Geoffrey's victory; $b or, the double deceptionSheldon, Georgie, Mrs.
General
Geoffrey's victory; $b or, the double deception
Sheldon, Georgie, Mrs.
Boston (Mass.) -- Social life and customs -- 19th century -- Fiction; Dime novels; Romance fiction
“Do not think that,” the beautiful girl pleaded; “I will not believe it
without the strongest proof; and even if it should be so, the fact
cannot harm you.”
“Gladys,” Geoffrey said, in a stern, repressed tone, while his face was
dreadful to look upon in its ghastliness, “if there is sin connected
with my life—if I find that my birthright is one of shame—I can never
ask you to share it.”
Gladys clasped both hands closely about her lover’s arm.
“Geoffrey, surely you will not ruin both our lives by any such rash
decision?” she pleaded, lifting her troubled face to his. “It is you
whom I love, not an illustrious pedigree. As far as my future with you
is concerned, I care not who or what your parents may have been. Do not
let anything of that nature come between us; it is false pride, and
unworthy of you.”
The young man regarded her with exceeding tenderness, but he was still
greatly disturbed by his recent interview with the stranger, and could
not readily regain his composure.
He believed that he was on the verge of an important discovery, and he
was at the same time impressed that it would only bring him shame and
sorrow.
“Gladys, would you not shrink from marrying a man whose mother had never
been—a wife?” he asked, a hot flush mounting to his brow.
“I could never shrink from you, Geoffrey, and I would not accept the
proudest position in the land in exchange for your love. I might deeply
regret such a circumstance, on your account; but, dear, my affection for
you is far too strong to be weakened by a mere accident of birth. Let us
put all such dismal thoughts away from our minds. I will not believe
that dishonor has ever touched you or yours,” Gladys concluded, looking
up with a fond smile.
“Dear little comforter,” murmured the young man, trying to return it,
though it was but the ghost of one.
“Do not go near that man, Geoff,” Gladys continued. “Let us be happy as
we are, and not trouble ourselves about the past.”
The poor fellow sighed, as if it would be a great relief to let it go,
to consign it to oblivion, but the anxious look did not leave his face.
“I cannot, Gladys,” he said, with pale, compressed lips. “I shall never
rest until all the dark mystery of my past life is explained. I must
keep my appointment with that man this afternoon, and I will not leave
him until I have wrung from him every scrap of information that he may
possess regarding me and mine, and if——”
“Geoff, what?” cried the young girl, breathlessly, alarmed by his
unusual tone, and the look upon his face.
“If I find that that man is my father, and that he wronged my mother, he
shall have reason to regret both those facts for the remainder of his
life,” was the stern reply.
“Geoffrey, surely you will do nothing to compromise yourself?” Gladys
pleaded, anxiously.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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