CHAPTER XVIII. AN EXPEDITION.

When Miss Manuel was recovered or
convalescent, some letters which she asked for eagerly
were brought to her. She picked out three with
the Beaumaris postmark—three in the
handwriting of Young Brett. She opened them
eagerly. They were in the shape of a sort of
journal, and full of details. The honest youth,
not very fluent with his pen, had sat up many
nights writing everything with a fulness that he
thought would give pleasure. He had gone into
the work with enthusiasm, and what follows is a
short history of his adventures.

It was a very wintry journey down to Bangor.
At Bangor he got on board a sail ferry-boat, and
made a stormy passage across, with a " stiff "
breeze, shipping seas every moment. " There is
a long pier of wood," wrote Young Brett, " more
like a plank than a pier, by Jove!" (even in
writing he could not keep clear of his favourite
god,) " and the wind was blowing so hard, and
there was no rail to hold on by, and the sea was
washing over your feet. I give you my honour,
Miss Manuel, this thing was a quarter of a mile
long. I never saw such fun! There was an old
Welsh clergyman's hat that was caught by the
wind, and went flying away like a bird. I could
have laughed, only the poor old soul looked so
distressed. And you would have laughed, Miss
Manuel, to have seen us all tottering along
that plank, some of us screaming, some of
us laughing, and some of us stopping short
altogether, and afraid to go back or forwards.
There was a young woman, too, with children
and baskets, and she was dreadfully embarrassed
between the baskets and the children. Just as
we were half way across, and close to the pier,
I heard a scream in front, and I saw a little child
in a red cloak fall half over the edge of the
plank, and there was a wave coming, and the
wind blowing," &c.

Young Brett went on to say that he caught
hold of the child by the hand, as if he had just
stooped down to lift up any child that had
tumbled on the gravel in a square. But the
truth was, he had jumped forward along the
edge of the slippery " stage," shot past a man
who was in front of him, and with much danger
and thorough wetting, had caught hold of this
little child. He raised her up, and carried her
carefully and tenderly all the rest of the journey.
The boat went " swirling" through the water,
shipping a sea now and again, to his great
delight; but he had the red-cloaked little girl
on his knee all the time, and laughed for her,
which she could understand, and talked English
for her, which she could not, and finally set her
down on dry land.

The young woman—a handsome, striking-looking
young Welshwoman—was deeply grateful;
not so much for the little service, for which she
would have nodded her thanks to one of her own
station, but for Young Brett's manner; which
caused the feeling of every one he came in
contact with to take some shape of affection, slight
or strong. It was so with the cabman who took
him but two streets away; with the porter who
carried his portmanteau from the train to the
cab; to the people who got in at one station and
got out in ten minutes. Every one felt that he
was good, and this young Welshwoman had the
same feeling.

Landing, he with great delight got into one of
the light carriages drawn by a pair of donkeys,
and drove away gaily to Beaumaris. " I really
felt ashamed," he wrote, " to see myself drawn
by the little creatures, but the boy who drove
gave me their biography at length, and seemed
quite fond of them. Besides, they were very
strong, and we trundled along quite cheerfully.
But I was thinking if Showers, or Slack, or any
of our fellows had seen me! Luckily it was
dark."

Most Welsh travellers have seen the little old-
fashioned dun-coloured " remote, unfriended,"
pocket town called Beaumaris, which we come
to along the river, and which we see jutting out
before us into the water, with a sort of sham
air of a tiny fortified town, with a dull resemblance
to a miniature Ostend. The little dun
High-street, through which no carriages travel,
and whose little dun houses seem toy-houses
freshly taken out of a child's toy-box; the general
air as if not only the streets were diligently swept
up every morning like a hearth, but that also the
toy-houses were swept down; and the quiet
slumber that reigned over the men and women,
and the windows, and the lone common at the
edge of the sea, contributed to make rather a
dispiriting impression on Young Brett as he
entered triumphantly drawn by his donkeys.

It was all out of the season, it being the depth
of winter. The little town seemed to be laid up
in ordinary, stripped, unfurnished, like a ship
out of commission. Young Brett drove to the
hotel of the place, and was received with a little
surprise. They were all out of gear. The
rooms had a mouldy air; but he was made
welcome.

To one of his temper these were dispiriting
influences. But he manfully struggled against
them, and thought of the friend whose mission
he had come down to fulfil. Later, he was
sitting at some dinner in the coffee-room, when a
gentleman, rubbing his hands together softly,
came gliding in. " God bless me!" said Young
Brett, starting up; "Major Carter! What do
you do here?"

"Well, of all the coincidences in the world, my
young friend!" said the major, casting up his eyes
devoutly. " Is it not? It looks like a providence,
that we two, of all men in the world, and
here, of all places in the world—— "

"I don't understand it," said Young Brett,
bluntly.

"Recollect," said the major, " this was my
home for a long time. I had good reason,
unhappily, to connect me with this place. I ought
to remember it. You may be sure it is no pleasure
to me to revisit it. And now let me ask