“Stukely received the last dying messages from the lips of Saviola, and some little time afterward took them to his widow in Geneva. There, passing himself off for Anglesea—undetected, unsuspected by her, he delivered his credentials, and won her confidence. But, when he saw the beautiful young widow, he dared to think of her in a manner that should have brought down upon him severe chastisement.” “How? What?” demanded the earl, in an excited voice. “Calm yourself, Enderby. Be patient, my friend. Here is our hotel. Shall we go in?” “No! no! I cannot go indoors now! Let us walk here where the night air cools my head—unless you are tired, Force?” “No, I am not tired. We will walk on a little way.” “Well, go on!” “With an artful delicacy, with sham sympathy, he approached the subject, and told Saviola’s widow that she was, in fact, no widow at all; that her marriage with the late prince was null and void from the first, because it had been celebrated at Kelton, in Cumberland, England, instead of at Kilton, in ——shire, Scotland. He manufactured plenty of false evidence to prove his falsehood to be truth, and then—and then——” “What? what?” “He insulted the lady with the offer of his heart and——” “Hand?” “Protection!” murmured the squire. The earl sprang into the air as if he had been shot, but came down upon his feet. He said nothing. There are some things that will not bear a single word of comment. This was one. “She ordered the venomous reptile from her presence, and he crawled away, but left his poisoned sting behind. The consummate art of his false evidence had convinced her, as it afterward convinced her father, and, later on, myself also, that her marriage ceremony with Saviola was an empty form—null and void. Her father never knew otherwise. She does not know otherwise to this day. And I knew no better until to-night.” “You believed my sister, your wife, to have been the victim of a false first marriage until to-night?” “Yes, until the moment when Gen. Anglesea produced the certificate, and told the true story.” “And yet you married her!” “Yes, thank Heaven, I was permitted to marry her, and she has been the light of my life,” said the squire, fervently. “With this cloud overshadowing her.” “Enderby, every one of us has something to bear. This secret and its evil consequences have been our cross. We have had no other. We have loved each other truly, and we have been happy in our married life, notwithstanding our cross.” “Force, you are a noble fellow! But now about her son. Where is he?” “Well,” said the squire, smiling and hesitating, “he is a very fine young man, a prisoner of war at present, but he shall be free to-morrow.” “Not—Roland Bayard!” “Yes, Roland Bayard. As fine a young man as breathes.” “Then, after his mother, he is my heir.” “Yes, Anglesea has proved his legal right to be called so.” “Force, does the boy know of his parentage?”