“Yes, sir,” explained the lawyer; “every one is aware that the Marquis of Wycliffe possessed another title—Viscount Wayne. When Miss Vance—or, I should now more properly say, Mrs. Sumner—left her father’s house, under the impression that she had been lured into a mock marriage, she could not endure the thought of retaining the name by which she had always been known, and, feeling utterly unable to renounce every tie that bound her to the old life, she adopted the name of Mrs. Wayne as one little likely to attract attention, and, when her son was born, bestowed upon him that of Earle Wayne, and which he always believed belonged to him by right, until his mother lay upon her death-bed.”
For the first time in his life Earle Wayne stood in the home of his mother—in the halls of his ancestors.
From what he had learned of Paul Tressalia, he admired and honored him as one of earth’s noblest men.
“My lord,” he said, as he held him by the hand and courteously addressed him, by the title which more rightly belonged to himself, “I regret more than I can express the necessity that brings me here to-day. Believe me, I care little for the advantages I may reap upon the establishment of my claim compared with the vindication of my innocent mother, who suffered so long in silence and obscurity.”
It was frankly spoken, and the regret expressed was real, there could be no doubt of it, while the title he had used did not escape the notice of either the lawyer or Paul Tressalia.
“I can scarcely realize it,” the latter said, passing his hand wearily across his brow and speaking with white lips. “Are you the Mr. Wayne who—who——”
“Who for the last seven years has resided in the city of New York, in the United States,” Earle hastened to say, to fill up the awkward pause, and knowing but too well of what he was thinking.
He felt deeply for him, and it was a very trying moment for even the noblest nature.
“Yes, yes!” Paul Tressalia said, and then bowed his head upon his breast and sat apparently lost in thought for many minutes.
The Hon. Archibald Faxon regarded them in astonishment. He had not supposed that either knew anything personally of the other until this moment, and never dreamed of the romance so closely woven into their lives.