eta obeyed, and in a minute we heard a scream, and Fleta hastily opened
the door, "Quick! quick! the lady has fallen down."

We ran in and found Lady de Clare on the floor, and it was some time
before she returned to her senses. As soon as she did, she fell down
on her knees, holding up her hands as in prayer, and then stretched
her arms out to Fleta. "My child! my long-lost child! it is--it is
indeed!" A flood of tears poured forth on Fleta's neck relieved her,
and we then left them together; old Masterton observing, as we took our
seats in the back parlour,

"By G--, Japhet, you deserve to find your own father!"

In about an hour Lady de Clare requested to see us. Fleta rushed into my
arms and sobbed, while her mother apologised to Mr Masterton for the
delay and excusable neglect towards him. "Mr Newland, madam, is the
person to whom you are indebted for your present happiness. I will now,
if you please, take my leave, and will call upon you to-morrow."

"I will not detain you, Mr Masterton; but Mr Newland will, I trust, come
home with Cecilia and me; I have much to ask of him." I consented, and Mr
Masterton went back to town; I went to the principal hotel to order a
chaise and horses, while Fleta packed up her wardrobe.

In half an hour we set off, and it was midnight before we arrived at
Richmond. During my journey I narrated to Lady de Clare every particular
of our meeting with Fleta. We were all glad to go to bed, and the kind
manner in which Lady de Clare wished me good-night, with "God bless you,
Mr Newland!" brought the tears into my eyes.

I breakfasted alone the next morning, Lady de Clare and her daughter
remaining up stairs. It was nearly twelve o'clock when they made their
appearance, both so apparently happy, that I could not help thinking,
"When shall I have such pleasure--when shall I find out who is my
father?" My brow was clouded as the thought entered my mind, when Lady
de Clare requested that I would inform her who it was to whom she and
her daughter were under such eternal obligations. I had then to relate
my own eventful history, most of which was as new to Cecilia (as she now
must be called) as it was to her mother. I had just terminated the
escape from the castle, when Mr Masterton's carriage drove up to the
door. As soon as he had bowed to Lady de Clare, he said to me, "Japhet,
here is a letter directed to you, to my care, from Ireland, which I have
brought for you."

"It is from Kathlee