The Hood River glacier. (Hood River, Or.) 1889-1933, 1904-08-25
CHAPTER XXIIT.

After DR.. Hlfenstein had left the cas-
tie he leaped into his gig with a light
step and lighter heart, and, touching his
horse with a whip, started off at rapid
pace for a village about fifteen moles
distant. On the way he passed the post
Office, and running In asked for his letters
and papers.
Among the letters was one from New
York, and the black envelope filed him
with dismay, as he felt sure 1t was the
forerunner of sorrowful news. Opening
II with trembling hand, he found his
worst fears fulfilled. II contained the
dreadful news of bis mothers death, just
two weeks before.
Poor Elfenstein the shock was to him
q terrible one. He had loved his mother
tenderly, and was anticipating the great
est pleasure In soon seeing her again,
and perhaps inducing her to accompany
him back to bis English home. Now all
was vain.
Controlling his feelings as best he
could, the mourning son resumed his seat
and drove onward, resolved, although
dGzed BY the suddenness Of this blow, to
attend to his duties to the living, even
though his own heart bled.
We will not follow him upon that ride,
which proved successful physician of
well-known capabilty being secured to
attend to his patients during his absence
nor will we paint the incidents Of his
voyage, which proved to be short and
propItious, but will present him next to
our readers when just entering Mr.. Rap
pelye's house at Yonkers. His appear
ance was expected, as he had telegraph
ed of his arrival in New York, and
intention of leaving for his residence on
the early train.
A bright smile greeted him, and the
firm pressure of his hand told that he
was truly welcome. The sick man GER
tainly had gained some strength since he
had left. for now he sat beside a win
dow, in a large easy chair, and 1t was
evident that he could carry on CONVEX
satlon without the presence and aid Of
Mr., Gray, his lawyer,
After few polite and friendly re-
marks, DIR. Elfensten drew a chair close
to his side, and laying finger upon his
pulse, smilingy said, as he did so:
II am going to see now, my dear sir,
how much news you can bear to be told
Do you feel strong enough to bear a good
large amount"
Grasping his hand in one Of his thin
ones, the poor man answered, eagerly;
Eyes, indeed dol II you have news
that l yearn to hear, Il will be better
than all the medicines l have swallowed
in a lifetime Doctor, tell me at once,
has the mystery been solvedf Is my In
nocence established"
Perfectly established. Your brother
was not murdered, only terribly abused,
He has been found, and died natural
death in my own house."
Olasplng his hands together, while
large tears rolled over his pallid cheeks,
the innocent brother raised his eyes to
heaven, and murmured, reverently:
'For this. Thy great mercy, | thank
Thee, o God"
A long pause ensued, Elfenstein pur-
posely refraIning from saying more, until
ais fret agitation had passed away.
Then, as discreetly as possible, pausing
every once In awhile to note the effect on
his feeble form, and to watch his varying
pulse, he slowly told him the whole story,
leaving the reading Of the affecting jour
nal until another day.
''Oh, my brother, my poor, dear broth
srl how terrible must have been his feel
ings all those years of solitude and de-
spairl Doctor thus you see my own
troubles have been hut a speck upon the
ocean compared with his"
Most true; and now, dear sir, you
must also be aware that, since both
brothers are dead, you have become pos.
SCISSOR Of title and estate. Allow me to
be the first to congratulate Sir Fitzroy
Glendenning."
The old man received the kind pres
sure of his hand and tender words with
deep emotion. then suddenly exclaimed
"ABd to you l owe this speedy dscov
cry and this great JOY"
Bowing his head upon his claspet
hands, he remained thus silent ant
thoughtful for several minutes. At length
he broke the spell with these strange
words:
"Since God In his great goodness ha,
thus established my Innocence, am n,
longer afraid to own, and claim my son
and he need never be ashamed to call m,
fatherp'
Have you, indeed, a son, my deai
friendH This, then, will be to him alst
Joy. did not understand that yor
had been married."
Il had been secretly married, and my
wife, Clara Mowbrey, who was the or
phan daughter Of the late Presbyterian
minister In a small village, came with m,
to America, unknown to any one, for she
had no near relatives. She embarked
] say with me, bringing our little boy