CHAPTER XLVII.
THE COURIER'S PASSPORT.
A second night succeeded the long dreary day of the diligence, and the only one agreeable reflection arose in the feeling that every mile travelled, was diminishing the chance of pursuit, and removing me still further from that scene of trouble and annoyance that was soon to furnish gossip for Paris--under the title of "The Affaire O'Leary." How he was ever to extricate himself from the numerous and embarrassing difficulties of his position, gave me, I confess, less uneasiness than the uncertainty of my own fortunes.

Luck seemed ever to befriend him--me it had always accompanied far enough through life to make its subsequent desertion more painful.

How far I should blame myself for this, I stopped not to consider; but brooded over the fact in a melancholy and discontented mood.

The one thought uppermost in my mind was, how will Lady Jane receive me--am I forgotten--or am I only remembered as the subject of that unlucky mistake, when, under the guise of an elder son, I was feted and made much of.

What pretensions I had, without fortune, rank, influence, or even expectations of any kind, to seek the hand of the most beautiful girl of the day, with the largest fortune as her dowry, I dare not ask myself--the reply would have dashed all my hopes, and my pursuit would have at once been abandoned.