“I could tell him nothing about the child, of whom I had never heard. But I offered to go to Geneva in person, and search the church register of the year and month in which the child of Luigi and Elfrida was born, and ascertain whether that child were son or daughter. I did so, and succeeded in procuring an attested copy of the registry of birth and baptism of Rolando, son of Luigi Antonio Saviola and Elfrida, his wife. This I took to Naples and laid before the old prince, together with the certificate of the marriage of Luigi and Elfrida. The old man was very near his end, but he lived long enough to acknowledge the boy as his legal heir, and to make a will, leaving him all his devisable property. ‘For I feel sure the youth is living, _Amigo_,’ he said. ‘Fortune would not be so cruel as to cut off the entire family of Saviola.’ “Those were his last words. “After the funeral, I prepared to return to England, to search for Lady Elfrida and her son. Judge of my surprise when I learned, by a mere accident, that she had been with her family at Naples only a few weeks before. I went over to England, only to hear that she had sailed, with all her party, for America. I took ship and followed. Looked for you in New York in vain. Remembered that you had a country seat at Mondreer, Maryland. Came down to Washington to-day en route for Mondreer. Ran up against you, Enderby, in the street to-night.” “A lucky meeting,” said the earl. “Yes. These documents before me are attested copies—the first of the certificates of the marriage between Luigi Saviola and Elfrida Glennon; the second of the registry of baptism of Rolando, their son; the third of the last will and testament of Antonio Saviola. These will establish the claim of the young man, who, you say, is alive and well, to the estate of his late uncle. When may I bring them to Lady Elfrida?” “To-morrow, if you please,” replied Mr. Force. Then the earl and the squire arose, and, with renewed thanks, bade the general good-night. CHAPTER XLII THE EARL’S DISCOVERY The church bells were chiming twelve, midnight, as the earl and the squire walked along the now almost deserted avenue toward their hotel. “I had no idea it was so late,” said the earl. “Nor I,” assented the squire. “Force!” “Well?” “Will you tell me now, as we walk along, why my sister’s first marriage was kept a secret from me during all these years? Why even my chum in college, my fellow soldier in camp, never once mentioned the matter to me?” “He has explained that in his case it was because no one spoke of it to him, and it was not his cue to be the first to allude to it.” “But why? Why was all this mystery about a marriage that was honorable enough in itself?” “Because there was a fatal misapprehension. I call it fatal, on account of the years of untold misery it entailed upon more than one.” “Explain.”