to Annie Dale’s heirs, for she was his nearest kin,” Everet Mapleson murmured, as he leaned both arms on the desk before him, and looked thoughtfully out of one of the south windows.
“If Geoffrey Dale Huntress proves to be her son, as I am more and more inclined to believe, he will be the heir to Robert Dale’s missing thousands. This place would be his, anyhow, if the relationship could be proved. I wonder how much land belongs with it! Zounds! I wish I knew what has become of the old chap’s money! The more I seek to penetrate this mystery, the more tantalizing it becomes; but I swear that I will never rest until I get to the bottom of it!”
He struck the desk a terrific blow with his fist, in the heat of his excitement, as he uttered this vow; and the weight and force of it jarred it so that something was displaced, and clattered noisily to the floor.
The young man leaned forward to see what he had done, and found that a panel, about twelve inches long and six wide, had fallen from one end of the desk.
“Well, I should think it was about time for this truck to be falling to pieces, solid as it is,” he said, as he stooped to pick it up.
Upon examining it, he found that there were some hinges upon one end, and that time and dampness had caused them to rust until they had fallen apart, while upon the opposite end there was a socket for a spring.
“Aha! a secret compartment!” he exclaimed, his face lighting with eagerness.
Bending to inspect the place from which the panel had fallen, he saw that his surmise was correct.
There was a cavity, about four inches deep, in the end of the desk, just under the molding that ran around the top of it, with the other portions of the hinges attached to the top, and a small spring at the bottom.
“Ye gods! there is something in it, too!” he cried, in a startled voice, and his hand actually trembled with nervous excitement as he drew forth a small black morocco case, and a package of papers, tied with red tape, which lay underneath.
The case was an old-fashioned miniature case, and doubtless contained a likeness.
Everet instinctively shrank from opening it for a moment,for he felt as if he were trenching upon some secret almost too sacred to be revealed.
“There must have been a soft spot somewhere in the old fellow’s heart, to have kept a thing like this,” he muttered, turning it over and over in his hands.
“But, ‘to the victor belong the spoils;’ I have made this discovery after everybody else has failed, and so I have a right to know what I have found.”
He touched the spring and the case flew open, revealing the likeness of a young girl of exquisite beauty.
“Nannie Davenport! I’ll wager a ten-dollar note,” he ejaculated, in a breathless tone.
The face was a pure oval, crowned with a wealth of hair that was twined in a massive coronet about the small, beautifully-shaped head. The eyes, Everet felt sure, must have been a deep, dark blue, and their expression was lovely beyond description; the nose was small and straight, with delicate nostrils, the mouth full and sweet, with a slight smile just curving the tender lips.
“What a bewitching little fairy she must have been. No wonder Robert Dale buried himself here and ate his heart out with grief and jealousy at losing her. Poor old man! I reckon I know something of your feelings, but I shall never sit tamely down and bear it. I’ll conquer or die in the struggle,” he concluded, between his set teeth.
Then he grew deadly pale.
“Perhaps he didn’t give up either until after she was married,” he said, “and then he couldn’t help himself. Bah! Gladys Huntress shall never marry Geoffrey Dale!”
He shook himself impatiently, as if these reflections were too painful and disagreeable to dwell upon, closed the miniature with a snap, and turned his attention to the package that he had also found.
He carefully untied the tape that bound it, removed the wrapper, and several certificates, representing a large amount of bank stock, fell out.
Examining them closely, Everet found that they were dated several years previous to his own birth, and all were made out in the name of Annie Dale.
“Good gracious! she was his heiress!” he exclaimed, in amazement. “The old chap had to give in at last. He loved that woman to the death, though he was too proud to show it by helping her while she lived, and so left his money to her child.
“Let me see,” he went on; “these are dated just aboutthe time the girl’s mother died, I should judge, or a little before; so it is evident he did not mean she should have anything until he was gone. How strange! these papers have lain here all these years and no one the wiser for it, while, of course, the stock has been accumulating all that time. It is remarkable that the directors of the banks represented have not taken measures to find the holder of the certificates. Possibly they have, and failed to do so. I wonder father has not been applied to; but, then, Robert Dale was such a secretive character, he may never have revealed his residence, and it would have been a very easy matter to give orders to let the stock accumulate until called for.”
He fell to musing again over his wonderful discovery, until all at once he gave a violent start, and a vivid flush mounted to his brow.
“Blast it!” he muttered, “if my theory is correct all this money belongs to Geoffrey Dale. What in thunder am I going to do about it, anyway?”