he unfriended wanderer should have been thrown into a society, the
equivocal character of which had failed to revolt the audacity of an
inquisitive mind and adventurous temper; but it was natural also that
the habits of gentle birth, and that silent education which English
gentlemen commonly receive from their very cradle, should have preserved
his honor, at least, intact through all. Certainly the pride, the
notions, the very faults of the well-born had remained in full
force,--why not the better qualities, however smothered for the time? I
felt thankful for the thought that Vivian was returning to an element in
which he might repurify his mind, refit himself for that sphere to
which he belonged, thankful that we might yet meet, and our present
half-intimacy mature, perhaps, into healthful friendship.

It was with such thoughts that I took up my hat the next morning to seek
Vivian, and judge if we had gained the right clew, when we were startled
by what was a rare sound at our door,--the postman's knock. My father
was at the Museum; my mother in high conference, or close preparation
for our approaching departure, with Mrs. Primmins; Roland, I, and
Blanche had the room to ourselves.

"The letter is not for me," said Pisistratus.

"Nor for me, I am sure," said the Captain, when the servant entered and
confuted him,--for the letter was for him. He took it up wonderingly and
suspiciously, as Glumdalclitch took up Gulliver, or as (if naturalists)
we take up an unknown creature that we are not quite sure will not bite
and sting us. Ah! it has stung or bit you, Captain Roland; for you start
and change color,--you suppress a cry as you break the seal; you breathe
hard as you read; and the letter seems short--but it takes time in
the reading, for you go over it again and again. Then you fold it up,
crumple it, thrust it into your breast-pocket, and look round like a man
waking from a dream. Is it a dream of pain, or of pleasure? Verily,
I cannot guess, for nothing is on that eagle face either of pain or
pleasure, but rather of fear, agitation, bewilderment. Yet the eyes are
bright, too, and there is a smile on that iron lip.

My uncle looked round, I say, and called hastily for his cane and his
hat, and then began buttoning his coat across his broad breast,
though the day was hot enough to have unbuttoned every breast in the
metropolis.

"You are not going out, uncle?"

"Yes, Yes."

"But are you strong enough yet? Let m