It may be imagined that I did not sleep very well that night.  Early on the following morning Sir John rode over.

“The sooner we look into this affair the better,” he said.  “We will ride over to Edgerton today and examine the church register.”

We did so.  Alas! there was no mistake; the marriage had been celebrated on the 14th of June.  The two witnesses, as she said, were Sarah Smith and Arthur Ireton.  The marriage service had been performed by the Reverend Henry Morton.

The entry was perfectly regular, no flaw in it.  Sir John’s face fell as he read it.

“Now,” he said, “the marriage laws in England are very strict; there is no evading them.  If this marriage is perfectly legal we shall find an entry of it in the registrar’s books.  We must pay for a copy of the certificate.”

We went to the registrar’s office.  There, sure enough, was the entry, all perfectly legal and straightforward.

“Now,” said Sir John, “before we rest let us find out the Reverend Henry Morton, and see what he knows about it.”

That involved a journey to Leamington, where he was then residing.  We found him without difficulty.  He remembered the marriage, and had no hesitation in answering any questions about it.  He knew Miles Trevelyan, and had remonstrated with him over the marriage.  But what could he do?  Miles was of full age, and told him frankly that if he refused to marry him someone else would.

“I have been ill and occupied,” he said, “and have heard nothing of the Trevelyans since I left Edgerton.  However, if my evidence and solemn assurance are of any service, you have them.  They were properly and legally married; nothing in the world can upset that fact.”

“So it seems,” said Sir John, with a deep sigh, “Edgar, you have lost Crown Anstey.”

The next day I wrote to Moreland & Paine, asking one or both to come over at once.  Mr. Paine arrived the same evening, and looked very grave when he was in full possession of the case.  He had a long interview with Mrs. Trevelyan, as we called her now; also with her solicitor, Mr. Dempster.  Then he sought me.

“This is a bad business, Mr. Trevelyan,” he said; and by his ceasing to use the title, I knew he had given up all hope of my cause.  “Of course,” he continued, “you can go to law if you like, but I tell you quite honestly you have no chance.  The evidence is clear and without a flaw; nothing can shake it.  If you have a lawsuit you will lose it, and probably have to pay all costs.”

I told him that I had no such intention; that if the estate were not legally mine, I had no wish to claim it.

“It was a very sad thing for you, Mr. Trevelyan.  I am heartily grieved for you.”

“I must bear it like a man.  I am not the first who has lost a fortune.”

But Sir John would not hear of my final arrangements until we had been to Lincoln and had seen the child.