"That is it," cried the youth; "show me a private room instantly."

"What can he want a private room for?" thought the landlady's
daughter.

"Show the gentleman to the Griffin, No. 4, John Merrylack," said the
landlady herself.

With an impatient step the owner of the letter followed a slipshod and
marvellously unwashed waiter into No. 4,--a small square asylum for
town travellers, country yeomen, and "single gentlemen;" presenting,
on the one side, an admirable engraving of the Marquis of Granby, and
on the other an equally delightful view of the stable-yard.

Mr. C. L. flung himself on a chair (there were only four chairs in No.
4), watched the waiter out of the room, seized his letter, broke open
the seal, and read--yea, reader, you shall read it too--as follows:--

"Enclosed is the sum to which you are entitled; remember, that it is
all which you can ever claim at my hands; remember also that you have
made the choice which now nothing can persuade me to alter. Be the
name you have so long iniquitously borne henceforth and always
forgotten; upon that condition you may yet hope from my generosity the
future assistance which you must want, but which you could not ask
from my affection. Equally by my heart and my reason you are forever
DISOWNED."

The letter fell from the reader's hands. He took up the inclosure: it
was an order payable in London for 1,000 pounds; to him it seemed like