"I remember when I met him on that trip to Albany I told him that all the folks at home were gone. He said he knew it--he'd kept himself posted; so I suppose he must have married this woman after that."

But Clifford had grown deathly pale while he was speaking, for his mind had been working rapidly.

"No--no; great heaven;" he exclaimed, "I am sure he must have married her before my mother died!"

"What's that?" exclaimed the squire, and now all on the alert, while a malicious gleam flashed into his eyes.

"Yes, I am sure of it--oh! the shame of it!" groaned Clifford in deep distress, "and that dear, sweet child, Minnie, who is, of course, my half-sister, has no legal right to the name she bears; neither has her proud-spirited mother. What a wretch that man has been!"

"Hold on, my boy--don't go so fast," interposed his companion, with considerable excitement. "What is all this lament about?--explain what you mean."

"You have said that you have seen Mr. Temple's whole family; then of course you know that he has a beautiful little daughter about eleven years old----"

"His child by this second marriage?--are you sure?" exclaimed the squire breathlessly.

"Yes; her name is Minnie Temple."

"Ha! I had never given a thought to the girl nor her possible age. But if what you say is true, I have lived to see him bitterly punished," and the man chuckled maliciously.

"Ah, yes, he must long have felt that a sword was hanging over his head," Clifford gravely observed. "Let me see; I met the family in the White Mountains during the vacation after my first year at college.

Minnie was then five years old; more than five years have elapsed since then, so she must be between ten and eleven now, and my mother died ten years ago last August," he concluded, with a look of keen pain in his eyes.

"And that proves Mrs. Temple to be no wife and the child illegitimate.

Bill Wilton was a fool ever to show his face this side of the Rockies again--it's a true saying, 'give a rogue rope enough and he'll hang himself.' We'll fix him now, though I never dared to hope for such a triumph as this," said the squire, with another chuckle that actually made Clifford's flesh creep.

"Oh, don't!" he exclaimed, with mingled disgust and distress.

"Don't!" repeated the man in a tone of astonishment. "Don't you want to see a rascal like that brought to justice? I do. His whole life has been one long story of selfish indulgence and crime."

"I am not thinking of him at all," said Clifford sorrowfully, "but of the innocent ones who have been so deeply wronged by him--that lovely woman and her sweet child----"

"How about yourself?" snapped the squire. "You have your rights."

"My dear mother was a legal wife. a.s.sured of that, I am not disturbed about myself, as far as Mr. Temple is concerned. I have fought my way thus far, and I shall go still higher, without extorting anything from him."

"But you surely will demand that he shall do the fair thing by you in the disposition of his property."

"No!" cried Clifford, in a tone of scornful repudiation. "I would never claim kinship with such a man and I want none of his gold. But"--a wistful expression creeping into his eyes and dropping into a musing tone--"I could love that dear child--my little half-sister--very tenderly if I might be allowed to. I have always felt a sort of proprietorship in her ever since the day that I went over that precipice after her--somehow she has seemed to belong to me in a way, though I little imagined that I was rescuing my own sister from a terrible death----"

"'Death!--rescue!'" repeated the squire wonderingly, "what are you talking about, Cliff?"

The young man looked up with a smile and shook himself. "I was dreaming of the past, and hardly realized that I was speaking aloud," he said.

Then he described the event, while the man listened attentively, his eyes fastened upon the manly young face, and a look of wonder grew in his eyes as he began to comprehend the heroism of the deed.

"And you did that! you went over that precipice and down a hundred feet on a rope and back again, the same way, with that child on your back!"

he demanded in astonishment when Clifford concluded.

"Of course--there was nothing else to be done."

"Weren't you afraid?--you must have known that you were liable to lose your head, fall and be dashed to atoms on the rocks below."

"Well, I knew there was a risk, of course; but I did not stop to think about being afraid. I should have gone, just the same, if I had known I should fail--I could not leave that child there without making an effort to save her," was the grave reply.

"Well, that makes another!" e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed the squire thoughtfully.

"Another what?" questioned Clifford, who did not catch his companion's meaning.

"Another deed to be proud of," was the hearty, but almost involuntary response.

It was now Clifford's turn to look astonished--and he was beyond measure--for it was the first time he had ever heard a word of genuine commendation from the man's lips.

"Thank you, sir," he earnestly returned.

"Humph!" grunted the squire, as if half-ashamed of having betrayed so much weakness; "so you don't appear to be very much elated over the fact that you are the sole heir to William Faxon Temple's millions."

"No, sir; I do not want a dollar of his money," was the spirited reply, "and I should never--under any circ.u.mstances--attempt to prove myself his heir, or ent.i.tled to bear his name. My mother named me Clifford Faxon, and while I live I will bear no other."

"Well, I must say, you are mighty indifferent about your rights; and you do not seem to grasp the fact either, that, as my nephew, there is a possibility that you may inherit something handsome from me one of these days," and the man regarded him curiously as he said this.

Clifford flushed again.

"I had not thought of such a thing, I a.s.sure you," he said coldly. "Of course I cannot help the fact that a certain relationship exists between us; but I do not want your property, Squire Talford--I don't want any man's money."

"Oh, you don't! It strikes me that you are mighty independent, and perhaps may live to regret a.s.suming such airs," snapped his companion, in evident irritation. Then he added maliciously: "But then, I forgot for the moment that you are expecting to marry a fortune--I am told that Miss Heatherford is a rich girl."

Clifford was secretly furious at this spiteful thrust; nothing but his respect for the man's age and weakened condition kept him from voicing a scathing retort.

"Miss Heatherford's property will be settled exclusively upon herself before she becomes my wife," he merely replied, with an air of dignity that sat well upon him. "I have no desire to build myself up upon the foundation of another. From my earliest boyhood I have been conscious of something within me that was bound to rise, and if I have my health I have no fear that I shall be able to make for myself a name and position of which neither I nor my friends will be ashamed."

"Humph!" grunted the squire again; but he shot a look at the fine face opposite him that had an unwonted gleam of respect in it.

"You remarked a while ago," Clifford resumed after a moment of silence, "that you believe Mr. Temple is unaware of the fact that he has a son. I am confident you are mistaken. I am quite sure that he knows that I am his son, although he evidently thinks that I am ignorant regarding my relationship to him."

He then described his first meeting with Mr. Temple a few days after Minnie Temple's accident, and how agitated the man had been upon learning of his name and the fact that he had been bound to Squire Talford for four years.

The squire smiled grimly as he concluded:

"Well, it does look as if he had an inkling of the truth, that's a fact," he said, "and he must have had quite a shock at the time--he couldn't have felt over and above easy, I'm thinking, especially since I came to Washington. I don't see that it has done much good telling you this story," he went on moodily, "except that perhaps it has set your mind at rest about your origin. I don't suppose I should ever have told it if it hadn't been for Maria--she was bound that you should now the truth, and, on the whole, I am not sorry it is over with."

Clifford made no reply to these remarks--he felt they called for none--but busied himself with gathering up his papers and replacing them in their box, his companion regarding him curiously while he did so.

CHAPTER XXI.

CLIFFORD MEETS HIS FATHER.