Count O’Halloran told Mr. Reynolds that the packet had been given to him by Captain Reynolds on his death-bed; related the dying acknowledgment which Captain Reynolds had made of his marriage; and gave an account of the delivery of the packet to the ambassador, who had promised to transmit it faithfully. Lord Colambre told the manner in which it had been mislaid, and at last recovered from among the deceased ambassador’s papers. The father still gazed at the direction, and re-examined the seals. “My son’s hand-writing--my son’s seals! But where is the certificate of the marriage?” repeated he; “if it is withinside of this packet, I have done great _in_--but I am convinced it never was a marriage. Yet I wish now it could be proved--only, in that case, I have for years done great--” “Won’t you open the packet, sir?” said Lord Colambre. Mr. Reynolds looked up at him with a look that said, “I don’t clearly know what interest you have in all this.” But, unable to speak, and his hands trembling so that he could scarcely break the seals, he tore off the cover, laid the papers before him, sat down, and took breath. Lord Colambre, however impatient, had now too much humanity to hurry the old gentleman: he only ran for the spectacles, which he espied on the chimney-piece, rubbed them bright, and held them ready. Mr. Reynolds stretched his hand out for them, put them on, and the first paper he opened was the certificate of the marriage: he read it aloud, and, putting it down, said, “Now I acknowledge the marriage. I always said, if there is a marriage there must be a certificate. And you see now there is a certificate--I acknowledge the marriage.” “And now,” cried Lord Colambre, “I am happy, positively happy. Acknowledge your grand-daughter, sir--acknowledge Miss Nugent.” “Acknowledge whom, sir?” “Acknowledge Miss Reynolds--your grand-daughter; I ask no more--do what you will with your fortune.” “Oh, now I understand--I begin to understand, this young gentleman is in love--but where is my grand-daughter? how shall I know she is my grand-daughter? I have not heard of her since she was an infant--I forgot her existence--I have done her great injustice.” “She knows nothing of it, sir,” said Lord Colambre, who now entered into a full explanation of Miss Nugent’s history, and of her connexion with his family, and of his own attachment to her; concluding the whole by assuring Mr. Reynolds that his grand-daughter had every virtue under heaven. “And as to your fortune, sir, I know that she will, as I do, say--” “No matter what she will say,” interrupted old Reynolds; “where is she? When I see her, I shall hear what she says. Tell me where she is--let me see her. I long to see whether there is any likeness to her poor father. Where is she? Let me see her immediately.” “She is one hundred and sixty miles off, sir, at Buxton.”