“_Stop!_” commanded Geoffrey, sternly; “do not utter words which you may have bitter cause to regret later. This broken emblem, which I thought so valueless when it came into my possession, now becomes the strongest link in the chain of evidence that proves my identity. Last summer I traced this man to Santa Fe, and there lost his trail. There was only this paltry piece of gold, with the name William engraven upon it, to show that he had ever been there. I believed that my father’s name was William Dale, for I learned that a man bearing that name had lived in a certain mining district of New Mexico, where, as I was told, I was born and my mother had died. I found my old nurse and her husband, who related all they knew of her life there, and into whose care my father had given me after her death. They, however, did not even know _his_ place of residence or address; letters, he told them, would reach him superscribed ‘Lock Box 43, Santa Fe.’ At Santa Fe I was given this piece of jewelry by a man who had been postmaster there many years ago, and who remembered the man that lost it, but could not recall his name. Upon it was engraven ‘William,’ which I had been told was my father’s first name, and now I find the other half of the cross bearing that of Mapleson on it. Is your father’s name William _Dale_ Mapleson?” Geoffrey suddenly asked, as if the thought had just come to him. “No,” was the curt, scornful reply, although it was evident that the speaker was striving to conceal the agitation which Geoffrey’s account had caused. Geoffrey stood silently and thoughtfully observing the cross that lay in his hand and the name inscribed upon it. He no longer had any doubt about his being able to solve the mystery of his birth, though he greatly feared that the solving would only serve to confirm his worst fears. “Then,” he said, in a cold, hard tone, “he dropped that of Mapleson and assumed that of Dale for purposes best known to himself, for I know now, as well as I wish to, that your father and mine are one and the same person. I know that he must have taken a beautiful girl to the mining region of which I have spoken—that she lived there with him as his wife under the name of Dale. _He_ called _her_ Annie. I have seen her grave, and those who knew them both claim that he loved her as his own life, and was broken-hearted when she died. Whether she had any _legal_ claim upon him; whether _I_, the child who was born to them there, can claim honorable birth and an honorable name, are points which remain to be proved. Do _you_ know aught of this story?” Geoffrey demanded of Everet, in conclusion. The young man did not reply for a moment. He seemed to be considering whether it would be best to conceal or proclaim what he had discovered, and denounce the man, whom he had so long hated, as the illegitimate son of his father. Suddenly he threw back his head in a reckless way, an evil light in his eyes, a curl of scorn on his lips.