positiveness again appearing strong in his physiognomy; but suddenly changing and relaxing, his countenance fell, and he added, ’But now I have no darling boy.  What use all!—­all must go to the heir-at-law, or I must will it to a stranger—­a lady of quality, who has just found out she is my relation—­God knows how—­I’m no genealogist—­and sends me Irish cheese and Iceland moss, for my breakfast, and her waiting-gentlewoman to namby-pamby me.  Oh, I’m sick of it all—­see through it—­wish I was blind—­wish I had a hiding-place, where flatterers could not find me—­pursued, chased—­must change my lodgings again to-morrow—­will, will—­I beg your pardon, gentlemen, again; you were going to tell me, sir, something more of my eldest son; and how I was led away from the subject, I don’t know; but I meant only to have assured you that his memory was dear to me, till I was so tormented about that unfortunate affair of his pretended marriage, that at length I hated to hear him named; but the heir-at-law, at last, will triumph over me.’

‘No, my good sir, not if you triumph over yourself, and do justice,’ cried Lord Colambre; ’if you listen to the truth, which my friend will tell you, and if you will read and believe the confirmation of it, under your son’s own hand, in this packet.’

’His own hand indeed!  His seal unbroken.  But how—­when where—­why was it kept so long, and how came it into your hands?’

Count O’Halloran told Mr. Reynolds that the packet had been given to him by Captain Reynolds on his deathbed; related the dying acknowledgment which Captain Reynolds had made of his marriage; and gave an account of the delivery of the packet to the ambassador, who had promised to transmit it faithfully.  Lord Colambre told the manner in which it had been mislaid, and at last recovered from among the deceased ambassador’s papers.  The father still gazed at the direction, and re-examined the seals.

’My son’s handwriting—­my son’s seals!  But where is the certificate of the marriage?’ repeated he; ’if it is withinside of this packet, I have done great in—­but I am convinced it never was a marriage.  ’Yet I wish now it could be proved—­only, in that case, I have for years done great—­’

‘Won’t you open the packet, sir?’ said Lord Colambre.  Mr. Reynolds looked up at him with a look that said, ’I don’t clearly know what interest you have in all this.’  But, unable to speak, and his hands trembling so that he could scarcely break the seals, he tore off the cover, laid the papers before him, sat down, and took breath.  Lord Colambre, however impatient, had now too much humanity to hurry the old gentleman; he only ran for the spectacles, which he espied on the chimney-piece, rubbed them bright, and held them ready.  Mr. Reynolds stretched his hand out for them, put them on, and the first paper he opened was the certificate of the marriage; he read it aloud, and, putting it down, said—­

’Now I acknowledge the marriage.  I always said, if there is a marriage there must be a certificate.  And you see now there is a certificate I acknowledge the marriage.’