For instance, he never hinted a word about the runaway marriage of the fascinating Italian exile with the too romantic young school girl. He merely told of the marriage of Prince Luigi Saviola, of Naples, with the Lady Elfrida Glennon, only daughter of the Earl of Enderby. Of their travels over the Continent, and of the birth of their only son at Geneva. He breathed no syllable of the fatal duel in which the prince had fallen; but told them that he had died suddenly while on a visit to Paris; and that soon after his death his widow had returned to the protection of her father, in whose company he—Abel Force—had first met her in Switzerland; and that he had been so charmed with her that he had won her affections, and that he had married her some months later in England. At this point of the story Abel Force paused for a few moments, and then said: “It would be too long and tedious a tale to tell you how we both became separated from our only son—that is, my wife’s son by her first marriage, and my son by adoption and by affection—the young man whom you have known as Roland Bayard, but, who, in truth, is no other than Rolando Saviola, the only son of the late Prince Luigi Saviola and of the Lady Elfrida, his wife. Enough that lately has come over from Europe this gentleman, Gen. Anglesea, the long-time friend of my wife’s family, who was present at her marriage with the prince; who was present also at the death of the lately deceased, aged Prince Antonio Saviola, and is the appointed executor of his will. Gen. Anglesea has come to America in search of the heir, and has found him in the person of the young man whom, as I have said, you have known so long as Roland Bayard.” As Mr. Force concluded his narrative a silence of astonishment fell on the circle. “And now,” put in the earl, “I hope all our friends understand the position of my nephew here.” Old Capt. Grandiere started up and seized Roland’s hand, and shook it heartily. Little Rosemary slipped her slender fingers in those of the earl, and whispered: “Didn’t I tell you Roland was of patrician birth? Didn’t I tell you he looked like you? I am not the least surprised.” The earl caressed the little hand that was resting in his, but made no reply in words. “Yes, for all that I knew it all along, and am not surprised, I do feel as if I was hearing it all read out of a romance, by the evening fire, in Aunt Sukey’s old room in the farmhouse,” added Rosemary, dreamily. Le followed the example of Capt. Grandiere, went up and shook Roland by the hand, whispering: “I am heartily glad of your good fortune, old fellow—heartily glad! Not that any fortune, good or ill, could affect my friendship for you.” “It is not likely,” smiled Roland. “If you did not lose faith in me when I was in the role of the pirate captain’s mate, surely no amount of adversity could turn you against me. And as for prosperity, I know, Le, that mine gives you unselfish joy.”