And where was Isidora? The question was often on my lips; but my companion was a gentleman of such explosive temperament, that I dare not hazard the inquiry. He called a coach--I stepped in after him, obedient as a poodle--and, according to order, honest Jarvey rumbled his “leathern conveniency” to some caravanserai in the city, as much excluded from the Court Circular as Mr. Pryme’s favourite _hostelrie_--the house with “the man’s head” in Crutched Friars. As we rolled along the streets Mr. Hartley’s manner assumed a different tone, for he talked to me with the familiarity of old acquaintanceship, and never for a moment recurred to my recent peccadillos. We spoke of the engrossing subjects of the day, and on every topic he displayed that peculiar knowledge, which one who has been long intimate with mankind only can acquire. Keen and correct as his observations were, they seemed to be those of a man who had quarrelled with the world; and, inexperienced as I was, I set him down to be one whose past career had been unfortunate, or whose future prospects were gloomy and uncertain. When we entered the hotel Mr. Hartley led the way to the apartments he occupied. They were situated at the extremity of a long corridor, and isolated from the other chambers of the inn. In an ante-room my old acquaintance Dominique was seated. Although his fanciful dress was discarded for a plain blue livery, I easily recognised my sable friend; and the negro’s intelligent countenance brightened as he saw me, and offered a silent welcome. His master introduced me into a drawing-room, desired me to be seated, apologized for a short absence, and left me to myself. How strange--during our long interview and drive, not a word of Isidora!--I had once asked simply if she were well, and he had replied in the affirmative so briefly, that it seemed to preclude any further inquiries touching his fair daughter. I examined the apartment--no tokens of female occupancy presented themselves--it was like the common-place chamber of every inn, and only remarkable for the numerous trunks and boxes it contained; and to judge from the extent of the baggage, the traveller to whom it appertained was preparing for a final flitting. The various packages had Mr. Hartley’s name attached; and hence, I concluded that to Ireland he had bidden a long farewell. But brief space was permitted for solitary fancyings: the door opened,--my quondam host entered accompanied by a lady,--and one look told me that she was Isidora.