Volume Three—Chapter Eighteen.
My Brother William.
The next morning, I arose early, and went to Olliphant’s tent—to take leave of him, and his companion Bill.
I accompanied them to the public-house, from which the stage coach to Geelong was to start. We stepped inside the house, to have a glass together.
“There’s a question,” said Bill, “that I’ve often thought of putting to you. I’ve heard you called Rowland. Excuse my appearing to be inquisitive; but I have a strong reason for it. You have some other name. Will you tell me what it is?”
There is something extraordinary in the power and quickness of thought. Suddenly a conviction came over my mind: that I had found my brother! I felt sure of it. Memory did not assist me much, in making the discovery. It seemed to come upon me, as if by inspiration!
It is true, I had something to guide me, in coming to this conclusion. Sailor Bill had evidently, at some time or other, known a person by the name of Rowland. It at once entered my mind, that I must be the individual of whom he had this distant recollection.
“My name,” said I, in answer to his question, “is your own. Is not yours Stone?”