CHAPTER XVII.
As Lord Colambre was returning home, he was overtaken by Sir Terence O'Fay.
'Well, my lord,' cried Sir Terence, out of breath, 'you have led me a pretty dance all over the town; here's a letter somewhere down in my safe pocket for you, which has cost me trouble enough.

Phoo! where is it now ?--it's from Miss Nugent,' said he, holding up the letter.

The direction to Grosvenor Square, London, had been scratched out; and it had been re-directed by Sir Terence to the Lord Viscount Colambre, at Sir James Brooke's, Bart., Brookwood, Huntingdonshire, or elsewhere, with speed.

'But the more haste the worse speed; for away it went to Brookwood, Huntingdonshire, where I knew, if anywhere, you was to be found; but, as fate and the post would have it, there the letter went coursing after you, while you were running round, and back and forwards, and everywhere, I understand, to Toddrington and Wrestham, and where not, through all them English places, where there's no cross-post; so I took it for granted that it found its way to the dead-letter office, or was sticking up across a pane in the d--d postmaster's window at Huntingdon, for the whole town to see, and it a love-letter, and some puppy to claim it, under false pretence; and you all the time without it, and it might breed a coolness betwixt you and Miss Nugent.' 'But, my dear Sir Terence, give me the letter now you have me.' 'Oh, my dear lord, if you knew what a race I have had, missing you here by five minutes, and there by five seconds--but I have you at last, and you have it--and I'm paid this minute for all I liquidated of my substance, by the pleasure I have in seeing you crack the seal and read it.

But take care you don't tumble over the orange woman--orange barrows are a great nuisance, when one's studying a letter in the streets of London, or the metropolis.