Mason and Adkins had never been friends, when sailing together; and I knew that this bit of information would not be received by the old steward in any very unpleasant manner. Nor was I mistaken. "You remember Mrs Hyland, and her daughter?" said Mason, as we continued to talk. "What am I thinking of? Of course you do: since in Liverpool the captain's house was almost your home." "Certainly," I answered; "I can never forget _them_." On saying this, I spoke the words of truth. "Mrs Hyland is now living in London," the steward continued. "She is residing with her daughter, who is married." "What!" I exclaimed, "Lenore Hyland--married?" "Yes. Have you not heard of it? She married the captain of a ship in the Australia trade, who, after the marriage, took her and her mother to London." "Are you sure--that--that--you cannot be mistaken?" I asked, gasping for breath. "Yes, quite sure," replied Mason. "What's the matter? you don't appear to be pleased at it?" "Oh nothing--nothing. But what reason have you for thinking she is married?" I asked, trying to appear indifferent. "Only that I heard so. Besides, I saw her at the Captain's house in London where I called on business. I had some notion of going a voyage with him." "But are you sure the person you saw was Lenore--the daughter of Captain Hyland?" "Certainly. How could I be mistaken? You know I was at Captain Hyland's house several times, and saw her there--to say nothing of that scene we had with Adkins, when we were all in Liverpool together. I could not be mistaken: for I spoke to her the time I was at her house in London. She was married about two years before to the captain of the Australian ship--a man old enough to be her father." What reason had I to doubt Mason's word? None. I went ashore with a soul-sickening sensation, that caused me to wish myself as free from the cares of this life, as the mother I had lately lowered into her grave. How dark seemed the world! The sun seemed no longer shining, to give light; but only to warm my woe. The beacon that had been guiding my actions so brightly and well, had become suddenly extinguished; and I was left in a night of sorrow, as dark, as I should have deserved, had my great love been for crime instead of Lenore! What had I done to be cursed with this, the greatest, misfortune Fate can bestow? Where was my reward for the wear of body and soul, through long years of toil, and with that conscientious and steadfast spirit, the wise tell us, must surely win? What had _I_ won? Only an immortal woe! Thenceforth was I to be in truth, a "Rolling Stone," for the only attraction that could have bound me to one place, or to anything--even to life itself--had for ever departed from my soul.