ips, were any thing but gratifying to me, whatever they may
have been to him. She seemed no way displeased at the freedom. I was
most confoundedly, but that Walter did not seem to observe.

The incident that had occurred, and Dora's request, brought our
excursion to an abrupt termination, and we returned homewards. It
appeared as if this were doomed to be a day of disagreeables. On
reaching the inn, I found a letter which, thanks to my frequent change
of place, and to the dilatoriness of continental post-offices, had been
chasing me from town to town during the previous three weeks. It was
from a lawyer, informing me of the death of a relative, and compelling
me instantly to return to England to arrange some important business
concerning a disputed will. The sum at stake was too considerable for me
to neglect the summons, and with the worst possible grace I prepared to
depart. I made some violent attempts to induce Ashley to accompany me,
talked myself hoarse about fox-hunting and pheasant-shooting, and other
delights of the approaching season; but all in vain. His passion for
field-sports seemed entirely cooled; he sneered at foxes, treated
pheasants with contempt, and professed to be as much in love with the
Pyrenees as I began to fear he was with Dora. There was nothing for it
but to set out alone, which I accordingly did, having previously
obtained from M'Dermot the plan of their route, and the name of the
place where he and his sister thought of wintering. I was determined, so
soon as I had settled my affairs, to return to the continent and propose
for Dora.

Man proposes and God disposes, says the proverb. In my case, I am
prepared to prove that the former part of the proverb lied abominably.
Instead of a fortnight in London being, as I had too sanguinely hoped,
sufficient for the settlement of the business that took me thither, I
was detained several months, and compelled to make sundry journeys to
the north of England. I wrote several times to M'Dermot, and had one
letter from him, but no more. Jack was a notoriously bad correspondent,
and I scarcely wondered at his silence.

Summer came--my lawsuit was decided, and sick to death of briefs and
barristers, parchments and attorneys, I once more found myself my own
master. An application to M'Dermot's London banker procured me his
address. He was then in Switzerland, but was expected down the Rhine,
and letters to Wiesbaden would find him. That was enough for me;