“Why did he not present himself to his grandfather, then, as soon as he made this discovery?” the marquis inquired, thinking it very strange that he had not done so. “His first impulse was to do so. But he is very proud—he inherits all the fire and spirit of his race—and, feeling very sore and indignant at the treatment which his mother received from his grandfather, he naturally shrank from him. Moreover, he concluded that his first duty was to find the man who had so wronged him and her, and notify him of the validity of the marriage which he had supposed to be but a sham.” “Did he succeed?” “He did not, although he has used every means in his power to discover the man’s place of residence, and whether he was living or dead. He would not now present his claim to this property, but recently learning of the death of his grandfather, he deemed it best to establish his identity and continue his search afterward.” “He is rather late in the day; he should have come immediately upon the marquis’ death, and before I had taken possession,” Paul Tressalia said, with some excitement. “He would have done so had it been possible; but it is only a fortnight since he learned that fact.” “On your honor as a gentleman, do you believe the statements you have made to me to-day?” the marquis asked, after considering the matter in a long and thoughtful pause, and fixing his eyes keenly upon the lawyer. “On my honor as a gentleman, and _as a friend_ of the previous Marquis of Wycliffe, I have not a single doubt upon the subject.” “These are only copies,” Mr. Tressalia said, laying his hand upon the papers before him. “Have you seen the original, written in the hand of Bishop Grafton?” “I have, and examined them carefully.” “Does his signature there correspond with this upon the certificate of marriage?” “Exactly; except that this is written in rather a bolder hand. I have also seen the sexton and questioned him closely,” Mr. Faxon returned, feeling deeply for the young man, who was to lose so much upon the proof of these facts. “Where did you say the claimant is at this time?” Paul Tressalia asked. “Here at Wycliffe, awaiting an interview with yourself. I think you will find him disposed to be very considerate and generous with you in his dealings; and you will acknowledge that, despite the obscurity in which he has been reared, he is an honor to your race. Shall I bring him to you now?” Mr. Faxon asked. “If you please; I am ready to meet him now,” Paul Tressalia said, with a weary sigh. The lawyer immediately arose and left the room, but returned again almost instantly, accompanied by a tall, handsome stranger, whose peculiarly noble and attractive face at once riveted Paul Tressalia’s eye. “My lord,” the Hon Archibald Faxon said, in his most gracious manner, “allow me to present to you my client, who is also your relative, and by the name his mother gave him—_Earle Wayne_!”