“Why, certainly, Le. Take any horse you like. And never think it necessary to ask me. Are you not as a son to me?” said Abel Force.
“I did hope to be your son, sir, in every possible sense of the word, but that hope seems dead now,” sighed the young man.
“Not at all, Le! We have only to prove a fraud in the alteration of the date of Lady Mary Anglesea’s death to set aside every imaginary barrier between you and Odalite.”
“But, sir, he denies that there ever was any marriage between himself and this Californian lady. He declares that it is all a conspiracy between the woman and the priest, that the marriage certificate is a forgery, and the telegram a fraud, and he defied us to go or send to St. Sebastian to test the matter. Now if this Californian lady is not Anglesea’s wife——” Le paused. He could not bring himself to conclude the sentence.
“If the Californian is not his wife, Odalite is, no matter at which date the first wife died,” said Mr. Force, finishing the unspoken argument.
“Yes, that is what I meant to say—only I could not.”
“My dear Le, have you the least doubt as to the reality of that St. Sebastian marriage, whatever may be said of its legality?”
“No, none in the world. Still I want further proof of it. I want to go to St. Sebastian and search the parish register, as he challenged us to do!”
“Bah! He only did that out of bravado, to annoy us and to gain time. He no more believed that we would either go or send to St. Sebastian than he believed that he would ever be permitted to touch the tip of Odalite’s finger as long as he should live in this world! He acted from a low spite, without the slightest hope of any other success.”
“Notwithstanding that, Uncle Abel, upon reflection, I shall go to California and search that parish register and bring back with me absolute, unquestionable proof of that marriage to take with us to England. Then, when we can prove that Lady Mary Anglesea’s death occurred before Col. Anglesea’s second marriage, we shall know Odalite to be free to become my wife. Don’t you see?”