Mr. Reynolds looked up at him with a look that said, “I don’t clearly know what interest you have in all this.” But, unable to speak, and his hands trembling so that he could scarcely break the seals, he tore off the cover, laid the papers before him, sat down, and took breath. Lord Colambre, however impatient, had now too much humanity to hurry the old gentleman: he only ran for the spectacles, which he espied on the chimney-piece, rubbed them bright, and held them ready. Mr. Reynolds stretched his hand out for them, put them on, and the first paper he opened was the certificate of the marriage: he read it aloud, and, putting it down, said, “Now I acknowledge the marriage. I always said, if there is a marriage there must be a certificate. And you see now there is a certificate—I acknowledge the marriage.”
“And now,” cried Lord Colambre, “I am happy, positively happy. Acknowledge your grand-daughter, sir—acknowledge Miss Nugent.”
“Acknowledge whom, sir?”
“Acknowledge Miss Reynolds—your grand-daughter; I ask no more—do what you will with your fortune.”
“Oh, now I understand—I begin to understand, this young gentleman is in love—but where is my grand-daughter? how shall I know she is my grand-daughter? I have not heard of her since she was an infant—I forgot her existence—I have done her great injustice.”
“She knows nothing of it, sir,” said Lord Colambre, who now entered into a full explanation of Miss Nugent’s history, and of her connexion with his family, and of his own attachment to her; concluding the whole by assuring Mr. Reynolds that his grand-daughter had every virtue under heaven. “And as to your fortune, sir, I know that she will, as I do, say—”
“No matter what she will say,” interrupted old Reynolds; “where is she? When I see her, I shall hear what she says. Tell me where she is—let me see her. I long to see whether there is any likeness to her poor father. Where is she? Let me see her immediately.”
“She is one hundred and sixty miles off, sir, at Buxton.”
“Well, my lord, and what is a hundred and sixty miles? I suppose you think I can’t stir from my chair, but you are mistaken. I think nothing of a journey of a hundred and sixty miles—I am ready to set off to-morrow—this instant.”
Lord Colambre said, that he was sure Miss Reynolds would obey her grandfather’s slightest summons, as it was her duty to do, and would be with him as soon as possible, if this would be more agreeable to him. “I will write to her instantly,” said his lordship, “if you will commission me.”