“True, you told me of that; and your foreigner will be pleased to hear of your success, and no less so of your graceful recollections. By the way, you did not mention his name.” “Riccabocca.” “Riccabocca! My own dear and noble friend!—is it possible? One of my reasons for returning to England is connected with him. You shall go down with me and see him. I meant to start this evening.” “My dear lord,” said Leonard, “I think that you may spare yourself so long a journey. I have reason to suspect that Signor Riccabocca is my nearest neighbor. Two days ago I was in the garden, when suddenly lifting my eyes to yon hillock I perceived the form of a man seated among the bushwood; and, though I could not see his features, there was something in the very outline of his figure and his peculiar position, that irresistibly reminded me of Riccabocca. I hastened out of the garden and ascended the hill, but he was gone. My suspicions were so strong that I caused inquiry to be made at the different shops scattered about, and learned that a family consisting of a gentleman, his wife, and daughter, had lately come to live in a house that you must have passed in your way hither, standing a little back from the road, surrounded by high walls; and though they were said to be English, yet from the description given to me of the gentleman’s person by one who had noticed it, by the fact of a foreign servant in their employ, and by the very name ‘Richmouth,’ assigned the new comers, I can scarcely doubt that it is the family you seek.” “And you have not called to ascertain?” “Pardon me, but the family so evidently shunning observation (no one but the master himself ever seen without the walls), the adoption of another name, too, lead me to infer that Signor Riccabocca has some strong motive for concealment; and now, with my improved knowledge of life, I can not, recalling all the past, but suppose that Riccabocca was not what he appeared. Hence, I have hesitated on formally obtruding myself upon his secrets, whatever they be, and have rather watched for some chance occasion to meet him in his walks.” “You did right, my dear Leonard; but my reasons for seeing my old friend forbid all scruples of delicacy, and I will go at once to his house.” “You will tell me, my lord, if I am right.” “I hope to be allowed to do so. Pray, stay at home till I return. And now, ere I go, one question more. You indulge conjectures as to Riccabocca, because he has changed his name—why have you dropped your own?” “I wished to have no name,” said Leonard, coloring deeply, “but that which I could make myself.” “Proud poet, this I can comprehend. But from what reason did you assume the strange and fantastic name of Oran?” The flush on Leonard’s face became deeper. “My lord,” said he, in a low voice, “it is a childish fancy of mine; it is an anagram.” “Ah!”