“I have been in painful suspense,” answered the young man, as they went up the front hall, and entered the drawing room on the right hand side.
Dr. Peters arose and advanced to meet them.
“Good-morning, reverend sir; I am glad to see you. In one word, now: Have you an answer to your telegram?”
“Yes.”
“And what is it?”
“The marriage certificate shown you is genuine. It corresponds in every particular with the entry of the same date in the parish register of the church of St. Sebastian where the ceremony was performed.”
“Thank Heaven! then my daughter is free!” exclaimed Abel Force.
“Here is the telegram—a very lengthy but quite satisfactory one,” said the rector, drawing from his pocket a large coil of what looked like white measuring tape.
Abel Force took it and read it aloud. It need not be repeated here. Enough to say that it was conclusive.
“And the scoundrel knew that he had a living wife, when he led my daughter to the altar! Reverend sir, what should a father, in his righteous wrath, do with such a man?” demanded Abel Force, livid with rage.