But his inquiries at the post-office were vain.

To be sure, weeks had often gone by without bringing him a letter; there was nothing strange in this silence yet it vexed and disquieted him.

On the fourth day of his waiting, the weather suddenly broke, rain fell in torrents, and continued for forty-eight hours.

Had not the Coppingers' house been open to him he must have spent a wretched time.

Returning to the hotel on the second evening of deluge, he looked in at the post-office, and this time a letter was put into his hand.