THE OTHER SIDE
“You are, of course, aware,” said the latter, sitting down at the table
and beginning to arrange his papers before him—“you are, of course,
aware of my own intimate connection with the very youthful marriage of
my friends, Lady Elfrida Glennon and Prince Luigi Saviola?”
Mr. Force, thoroughly informed of that circumstance, could bow
acquiescence. This assent was supposed to answer also for Lord
Enderby—who, however, knew nothing about it—and the general continued:
“You know that at that time I was a very young man, scarcely having
attained my majority. I had a warm friendship for, and a youthful
sympathy with, the young lovers; yet I would have dissuaded Saviola from
the hasty marriage if I could have done so. But who can turn an Italian
lover from his love chase? Seeing that I could do nothing to prevent the
marriage that was sure to come off, sooner or later—for her father was
in the East, and her brother was at Eton, and a minor, and she herself
only in the care of two teachers for whom she had neither love nor
esteem—I determined to do a brother’s or a father’s part by her, at
least so far as going with the mad pair and seeing that the marriage
ceremony was duly and lawfully performed in Scotland. But you have heard
all this before, and I am wasting time, perhaps, in trying to excuse
myself.”
“Your course in that affair needs no excuse, but rather the gratitude of
all who are interested in Lady Elfrida,” said Mr. Force.
“I thank you, sir. I did indeed act in the interest of the young lady. I
went to Scotland with the young pair and saw them properly married, in
the parlor of the manse, by the minister, at Kilton, Dumfries, North
Briton; and in addition to the certificate given to the bride, I took a
duplicate, duly signed and witnessed, because I thought it just possible
the young lady might mislay or lose her lines.”
“You are sure that the place at which you stopped for the marriage was
Kilton, in Scotland, and not Kelton, a few miles south in England?”
inquired Mr. Force.
Anglesea lifted his eyes from the paper in his hand and looked at the
questioner with surprise.
“They are so near together on the same line, and the sound of the names
are so similar, that the mistake might easily have been made—on a night
journey,” Mr. Force explained.
“It might, but it was not. Here is the certificate. Will you examine
it?” said the general, laying the document before the squire.
Sure enough, there was the printed heading:
Parish of Kilton, Dumfries, N. B.
And then followed the date and the record of the marriage between Luigi
Saviola, of Naples, Italy, and Elfrida Glennon, of Northumberland,
England, signed by the minister and attested by two witnesses.
Abel Force heaved so deep a sigh of relief that Lord Enderby bent toward
him and inquired:
“What is the matter? Why were you so anxious about this point?”
“I will tell you later. I will explain everything later. For the present
let us listen to the facts.”
“I wish to put one question to you, Anglesea, and in the name of our
lifelong friendship: Why did you never inform me of my sister’s
marriage?”
“Because, my dear fellow, I was in honor bound to keep the secret until
the parties concerned announced their marriage. As I heard nothing about
it from you or your father, I was restrained from mentioning the
subject.”
“I see! I see!” assented the earl.
“I should not have brought up the matter now had not the death of
Saviola and the marriage of his widow absolved me from my implied pledge
of secrecy; and very important considerations constrained me to cross
the ocean to seek out Lady Elfrida and to speak of her first marriage,
of which I was the principal witness.”
“I thank you, both on the part of Lady Elfrida and myself, for the great
interest you have felt and the great trouble you have taken in her
cause,” said Abel Force so earnestly that Lord Enderby muttered to
himself:
“I wonder what in the deuce has come over the squire? But I shall know
presently, perhaps.”
“I must explain these considerations,” continued the general. “I was at
Naples last year, where I renewed my acquaintance with the aged prince,
Antonio Saviola, whom I had known years before. We met at the house of a
mutual friend. He invited me to dine _tête-à-tête_ with him on the next
day, and to come early, as he wished to converse with me on a subject
near. I accepted the invitation and went.”
“Pardon,” said the earl; “what relation was Prince Antonio to Luigi
Saviola?”
“He was the granduncle of Luigi, who was his next of kin. When I reached
the Palazzo Saviola I was at once ushered into the presence of the
prince, who received me in his library with much cordiality. He entered
at once upon the subject in his mind by saying:
“‘You were the attendant of my grandnephew, Luigi, on the occasion of
his marriage with the only daughter of an English earl?’
“‘Yes, sir,’ I answered, a little surprised that he should know the
fact.
“‘So I was informed by a letter from my nephew soon after the
occurrence. You were also his second in the fatal duel in Paris, about a
year later, in which my nephew lost his life?’
“‘No, prince. I was not in Paris at the time of that unhappy meeting,’ I
answered.
“‘Then I have been misinformed upon that point. But there is no question
of your having been a witness to his marriage?’
“‘No question at all, prince. I was present in the interests of the
lady, taking the place of her father or brother, one of whom should have
been there to give her away.’
“‘Precisely. That is how I understood from Luigi your presence at this
Montague and Capulet marriage. I have lost sight of the widow entirely.
I last heard of her at Geneva. In a letter written to me by my unhappy
nephew on the night before his duel he told me that his wife was at the
Beau Rivage, Geneva, expecting the birth of a child; that if he should
survive the meeting of the next day he would hurry to her side. If he
should fall, he recommended her to my sympathy and compassion. This
letter found me prostrate with typhoid fever, and did not meet my eyes
for weeks after it was written. My nephew was dead and buried. His widow
had left Geneva, accompanied by her father and her infant. All my
efforts to find them proved fruitless, and at last I gave up inquiry.
Only lately have I become again interested in the subject. The reason is
this: I am very aged, near ninety. My sons and grandsons have all gone
before me to the better land. The last, Vittorio, departed some months
since. I have no heirs, unless it happens that the posthumous child of
Luigi proves to be a son and is now living. It is to ascertain this
point that I have called you here to-day.’
“I could tell him nothing about the child, of whom I had never heard.
But I offered to go to Geneva in person, and search the church register
of the year and month in which the child of Luigi and Elfrida was born,
and ascertain whether that child were son or daughter. I did so, and
succeeded in procuring an attested copy of the registry of birth and
baptism of Rolando, son of Luigi Antonio Saviola and Elfrida, his wife.
This I took to Naples and laid before the old prince, together with the
certificate of the marriage of Luigi and Elfrida. The old man was very
near his end, but he lived long enough to acknowledge the boy as his
legal heir, and to make a will, leaving him all his devisable property.
‘For I feel sure the youth is living, _Amigo_,’ he said. ‘Fortune would
not be so cruel as to cut off the entire family of Saviola.’
“Those were his last words.
“After the funeral, I prepared to return to England, to search for Lady
Elfrida and her son. Judge of my surprise when I learned, by a mere
accident, that she had been with her family at Naples only a few weeks
before. I went over to England, only to hear that she had sailed, with
all her party, for America. I took ship and followed. Looked for you in
New York in vain. Remembered that you had a country seat at Mondreer,
Maryland. Came down to Washington to-day en route for Mondreer. Ran up
against you, Enderby, in the street to-night.”
“A lucky meeting,” said the earl.
“Yes. These documents before me are attested copies—the first of the
certificates of the marriage between Luigi Saviola and Elfrida Glennon;
the second of the registry of baptism of Rolando, their son; the third
of the last will and testament of Antonio Saviola. These will establish
the claim of the young man, who, you say, is alive and well, to the
estate of his late uncle. When may I bring them to Lady Elfrida?”
“To-morrow, if you please,” replied Mr. Force.
Then the earl and the squire arose, and, with renewed thanks, bade the
general good-night.