?"

"To go at once to town; to seek out the writer of this letter, and to
obtain from her proofs of her allegations which even you must respect
and listen to. If I fail to secure them, you shall be pained no more by
interference of mine."

"Be it so," said Sinclair; "I await your return here."

Upon the evening of this day I was in London, and on the following
morning at the residence of the lady whom I sought. Ill luck attended my
steps. She was ill, and could not be seen. For a week I remained in
London, unable to gain an interview, or to communicate with her. I
obtained the name of her physician, waited upon him, and asked him to
convey a letter from me to his patient. It was impossible. It was of the
highest consequence to keep the lady tranquil. In every post I wrote to
Sinclair, informing him of my disappointment, and conjuring him to take
no steps until my mind, as well as his, was satisfied. He returned no
answer to my communications, but I relied upon his friendship. Upon the
eighth day of my absence, sick to death with impatience and idleness,
and no nearer to my object than on the first day of my arrival, I
resolved to return to Bath, and to remain with my friend until I should
receive intelligence of the lady's convalescence. Something might be
done by remonstrance and entreaty. To leave him to himself, was to give
up every chance of his salvation.

The coach in which I travelled halted at Marlborough for dinner. When I
alighted, I perceived, but took no particular notice of a post-chaise
standing at the door of the inn. I had scarcely set foot in the house,
however, before I encountered General Travis. The moment he caught sight
of me, he seemed to become agitated or alarmed. He approached me--took
me by the arm, and led me into the open air.

"Have you seen them?" he eagerly asked.

"Seen whom?" I asked in return.

"Your friend. He is a villain!"

"General Travis," I said indignantly, "I have no friend to whom that
term applies, nor must you couple it with any name that's dear to me."

"Forgive me, forgive me!" said the general with evident grief. "I have
been deceived, cruelly deceived; my house is deserted--my child is
stolen--they have eloped!"

"Eloped!"

"Yes; Mr Sinclair and my daughter. This very morning. Your friend, my
Elinor!"

The general stamped; then walked furiously about, whilst I stood
thunderstruck.

"He never spoke to me on the matter; as I am a living man, he never
hint