They were all written in the same strain. My father had come to America to see me. The refrain was as follows: "I am distressed and unhappy. Come to me at once." What had happened? Had he discovered the treachery of the woman who had parted us, and was anxious for a reconciliation with me? Yes, surely the latter; I could not mistake the tone of his communications, although they commenced with "My son," instead of "My dear Son." Explanations between us were necessary, and then all would be right. Eagerly I sought the hotel from which the letters were addressed, and easily found it. I inquired for Mr. Holdfast; he was not in the hotel; his name was known, and the books were consulted. He had left the hotel six weeks before. "Has he gone to another hotel?" I asked. The manager replied that Mr. Holdfast had informed him that while he was in New York he should stop at no other hotel. "He seemed," said the manager, "to be anxiously expecting a friend who never came, for he was very particular in obtaining a description of every gentleman who called during his absence. He is not in New York at present, you may be sure of that." I asked if it were likely I could obtain information of him at any other place in the city, but the hotel manager could not give me an address at which I could make an inquiry. Disheartened I turned away, and wandered disconsolately through the city. I sauntered through Broadway, in the direction of the City Hall and Wall Street, and paused before the _Herald_ Office, outside of which a copy of the paper was posted. I ran my eye down the columns, and lingered over the "Personals," in the vague hope that I should see my name there. I did not see my name, but a mist came into my eyes, and my heart beat violently as I saw an advertisement to which the initials F. H. were attached. F. H.--Frederick Holdfast. My own name! The advertisement was for me, and read thus: "F. H.--Follow me immediately to Chicago. Inquire at the Brigg's House." From that advertisement I inferred that my father was in Chicago, and that, if I could start for that city at once, I should meet him. But my pockets, as I have said, were empty. Between twenty and thirty dollars were required to carry me to Chicago, which I could reach in thirty-six hours. I had no money, but I had a souvenir of Sydney's, a ring which he gave me in our happy days, and which I had inwardly vowed never to part with. However, there was no help for it now; it must go. I should be able to redeem it by-and-bye; so I pawned it for thirty dollars, and took the night train to Chicago. How happy I was! Not only the coming reconciliation with my father, but, after that, the certainty of being able to provide a home for you, cheered my heart. Then I could assume my own name; my father would speak the words which would remove from my conscience the obligation of the sacred oath I had sworn. I scarcely slept or ate on the weary journey, my impatience was so great.