Geoffrey's Victory by Mrs Georgie Sheldon — page 165: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

o A THRILLING STORY. 161 questions about yourself. But how came you to follow me to this place ?” “IT didn’t foller ye. I was sittin’ yonder, behind that clump of spruce, when ye hovein sight. I didn’t mean to show up atall, but when I saw ye so eager by this here tombstone, I was kiad o’ curious to know what yer gaine was, and crept on ye unawares. But, I say, young: ster,” the man added, suddenly taking a step forward, and peering eagerly into Geoffrey’s face, “ who are you?” The rough fellow had actually grown pale, and his breath came in gasps thr ough his tightly locked teeth. “Taman EHasteru man,” answered Geoffrey, evasively. “Ts—is your name Geoffrey *” the man demanded, ina hoarse whisper. “Ha! Geoffrey Dale?” ‘‘—¥ on.’ “Great Christopher! I—I thought so. Something about yer sent a chill over me the minute I laid eves on ye,” said the man, trembling and terribly agitated. “ Boy —boy,” he continued, in a tone of fear, “how on earth came ye and me to turn up together here, of all places in the world?” Geoffrey was amazed at his words. Evidently the man knew something about him, and with that knowledge there was connected some incident that caused him personal fear. Instantly the young man’s mind reverted to the condi- tion in which Mr. Huntress had first found him—a poor abandoned imbecile. Had this rough creature known of that, or had anything to do with it? His next words enlightened him somewhat. “You’re all right, too, in the upper stony, and ye can talk,” he muttered. “ Where ye been all these year's ?” “°AJ] these years,’ How many years?” queried Geoffrey, with a rapidly beating heart. “It’s eight years ago, last spring, since I set eyes on ye, and little thought I should ever see you again; never with that look on yer face. Where ye been, Tsay ?” “Kight years ayo, last spring,” began Geoffrey, gravely, while he closely watched every expression on his companion’s countenance, “I was one day wander- ing, a poor, demented boy, in the streets of New York city. My strange appearance and actions attracted a mob of urchins, who began to make sport of me. They were in the midst of their cruelty when a carriage O EGom Eboo S (E(@) =}