was all simple enough; the only trouble being that no one could tell what
had become of the certificate of Clarence's birth, or of the other's
decease. Consequently there was an opening for an evil-disposed person to
assert what the Honorable Richard was now asserting.

Where had the Honorable Richard got his information?--of the absence,
that is to say, of these papers. It was never spoken of outside the
family. It is only proper to observe that his brother, Lord Epsom, would
have nothing to do with the affair, but explicitly and emphatically washed
his hands of it. But this did not deter Richard; he had got his materials,
he had decided upon his plan of action, and he was bound to go through
with it. He entertained no doubts of his success, and he probably
anticipated from it not only solid worldly advantage, but the
gratification of an undisguised enmity. It would give him peculiar
pleasure to augment his prosperity at the expense of Sir Archibald
Malmaison.

Considering that the outlook was so bad for him, the young baronet faced it
with commendable fortitude. People who met him regarded him with
curiosity, expecting him to appear disturbed, if not desperate. But he
wore an aspect of satisfied composure, tempered only by his habitual
haughtiness. He had interviews with his lawyers, seemed neither flurried
nor helpless, and altogether behaved as if his victory over his opponent
was placed beyond the possibility of a doubt. And yet, what could be his
defence? Was he going to rely upon the title having remained so long
unquestioned? Did he build his hopes upon a possible break in the chain of
Pennroyal's evidence? The on-lookers could only conjecture. And now the
time when conjectures would be exchanged for certainty was at hand.

It was the autumn of the year 1825. One cool, clear, gray afternoon Sir