“There may be a difference of opinion on that head,” said Abel Force. “I could not go up and down the country proclaiming aloud to all and sundry of my farmer neighbors that I had married the widow of the late Prince Luigi Saviola. Nor should I even mention the fact here among my old friends this evening but that new developments of circumstances have made it necessary to do so.”
“‘Needs must when the devil drives,’ sez I. Not that Abel Force has anything to do with the devil, sez I. No, indeed. I bet on Abel Force every time, sez I,” muttered Miss Sibby, aside to Mrs. Hedge.
“Now, squire, speak right up. Tell us all about it. You look as if you couldn’t come to the point. You have got something more to tell us besides that you married a beautiful young widow. Out with it, squire. We are all friends here,” heartily exclaimed old Gideon Grandiere.
Thus backed up and encouraged, the embarrassed and hesitating master of Mondreer took heart of grace, and told the story of his wife’s first marriage. Not the whole story, by a long deal! He suppressed much that did not concern his neighbors to be told, and would not have edified them to hear.
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.”