With this important discovery to help him, Robert Turold had very little difficulty in completing the particulars of the family genealogy.  Further search of the churchtown records brought to light that Simon’s other son, Robert, left Cornwall as a young man, and after some years of wandering had settled in Suffolk.  Father Simon, of course, died without family, but Robert married, the family name came to be spelt “Turold,” and thus was founded that branch of the family of which the last Robert Turold was now the head.  The family tree was complete.

Such was the substance of Robert Turold’s life quest, and the story had occupied two hours in telling.

“I have petitioned the King’s most excellent majesty to terminate the abeyance in my favour and declare that I am entitled to the peerage,” he concluded.  “I have no doubt that my claim will be admitted.  I have set out the facts with great care, and in considerable detail.  I have traced a clear line of descent back to Simon Turrald, younger brother of the last baron, and there are no coheirs in existence.  Ours is the last surviving branch, or it would, perhaps, be better if I said that Austin and myself, and Austin’s son, are the only male members of the family.  It is a difficult matter to give effectual proof of a long pedigree, but my lawyer has not the least doubt that the House of Lords will admit the validity of my claim, and will terminate the abeyance in my favour.  The Attorney General has inspected my proofs, and I am to appear before the Committee for Privileges next week.  In a few weeks at the outside, allowing for the worst of law’s delays, I shall be Lord Turrald.”

Robert Turold’s whole bearing was transfigured as he made this announcement.  His sound eye gleamed, his shrunken form seemed to expand and fill, and his harsh sallow features took on an expression which was almost ecstatic.  It was his great moment, the moment for which he had lived for twenty years, and it compensated him for all his worry, delayed expectation, fruitless labour, and the bitter taste of the waters of despair.

“I shall be Turrald of Great Missenden,” he said, and again the expression of his face showed what the words meant to him.

“Bob!  So you’ve actually succeeded after all!” Mrs. Pendleton stepped quickly across to her brother as he sat regarding his audience from behind his pile of documents.  It was like a sister, at that moment, to slip back to the juvenile name and kiss his elderly face with tears in her eyes.  Robert Turold received the caress unmoved, and she went back to the sofa.

“Lord Turrald!  It sounds well,” murmured her husband, whose ideas were sufficiently democratic to give him a sneaking admiration for a title.  He gazed at his brother-in-law with a new respect, discerning unsuspected indications of noble blood in his grim visage.

“How do you account for the two forms of spelling your family name?” observed Dr. Ravenshaw.  “The House of Lords will require proof on that point, will they not?”