Several days passed, and no clue to the enigma was discovered. Parties of pleasure were formed, the grounds were traversed, the library ransacked—literary, scientific, nay political excitement created for the amusement and entertainment of the guests; but no familiar, confidential chit-chat gave occasion to the disclosure of the secret which it was evident was weighing on Adelaide's mind.
One morning, however, Mr. Godfrey shut himself up in the library, in order to search through some volumes for a passage he desired, and his daughter entered, turning the key in the door as she did so. Mr. Godfrey looked up. Adelaide was pale and trembling. He took her hand and led her to a sofa. In a few moments she partly recovered; yet it was in a faltering voice that she asked:
"Father, is a marriage with a Roman Catholic valid?"
"Valid? Yes, I suppose so; why not, my dear?"
Adelaide became still more pale, but did not answer.
Mr. Godfrey was alarmed. "How does this concern you, my child?" he asked.
"Why—why—the duke is then married to another lady," faltered she.
"Impossible!" said the father. "Impossible! he would not—dare not do such a deed. You have been imposed upon, Adelaide. Tell me the story, and the authority for it."
"Did you hear of a woman fainting, almost under the carriage-wheels, on the morning of my marriage, father?"
"I did; what of it, my child!"