ed the waiter who was by, whether Mr
De Benyon had left the hotel. He replied that he had left it in his own
carriage that morning, and having more luggage than he could take with
him, had desired these trunks to be forwarded by the coach. I had by
that time resumed my serenity. I took out a memorandum-book, wrote down
the address on the trunks, saying that I was sorry not to have seen Mr
De Benyon, and that I would write to him.

But if I composed myself before the waiter, how did my heart throb as I
hastily passed through Bond Street to my home! I had made up my mind,
upon what very slight grounds the reader must be aware, that this Mr de
Benyon either must be my father, or, if not, was able to tell me who
was. Had not Mr Masterton said that there was a clue--had he not written
to Dublin? The case was to my excited imagination as clear as the
noon-day, and before I arrived at home, I had made up my mind in what
manner I should proceed. It was then about four o'clock. I hastily
packed up my portmanteau--took with me all my ready money, about sixty
pounds, and sent the servant to secure a place in the mail to Holyhead.
He returned, stating that there was a seat taken for me. I waited till
half-past five to see Harcourt, but he did not come home. I then wrote
him a short note, telling him where I was going, and promising to write
as soon as I arrived.

"Ireland is to be the ground of my future adventures, my dear
Harcourt. Call upon Mr Masterton, and tell him what I have done,
which he surely will approve. Open Timothy's letters, and let me
have their contents. I leave you to arrange and act for me in
every respect until I return. In the meantime believe me,

"Ever yours,

"J. Newland."

I gave the letter to the valet, and calling a coach drove to the office,
and in less than five minutes afterwards was rolling away to Holyhead,
felicitating myself upon my promptitude and decision, little imagining
to what the step I had taken was to lead.

It was a very dark night in November when I started on my expedition.
There were three other passengers in the mail, none of whom had yet
spoken a word, although we had made several miles of our journey.
Muffled up in my cloak, I indulged in my own reveries as usual, building
up castles which toppled over one after another as I built and rebuilt
again. At last one of the passengers blew his nose, as if to give
warning that he was about to spea