“To prove it, he took a slip of paper from his pocketbook, which he said was cut from the London Times, and which he said that he had received while staying at Niagara with us. It was, in fact, the notice of the death of his wife, and, if I remember rightly, it ran something like this:
“‘Died.—Suddenly, at Anglewood Manor, on August twenty-fifth, in the forty-ninth year of her age, Lady Mary, eldest daughter of the late and sister of the present Earl of Middlemoor, and wife of Col. the Hon. Angus Anglesea, late of the H.E.I.C.S.’
“There, Odalite, I have tried to reproduce from memory the proof that he produced to establish as facts that his first wife was living at the time of his marriage with the Widow Wright, which was, consequently, not binding, and that she died some months before his marriage with yourself, which is, according to him, lawful and binding.”
“Oh, mother—mother! There seems to be no doubt of it!” wailed Odalite, throwing her arms over the table and dropping her head upon it in a sudden collapse of despair.
“Even if there were no doubt about the matter—even if he has a legal claim upon you—it is not a moral or Christian one, but a technicality which your father will never admit, even if that man should dare to come back and urge it.”
“But, oh, mother, he will come back, some time, when he thinks the danger past, and he will put the screws upon you and me as he did before! He will make me declare that my happiness depends upon my reunion to him, my ‘legal husband.’ He will make you plead with my father to give me up without bringing the matter into court!” said Odalite, moaning, rather than speaking the words.
“Even if he should—even if you should declare that you wished to be reunited to that monster of wickedness, and even if I were to plead your cause, I tell you that your father would not only see you unhappy, but he would see you dead, before he would give you up to Angus Anglesea! He would prosecute him, and settle his claim in that way. But, Odalite, I do not believe that notice of his wife’s death to be just what it purported to be, or just what he represented it to be.”
“What do you mean, mother, dear? How can you doubt, when you yourself saw the printed slip, with name, place, day and date, family relations—all complete? Ah, me! I wish there was room for doubt!”
“There is wide room for doubt. The date of the day and of the month is given, but not the date of the year, in that slip; and I saw nothing but the slip, not the paper it was cut from. How, then, do I know that his first wife did not die on August twenty-fifth, two years ago, or ten years ago, instead of in August of this year? It would be like him to produce an old obituary notice for purposes of deception.”
“Oh-h-h!” exclaimed Odalite, as the new light of hope dawned on her mind.