I then went to a milliner’s, and desired that
she would call at the inn to fit out a little girl
for school, whose wardrobe had been left behind by
mistake. On the fourth day all was ready.
I had made inquiries, and found out a very respectable
school, kept by a widow lady. I asked for references,
which were given, and I was satisfied. The terms
were low—twenty pounds per annum.
I paid the first half year in advance, and lodged
fifty guineas more in the hands of a banker, taking
a receipt for it, and giving directions that it was
to be paid to the schoolmistress as it became due.
I took this precaution, that should I be in poverty
myself, at all events Fleta might be provided in clothes
and schooling for three years at least. The poor
child wept bitterly at the separation, and I could
with difficulty detach her little arms from my neck,
and I felt when I left her as if I had parted with
the only valuable object to me on earth.
All was now ready; but Timothy did not, as yet, assume
his new clothes. It would have appeared strange
that one who sat at my table should afterwards put
on my livery; and as, in a small town there is always
plenty of scandal, for Fleta’s sake, if for no
other reason, it was deferred until our arrival in
London. Wishing the landlady good-bye, who I
really believed would have given up her bill to have
known who we could possibly be, we got on the outside
of the stage-coach, and in the evening arrived in
the metropolis. I have been particular in describing
all these little circumstances, as it proves how very
awkward it is to jump, without observation, from one
station in society to another.
Chapter XVIII
I receive a letter from
my uncle by which I naturally expect to
find out who is my father—Like
other outcasts, I am warned by a
dream.
But I have omitted to mention a circumstance of great
importance, which occurred at the inn the night before
I placed Fleta at the boarding-school. In looking
over my portmanteau, I perceived the present of Nattee
to Fleta, which I had quite forgotten. I took
it to Fleta, and told her from whom it came.
On opening the paper, it proved to contain a long
chain of round coral and gold beads, strung alternately;
the gold beads were not so large as the coral, but
still the number of them, and the purity of the metal,
made them of considerable value. Fleta passed
the beads through her fingers, and then threw it round
her neck, and sat in deep thought for some minutes.
“Japhet,” said she at last, “I have
seen this—I have worn this before—I
recollect that I have; it rushes into my memory as
an old friend, and I think that before morning it will
bring to my mind something that I shall recollect about
it.”
“Try all you can, Fleta, and let me know to-morrow.”
“It’s no use trying; if I try, I never
can recollect anything. I must wear it to-night,
and then I shall have something come into my mind all
of a sudden; or perhaps I may dream something.
Good-night.”
