“Is there any way of finding out?”
“I will write to Norton. If he does not remember all about it, his wife will.”
“He is the present lieutenant-colonel, I think.”
“Yes, and he was your father’s chief friend. Now that they are at home again, we must have him here one of these days.”
“It would be a wonderful thing if this freak were an introduction to a relation,” said Caroline.
“There was no doubt of his being struck by the combination of Allen and Otway. He chose to understand which were my sons and which my nephews, and when I said that Allen bore your maiden name he assented as if he knew it before, and spoke of your boy having cause to remember this; I am afraid it will not be pleasantly.”
“No,” said Caroline, “it sounded much like a threat. But one would like to know, only I thought Farmer Gould’s little granddaughter was his niece.”
“That might be without preventing your relationship; I will do my best to ascertain it.”
Colonel Norton’s letter gave decisive information that Barnes was the name of the uncle with whom Caroline Otway had been living at the time of her marriage. She had been treated as a poor relation, and seemed to be half-slave, half-governess to the children of the favoured sister, little semi-Spanish tyrants. This had roused Captain Allen’s chivalry, and his friend remembered his saying that, though he had little or nothing of his own, he could at least make her happier than she was in such a family. The uncle was reported to have grown rich in the mahogany trade, and likewise by steamboat speculations, coupled with judicious stock-jobbing among the distressed West Indians, after the emancipation.
“He was a sinister-looking old fellow,” ended Colonel Norton, “and I should think not very particular; but I should be glad to hear that he had done justice to poor Allen’s daughter. He was written to when she was left an orphan, but vouchsafed no answer.”