When he was gone I felt a little sense of relief. I sat long in the same chair, with the table still littered with the breakfast things, neglecting my duties and even baby. He had been brought downstairs before Harry went out, and was now sitting at my feet on the carpet, playing with my work-basket, which much contented him. I did not observe the havoc that was taking place, but sat still in a tumult of thoughts which I could not describe. I suppose nobody ever did come to a sudden knowledge--or even fancy--that they might be found out heirs of a great estate without feeling fluttered. I was half afraid of the thought, yet it had a strange, vague, bewildering exhilaration in it. Sometimes a trembling shadow would cross my mind of my old spectre; but it had faded again to-day into the agitation of surprised and trembling hopes. One does not always feel the same even about one’s own terrors. And, upon the whole, I felt raised into a kind of general elevation, thrust up above myself into another region, capable of being kinder, more liberal and magnanimous than I had ever felt before. I suppose it must have been the same feeling which Harry had when he said he felt extravagant. I could have emptied my purse to a beggar, I believe,--at least I could have found it in my heart to give him sixpence instead of a penny,--to such an extent had this vague, exhilarating _rich_ feeling carried me away. Lizzie looked a little mysterious when I called her at last. She was bursting with something to tell; and when I addressed some ordinary question to her, her news broke forth suddenly without any introduction. “Eh, the gentleman’s awa’ again,” cried Lizzie, “and he thinks she maun be found or heard tell o’--he thinks there _maun_ be word of her. The gentleman’s awa’ back where he was, to bring something he left, and ‘Menico says, as sure’s death she maun be found.” “Who must be found?” “Eh, mem, it’s the leddy! They came a’ this gate, ower the hills and the seas, to find a leddy. I canna just understand wha she is,” said Lizzie, “but she’s some freend; and ‘Menico’s clear she maun be found now, and he’s dancing like to bring down the house for joy.” “But you don’t look very joyful, Lizzie; what is the matter?” said I. Lizzie made a desperate effort to restrain herself, but, failing, burst into violent tears. “Eh, he’s written me a letter!” cried the girl, sobbing; and then, with much fumbling, eyes blind with tears, and a face all glowing with shame, the letter came forth from the bosom of Lizzie’s dress, and was thrust into my hand. Alas for my self-congratulations over Lizzie’s childish age! Fourteen, after all, it appeared, was no safeguard. But I was as much amused as troubled when I undid Domenico’s letter. It was written on odd thin paper, in a very tolerable hand; it was addressed to _the_ Elizabeth Bain, and its contents were as follows: “To the my little good Lessee.