“You are right, Mr Saunders; and indeed I am wrong not to confide in you more. You have kept her secret so well that, trusting to your honour, you shall now have mine.”
“I pledge my honour, Sir James.”
“Then, Mr Saunders, I spoke of a dear friend, but the truth is, I am the owner of that spy-glass. When I returned to Ireland, and found that she had, as I supposed, made away with herself, as soon as my grief had a little subsided, I did perceive that, although her apparel remained, all her other articles of any value had disappeared; but I concluded that they had been pillaged by her relations, or other people. I then entered on board of a man-of-war, under the name of O’Connor, was put on the quarter-deck, and by great good fortune have risen to the station in which I now am. That is my secret—not that I care about its being divulged, now that I have found my wife. I did nothing to disgrace myself before I entered on board of a man-of-war, but having changed my name, I do not wish it to be known that I ever had another until I can change it again on a fitting opportunity. Now, Mr Saunders, will you execute my message?”
“Most joyfully, Sir James; and I now can do it with proper caution; by to-morrow morning I will be down here with Mrs St. Felix.”
“You must post the whole way, as hard as you can, there and back, Mr Saunders. Here is some money,” said he, thrusting a bundle of notes in my hand, “you can return me what is left. Good bye, and many, many thanks.”
“But where shall I meet you, sir?”
“Very true; I will be at the King’s Arms Hotel, Chatham.”
I lost no time. As soon as the boat put me on shore, I hired a chaise, and posted to Greenwich, where I arrived about half-past nine o’clock. I dismissed the chaise at the upper end of the town, and walked down to Mrs St. Felix’s. I found her at home, as I expected, and to my great delight the doctor was not there.
“Why, Mr Pilot, when did you come back?” said she.
“But this minute—I come from Chatham.”