n that. As a boy he had pored over the crabbed parchments
in the family deed-box which indicated but did not record the family
descent, and he had vowed to devote his life to prove the descent and
restore the ancient title of Turrald of Missenden to the Turolds of which
he was the head.

There was not much to go upon when he commenced the labour of thirty
years--merely a few old documents, a family tradition, and the similarity
of name. And the Turolds were poor. Money, and a great deal of it, was
needed for the search, in the first instance, of the unbroken line of
descent, and for the maintenance of the title afterwards if the claim was
completely established. But Robert Turold was not to be deterred by
obstacles, however great. He was a man with a single idea, and such men
are hard to baulk in the long run.

He left England in early manhood and remained away for some years. His
family understood that he had gone to seek a fortune in the wilds of the
earth. He reappeared--a saturnine silent man--as suddenly as he had gone
away. In his wanderings he had gained a fortune but partly lost the use of
one eye. The partial loss of an eye did not matter much in a country like
England, where most people have two eyes and very little money, and
therefore pay more respect to wealth than vision.

Robert Turold invested his money, and then set to work upon his great
ambition with the fierce restlessness which characterized all his
proceedings in life. He married shortly after his return. He soon came to
the conclusion that his marriage was a great mistake--the greatest mistake
of his life. His wife had borne him two girls. The first died in infancy,
and some years later Sisily was born. His regrets increased with the birth
of a second daughter. He wanted a son to succeed him in the title--when he
gained it. Time passed, and he became enraged. His anger crushed the timid
woman who shared his strange lot. His dominating temperament and moody
pride were too much for her gentle soul. She became desperately afraid of
him and his stern ways, of that monomania which kept them wandering
through the country searching for links in a [pedigree] which had to be
traced back for hundreds of years before Robert Turold could grasp his
heart's desire.

When She died in the house on the cliffs where they had come six months
before, Robert Turold had accomplished the task to which his life had been
devoted. Some weeks before he had summoned his b