“You know, I suppose, the annals of your house,” he continued, “and have heard how, two centuries ago, or somewhat less, there was an ancestor who mysteriously disappeared. He was never seen again. There were tales of private murder, out of which a hundred legends have come down to these days, as I have myself found, though most of them in so strange a shape that I should hardly know them, had I not myself a clue.”
“I have heard some of these legends,” said Lord Braithwaite.
“But did you ever hear, among them,” asked Redclyffe, “that the lost ancestor did not really die,—was not murdered,—but lived long, though in another hemisphere,—lived long, and left heirs behind him?”
“There is such a legend,” said Lord Braithwaite.
“Left posterity,” continued Redclyffe,—“a representative of whom is alive at this day.”
“That I have not known, though I might conjecture something like it,” said Braithwaite.
The coolness with which he took this perplexed Redclyffe. He resolved to make trial at once whether it were possible to move him.
“And I have reason to believe,” he added, “that that representative is myself.”
“Should that prove to be the case, you are welcome back to your own,” said Lord Braithwaite, quietly. “It will be a very remarkable case, if the proofs for two hundred years, or thereabouts, can be so distinctly made out as to nullify the claim of one whose descent is undoubted. Yet it is certainly not impossible. I suppose it would hardly be fair in me to ask what are your proofs, and whether I may see them.”
“The documents are in the hands of my agents in London,” replied Redclyffe; “and seem to be ample, among them being a certified genealogy from the first emigrant downward, without a break. A declaration of two men of note among the first settlers, certifying that they knew the first emigrant, under a change of name, to be the eldest son of the house of Braithwaite; full proofs, at least on that head.”