“My dear boy!” cried Mr. Huntress, under his breath, as he stepped out into the hall beside Geoffrey, cautiously closing the door after him, and then seizing him warmly by both hands, “where on earth have you been, and what has happened to you?” “The most mysterious and villainous thing that could happen,” replied Geoffrey, with a gloomy face. “I have been kidnaped—carried miles and miles away—and it has taken me hours to return.” “I suspected as much,” said Mr. Huntress, sternly. “Then you haven’t attributed my absence to any fault of mine, Uncle August?” “No, indeed, my boy. I _knew_ better.” “What made you suspect foul play? But first tell me about Gladys. How has she borne it?” Geoffrey asked, with a wistful glance at the door beyond which his darling lay. Mr. Huntress shot an anxious look at him. Clearly he had no suspicion of what had occurred during his absence. “Gladys has suffered a great deal mentally, but she is sleeping now,” he said, gravely, and wondering how he could ever tell him the terrible truth. “It must have been dreadful. I can imagine the consternation of everybody when they discovered there would be no wedding,” said Geoffrey, excitedly, while he began to pace restlessly up and down the corridor. “How awkward!—how wretched for my darling!—how uncomfortable for you and Aunt Alice! How did you manage? What could you do or say?” “Come with me, Geoff, where we can talk without fear of disturbing Gladys, and I will tell you. I have something _very strange_ to tell you, too,” said Mr. Huntress, linking his arm within that of the young man and leading him to an alcove over the front entrance. “Something strange,” Geoffrey repeated, in a startled tone. “Very. There has been a most villainous plot connected with this affair.” From Mr. Huntress’ manner, Geoffrey saw that something of a very grave nature had occurred. “What is it?” he demanded. “Tell me at once; I can bear anything better than suspense. “Geoff, there _was_ a wedding!” “Uncle August!” “But no one save ourselves and our good doctor, as yet, suspects that there was anything wrong about it.” “Are you crazy? What _do_ you mean?” cried the young man, breathlessly. “A wedding? That could not be. Gladys could not have been the bride.” “Gladys _was_ the bride, and every guest believes that _you_ were the groom.” Geoffrey sank upon a chair, his strength all gone, while a dim suspicion of the horrible truth began to take form in his mind. “What _can_ you mean?” he gasped, hardly above a whisper, a deadly pallor on his face, an agonized look in his eyes. “Be calm, my boy,” said his uncle, laying his hand affectionately upon his shoulder. “A dreadful thing has occurred, but it was all a farce—a fraud, rather—which the law will set right in time, and Gladys may yet be yours——”