oked earnestly, as much as to say, "in
what?"--but did not like to ask the question.

"There is no one present who is not well acquainted with my history,"
observed I, "that is, until the time that I left you and Lady de
Clare, and I have no wish to create mystery. I have at last discovered
my father."

"I hope we are to congratulate you, Mr Newland," said Lady de Clare.

"As far as respectability and family are concerned, I certainly have no
reason to be ashamed," replied I. "He is the brother of an earl, and a
general in the army. His name I will not mention until I have seen him,
and I am formally and openly acknowledged. I have also the advantage of
being an only son, and if I am not disinherited, heir to considerable
property," continued I, smiling sarcastically. "Perhaps I may now be
better _received_ than I have been as Japhet Newland the Foundling: but,
Lady de Clare, I am afraid that I have intruded unseasonably, and will
now take my leave. Good morning;" and without waiting for a reply, I
made a hasty retreat, and gained the door.

Flushed with indignation, I had nearly gained the bottom of the stairs,
when I heard a light footstep behind me, and my arm was caught by
Cecilia de Clare. I turned round, and she looked me reproachfully in the
face, as the tear stood in her eye.

"What have we done, Japhet, that you should treat us in this manner?"
said she, with emotion.

"Miss de Clare," replied I, "I have no reproaches to make. I perceived
that my presence was not welcome, and I would no further intrude."

"Are you then so proud, now that you have found out that you are well
born, Japhet?"

"I am much too proud to intrude where I am not wished for, Miss de
Clare. As Japhet Newland, I came here to see the Fleta of former days.
When I assume my real name, I shall always be most happy of an
introduction to the daughter of Lady de Clare."

"Oh! how changed," exclaimed she, fixing her large blue eyes upon me.

"Prosperity changes us all, Miss de Clare. I wish you a very good
morning;" and I turned away, and crossed the hall to the door.

As I went out I could not help looking back, and I perceived that
Cecilia's handkerchief was held to her eyes, as she slowly mounted the
stairs. I walked home to the Piazza in no very pleasant humour. I was
angry and disgusted at the coolness of my reception. I thought myself ill
used, and treated with ingratitude. "So much for the world," said I, as
I sat down in my apa