“It was about ten years ago, and I have never seen him since. I am very sorry, Mr. Huntress, that I can tell you no more,” said the man, evidently feeling for his visitor’s discomfiture, “and it really must be a great trial to you to have such a mystery enshrouding your parentage.” “It is, but—it must be solved sooner or later,” Geoffrey said, resolutely. He arose to go as he spoke, thanked the farmer heartily for his kindness in telling what he wished to know, then mounted his horse and rode back toward the town, greatly perplexed and somewhat disheartened. “Lock Box 43 is a slender thread to lead to much, but I’ll follow it until it breaks,” he said to himself, as he went on his way. CHAPTER XXIX. AN UNEXPECTED MEETING. The sun had long since gone down, and darkness was rapidly settling over the country, as Geoffrey pursued his way, grateful indeed that he had such good news to take back to Jack, but well-nigh discouraged on his own account. It had been agreed that he should learn all he could about Henly’s old home, and where Margery was buried, and that Jack should himself revisit the place after nightfall, upon his return, since he did not dare to make his appearance there by daylight. The road to the town lay through a heavy growth of timber, and, as Geoffrey came into it, the darkness was so intensified that at first he could hardly distinguish the way, when, suddenly, his horse gave a startled snort and shied one side, nearly throwing his rider from the saddle. “Gently, gently, sir,” he said, reassuringly, as he quickly recovered himself. “What is the trouble, my boy?” He glanced searchingly about him, and saw a muffled figure sitting upon a rock under the shadow of a great tree. Geoffrey’s hand instinctively caught the handle of the revolver that he always carried when traveling, and then he rode directly up to the figure. “Who are you?” he demanded, “and why are you sitting here alone in the darkness?” “Do not fear, sir,” responded a quiet, honest voice. “I am only a woman on my way home from town, and sat down here to rest for a moment.” “I beg your pardon, madame, for accosting you as I did,” Geoffrey returned, apologetically, “but I confess I was startled, as well as my horse, for a moment. Are you not afraid to be traveling this lonely way at this time of the evening?” “No, sir, I am not afraid. I know every step of the road, but I am not so young as I was once, and it tires me to walk,” the woman replied, with a weary note in her voice, accompanied by a heavy sigh. “Have you far to go?” the young man asked. “No, only to the second house from here—to Farmer Bruce’s.”