CHAPTER XXVI THE BATTLE WON In the great library at Wycliffe three strongly contrasted men had met to solve one of life’s most complex problems. Paul Tressalia, the present master of Wycliffe, was face to face with the grim possibility of being turned out of his estates. The Hon. Archibald Faxon, a famous London lawyer, had entered the library a moment before and introduced to the astounded Paul Tressalia a claimant in the shape of a cousin upon whose name had rested the shadow of shame. But it was not simply this that had driven the blood from Paul Tressalia’s face. It was the fact that the lawyer had introduced his client as “Earle Wayne.” “_Earle Wayne!_” repeated Paul Tressalia, in a startled tone, a sharp, sudden pain running throughout his frame at the name as he remembered an interview with pretty Editha Dalton, and instantly knew that his rival for her love, and the claimant for his supposed inheritance, were one and the same person. Then quickly recovering himself, he greeted his kinsman with the courtesy that always characterized him. “Yes, sir,” explained the lawyer; “every one is aware that the Marquis of Wycliffe possessed another title—Viscount Wayne. When Miss Vance—or, I should now more properly say, Mrs. Sumner—left her father’s house, under the impression that she had been lured into a mock marriage, she could not endure the thought of retaining the name by which she had always been known, and, feeling utterly unable to renounce _every_ tie that bound her to the old life, she adopted the name of Mrs. Wayne as one little likely to attract attention, and, when her son was born, bestowed upon him that of Earle Wayne, and which he always believed belonged to him by right, until his mother lay upon her death-bed.” For the first time in his life Earle Wayne stood in the home of his mother—in the halls of his ancestors. From what he had learned of Paul Tressalia, he admired and honored him as one of earth’s noblest men. “My lord,” he said, as he held him by the hand and courteously addressed him, by the title which more rightly belonged to himself, “I regret more than I can express the necessity that brings me here to-day. Believe me, I care little for the advantages I may reap upon the establishment of my claim compared with the vindication of my innocent mother, who suffered so long in silence and obscurity.” It was frankly spoken, and the regret expressed was real, there could be no doubt of it, while the title he had used did not escape the notice of either the lawyer or Paul Tressalia. “I can scarcely realize it,” the latter said, passing his hand wearily across his brow and speaking with white lips. “Are you the Mr. Wayne who—who——” “Who for the last seven years has resided in the city of New York, in the United States,” Earle hastened to say, to fill up the awkward pause, and knowing but too well of what he was thinking.