"We'll see about that. Ah, the mill is not the only piece of property to be sold!"
They had turned into a well-shaded avenue, to the massive stone gate-pillars of which were attached posters similar to those at the mill, only in this case it was "This valuable, desirable and palatial residence," with the hundreds of acres of land attached, that were to be knocked down by the auctioneer's hammer.
"I might have known," commented Stranleigh, "that if Mr. Anson was bankrupt at his mill, he was also bankrupt at his house."
They drew up at the entrance. Stranleigh stepped down, and rang the bell, Challis remaining in the car. Shown into the drawing-room, the visitor was greeted by a sad-looking, elderly woman.
"Mrs. Anson," said the young man, very deferentially, "I expect your forgiveness for this intrusion on my part when I say that I am here in some sense as an ambassador from your daughter."
"From my daughter!" gasped the old lady in astonishment. "Is she well, and where is she?"
"She is very well, I am glad to say, and is living with her husband over in the village."
"In her last letter she said her husband was taking her to New York. There had been a--misunderstanding." The old lady hesitated for a moment before using that mild term. "On the day her letter was received, I went to the hotel at which they were stopping, and was told by the landlord they had gone, he did not know where. Do you tell me they have been living in Altonville all the time?"
"I think so, but cannot be sure. I met Mr. and Mrs. Challis for the first time only a week ago."
"She is," said Stranleigh confidently, "and before the day is done her mother will be happy also."
Mrs. Anson shook her head. She was on the verge of tears, which Stranleigh saw and dreaded. So he said hurriedly:
"You will select me what you think she should have at once, and I will take the box or parcel to Altonville in my car."
"When at last her father saw that everything we possessed must be sold," rejoined Mrs. Anson, "he packed up in trunks what belonged to Gertrude, and as we could not learn where to send them, Mr. Asa Perkins, a friend of ours, who lives in Boston, lent us a room in which to store the things, and they are there now."