and distant for some time past, so unlike what it had been at first,
that I could not help feeling that, by ordering me away, some evidence
of displeasure was to be detected. The old man I at once exculpated, for
every day showed him less and less alive to the business of "the House;"
though, from habit, he persisted in coming down every morning to the
office, and believed himself the guide and director of all that went on
there.

I puzzled myself long to think what I could have done to forfeit her
favor. I had never in the slightest degree passed that boundary of
deference that I was told she liked to exact from all in the service
of the house. I had neglected no duty, nor, having no intimates or
associates, had I given opportunity to report of me that I had said this
or that of my employers. I scrutinized every act of my daily life, and
suggested every possible and impossible cause for this coldness; but
without approaching a reason at all probable. While I thus doubted and
disputed with myself, the evening despatches arrived, and among them
a letter addressed to myself. It bore the post-mark of the town alone,
with this superscription, "Digby Owen, Esq., at Messrs. Oppovich's,
Fiume." I tore it open and read,--

"The address you wish for is, 'Lady Norcott, Sunday's Well, Cork,
Ireland.'"

The writing looked an English hand, and the language was English. There
was no date, nor any signature. Could it have been, then, that I had
folded and sealed and sent on my letter--that letter I believed I had
never written--without knowing it, and that the lawyer had sent me this
reply, which, though long delayed, might have been postponed till he
had obtained the tidings it conveyed? At all events, I had got my
dear mother's address,--at least I hoped so. This point I resolved to
ascertain at once, and sat down to write to her. It was a very flurried
note I composed, though I did my very best to be collected. I told her
how and where I was, and by what accident of fortune I had come here;
that I had reasonable hopes of advancement, and even now had a salary
which was larger than I needed. I was afraid to say much of what I
wished to tell her, till I was sure my letter would reach her; and I
entreated her to write to me by return of post, were it but a line. I
need not say how many loves I sent her, nor what longings to be again
beside her, to hold her hand, and hear her voice, and call her by that
dearest of all the names affe