The man sat suddenly erect, as his guest concluded this speech, and looked almost imperial as he bent his keen, flashing eye full upon August Huntress, a firm purpose written on his face, and a look, also, which plainly told that he had never yet turned his back upon danger, trouble, or an enemy, and never would. “You _shall_ learn, that, sir,” he said in a clear, proud tone; “_Annie Dale was my lawful wife, and he_,” extending a hand that trembled visibly toward Geoffrey, “_is our son_!” CHAPTER XLII. FURTHER DEVELOPMENTS. Mr. Huntress was struck dumb with astonishment by this unexpected declaration; but Geoffrey sprang forward, clasped that extended hand, and exclaimed, in a voice that shook with emotion: “Oh, sir, I can never express my gratitude for that blessed assurance!” Colonel Mapleson’s fingers closed almost convulsively over the young man’s hand, while he turned his gaze upon him, searching his face with eager, hungry eyes. “Geoffrey,” he murmured, in a trembling tone, “you are my Annie’s boy.” His lips quivered, a great trembling seized him, and he seemed on the point of breaking down utterly. It was several minutes before he could collect himself sufficiently to speak, although he struggled manfully with his emotion. At length he turned again to Geoffrey, to whose hand he had clung all the time, saying: “How like you are to Everet, my other son. I mistook you for him when I first entered the room.” “So you did upon one other occasion, if you remember,” Geoffrey returned. The man made a gesture of pain. “Ah!” he said, humbly, “you will forgive me, I hope, when I explain why I avoided you at that time. But this meeting has unnerved me. I find myself unable to either think or speak collectedly. Will you both remove your outer coats, and then, Geoffrey, tell me the story of your life—of your adoption by this gentleman, while I try to recover myself. But first tell me, have you both dined? Shall I not order something for you?” he concluded, with thoughtful hospitality. They assured him that they had dined just before leaving Richmond, and needed nothing; and then, having removed their overcoats as requested, Geoffrey began his tale. His face had brightened wonderfully during the last few moments; the expression of tense anxiety, of doubt and apprehension, had all faded from it, and he looked more like himself than he had done since the day of his interrupted marriage; it was such a blessed relief to know that no stigma was attached to his birth.