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 depths of 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 being filled 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 about the 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?”