As he spoke, he took down from a little closet on the wall a heap of damp-stained, ragged, worthless-looking paper, and then set himself to try and help discover the required name.
“Hardon,” he said,—“Hardon, Octavius Hardon and Lavinia Addison. We’ll lay those that are done with down here, if you please; for, though they do not appear so, the leaves are in a certain order. Hardon, Hardon, Octavius, and Lavinia Addison,” he kept on muttering, as Septimus and he carefully examined column after column amongst the dilapidated leaves; though Septimus progressed but slowly, for his hand trembled and a mist swam before his eyes.
“Take a glass of wine,” said the curate kindly, producing a decanter and glass from the little cupboard; “you seem agitated.”
Septimus took the glass with trembling hand, and then resumed his task with increased energy, till at last there were not above half a dozen leaves to scan, when he uttered an exclamation of joy, for there, upon a scrap before him—torn, stained, and almost illegible—was the sought-for entry, bearing the well-known signature of his father, and the trembling handwriting of his mother.
“Here, here, Matt,” he whispered, “look!” and the paper quivered in his hands—“‘Octavius Hardon, Lavinia Addison,’ and signed by her old friend Miss Morris.”
“Right it is, so far,” said Matt, holding his glasses to his eyes wrong way foremost, with both hands, “and just a year and a half before the baptism. Now you know, sir, I pitched it pretty strong before now, so as you shouldn’t expect too much; but it’s my belief that, after all said and done, we’ve got enough documentary evidence; and things seeming so very regular, if you had begun as you should have done, unless there was something very strong on the other side that we can’t see through, you must have got a verdict. But then I hardly like for you to try on this only; for the law’s a ticklish thing to deal with, and though this all looks so straightforward, it don’t prove against what your uncle says, and will bring witnesses to swear.”
“But how can he?” exclaimed Septimus, in a whisper.
“Ah,” said Matt, refreshing himself after his wont, “how can he? Why, by means of that comical stuff as he’s been so anxious to get hold of. Why, sir, he could find witnesses as would swear to any mortal thing on the face of this earth; they’d almost undertake to prove as you weren’t born at all, sir. Mind, I don’t say that they’d carry the day, sir; but I’m only telling you of what villainy there is in this world, and how you must be prepared, even to fighting the dev— I beg your pardon, sir,” said Matt bashfully, as he pulled up short, having in his earnestness forgotten the presence of the third party.
“I’m sorry to say that there’s a great deal of truth in what you assert,” said the curate quietly; for Septimus was looking at him in an appealing way as if expecting that he would demolish all that Matt had advanced. “Suborned witnesses are nothing new in this world of ours.”
“Pull out your note-book, sir, and let’s take it down,” said Matt; and as he spoke, he drew out an old dog’s-eared memorandum-book and a stumpy fragment of lead pencil that would not mark without being kissed and coaxed every moment, when he copied the entry most carefully, compared it with the original, and then with that just made by Septimus Hardon.