now (and in fact so does Mr Masterton), how
it was borrowed."

"Well, sir, I will, if he does talk to me, but he seldom says much to
me."

"But he may, perhaps, Tim; and I wish him to know that I have paid every
debt I owe in the world."

"One would think that you were going to the East Indies, instead of to
Richmond, by the way you talk."

"No, Tim; I was offered a situation in the East Indies, and I refused
it; but Mr Masterton and I have not been on good terms lately, and I
wish him to know that I am out of debt. You know, for I told you all
that passed between Emmanuel and myself, how he accepted five hundred
pounds, and I paid him the thousand; and I wish Mr Masterton should
know it too, and he will then be better pleased with me."

"Never fear, sir," said Tim, "I can tell the whole story with
flourishes."

"No, Tim, nothing but the truth; but it is time I should go. Farewell,
my dear fellow. May God bless you and preserve you." And, overcome by
my feelings, I dropped my face on Timothy's shoulder, and wept. "What
is the matter? What do you mean, Japhet? Mr Newland--pray, sir, what
is the matter?"

"Timothy--it is nothing," replied I, recovering myself, "but I have
been ill; nervous lately, as you well know, and even leaving the last
and only friend I have, I may say for a few days, annoys and overcomes
me."

"Oh! sir--dear Japhet, do let us leave this house, and sell your
furniture, and be off."

"I mean that it shall be so, Tim. God bless you, and farewell." I went
downstairs, the hackney-coach was at the door. Timothy put in my
portmanteau, and mounted the box. I wept bitterly. My readers may despise
me, but they ought not; let them be in my situation, and feel that they
have one sincere faithful friend, and then they will know the bitterness
of parting. I recovered myself before I arrived at the coach, and shaking
hands with Timothy, I lost sight of him; for how long, the reader will
find out in the sequel of my adventures.

I arrived at Lady de Clare's, and hardly need say that I was well
received. They expressed their delight at my so soon coming again, and
made a hundred inquiries--but I was unhappy and melancholy, not at my
prospects, for in my infatuation I rejoiced at my anticipated
beggary--but I wished to communicate with Fleta, for so I still call
her. Fleta had known my history, for she had been present when I had
related it to her mother, up to the time that I arrived in London;
furthe