surprise on my face. "Of course the letter is not for you; why on earth
did you open it?"

"It _is_ for me," I answered. "See here, Gridley, old man; have
you been playing me a trick? If you haven't, this is the strangest
thing I ever knew in my life."

Of course he hadn't been playing me a trick. A moment's reflection
showed me that such a thing was impossible. Here was the envelope, with
the Toronto post-mark of the 9th of December, at which time he had been
with me on board the _Persia_, on the Banks of Newfoundland.
Besides, he was a gentleman, and would not have played so poor and
stupid a joke upon a guest. And, to put the matter beyond all
possibility of doubt, I remembered that I had never mentioned my
cousin's name in his hearing.

I handed him the letter. He read it carefully through twice over, and
was as much mystified at its contents as myself; for during our passage
across the Atlantic I had explained to him the circumstance under which
I was returning home.

By what conceivable means had my uncle been made aware of my departure
from Melbourne? Had Mr. Redpath written to him, as soon as I acquainted
that gentleman with my intentions? But even if such were the case, the
letter could not have left before I did, and could not possibly have
reached Toronto by the 9th of December. Had I been seen in England by
some one who knew me, and had not one written from there? Most
unlikely; and even if such a thing had happened, it was impossible that
the letter could have reached Toronto by the 9th. I need hardly inform
the reader that there was no telegraphic communication at that time.