Then the bride was lovely, rich, and of gentle birth. She was a cousin of Lord Westerley.
“He knows you all, both he and his wife,” she said.
“We knew Lord Westerley, but he was not married,” Mrs. Laurens answered.
“He must have married soon after you left, for Madelon Trueheart has been his wife four years,” answered the vivacious bride.
“Then he married Madelon Trueheart?” Cecil exclaimed, rousing from his usual apathetic manner. He remembered that beautiful Madelon Trueheart had been his wife’s friend. Molly had told him that Madelon would not leave her parents to marry her lover.
He said carelessly that he had heard this, without adding that his lost wife told him.
Pretty, young Mrs. Laurens answered, eagerly:
“How noble that was in beautiful Madelon, or Lady Westerley as she is now. Happily a missing relative turned up and took her place in the heart of Sir Edward and his wife, and left Madelon free to marry.”
“A missing relative?” Cecil repeated, with a start; then, eagerly: “But I thought she was the last of the race.”
“Then you have never heard of Sir Edward’s disinherited son? He made a low marriage, and his people would not forgive him. But he died soon after, and they repented and sent for his wife and child, who came and stayed with them, and made happiness possible for Madelon and Lord Westerley.”