“True; but he was called to attend her for some slight ailment only a few days after you took her, and recognized her; he would not, however, violate your confidence nor his sense of honor by telling me anything by which I could trace you or the child. He comforted me greatly, though, by assuring me that she was a beautiful and talented young lady; that she had received every advantage, and was surrounded by the fondest love and care. I remember now that I have seen her,” Mrs. Mapleson said, with starting tears, “and my heart yearns strongly for her as I think of it. I saw her at Yale when my son graduated; she was with you,” turning to Geoffrey, “and she is truly a lovely girl. Mr. Huntress, you have held your trust sacred, and I am deeply grateful to you.” CHAPTER XLVII. AN UNEXPECTED RETURN. “Surely, Estelle, your lot has been a hard one,” Colonel Mapleson gravely remarked, after an oppressive silence; “your sufferings have been keener than mine, and I can only wonder how you have concealed them so successfully during all these years.” “I promised that I would try to make you a good wife, and I have striven to be agreeable and companionable to you. I knew if you suspected that I had any secret sorrow, you would imagine it was because I was unhappy with you, and so I have done my best to appear contented with my life.” “Done your best to _appear_ contented,” repeated Colonel Mapleson, with some bitterness, but in a tone that reached her alone. His wife looked up quickly, and a bright flush dyed her face again. She reached forward, and laid her hand upon his arm. “I _have_ been content, William,” she said, under her breath; “it was only a _little_ while that I had to _strive_—while my grief was so keen and fresh. But let us not talk of this _now_,” she concluded, with a glance toward their visitors. Colonel Mapleson sighed; then he said, with an anxious look at her face: “Estelle, I am afraid all this excitement will prove too much for you, and you had better go to rest; but, first, come and speak to my son, will you?” His tone was pleading, and his unusual gentleness touched her; it told her that he felt more of sympathy than blame for the errors of her past. She arose with a sense of relief, such as she had not experienced during all her married life. Her burdensome secret—that terrible barrier that had always stood between her and her husband—was at last all swept away. She could not tell whether it would create an impassable gulf between them or not, but at least she had nothing now to conceal. She went to Geoffrey with him, prepared to welcome him as her husband’s first-born, with all the cordiality of which she was mistress.