“He is rather late in the day; he should have come immediately upon the marquis’ death, and before I had taken possession,” Paul Tressalia said, with some excitement.
“He would have done so had it been possible; but it is only a fortnight since he learned that fact.”
“On your honor as a gentleman, do you believe the statements you have made to me to-day?” the marquis asked, after considering the matter in a long and thoughtful pause, and fixing his eyes keenly upon the lawyer.
“On my honor as a gentleman, and as a friend of the previous Marquis of Wycliffe, I have not a single doubt upon the subject.”
“These are only copies,” Mr. Tressalia said, laying his hand upon the papers before him. “Have you seen the original, written in the hand of Bishop Grafton?”
“I have, and examined them carefully.”
“Does his signature there correspond with this upon the certificate of marriage?”
“Exactly; except that this is written in rather a bolder hand. I have also seen the sexton and questioned him closely,” Mr. Faxon returned, feeling deeply for the young man, who was to lose so much upon the proof of these facts.
“Where did you say the claimant is at this time?” Paul Tressalia asked.
“Here at Wycliffe, awaiting an interview with yourself. I think you will find him disposed to be very considerate and generous with you in his dealings; and you will acknowledge that, despite the obscurity in which he has been reared, he is an honor to your race. Shall I bring him to you now?” Mr. Faxon asked.