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all!’
    â€˜I do not see why you should be constantly harping on such a trifle,’ I rejoined.
    â€˜Shall I direct the coachman to drive us to Scotland?’ she enquired, ignoring this.
    â€˜It is much too far to travel in this coach, without a change of horses,’ I pointed out.
    â€˜How shall we get there, then?’
    â€˜A hot air balloon might be just the thing!’
    We both paused a moment to imagine ourselves drifting through the clouds and wafting gently down to earth like two angels from Heaven!
    â€˜Where can we hire such a conveyance?’ Sophia asked.
    â€˜I have no idea,’ I confessed.
    â€˜Then why bring it up?’
    â€˜It seemed so thoroughly romantic,’ I answered, which she immediately understood and accepted.
    â€˜We have left London now,’ she noted, glancing out of the carriage window.
    â€˜At the next town, we will get down and travel Post.’
    â€˜An excellent plan.’
    Chapter Seven
    After several days, we arrived at a village so small that its name quite escapes my memory. Settling ourselves in the commodious parlour, we prepared to await the arrival of the stage, which would not be there until the following morning. In the meantime, Sophia begged a sheet of paper from the landlord and settled down at a convenient table with a freshly sharpened quill to write a letter to her cousin. I stood over her, making comments and suggestions wherever appropriate, until she had finished what I conceive to have been one of the greatest models of the epistolary art ever recorded on paper.
    â€˜A most eloquent account of our desolate and melancholy situation,’ I remarked as she folded and sealed this missive.
    â€˜If this does not move his heart, it must be made of marble.’
    â€˜If it is, your words will crack it.’
    â€˜Let us send it off at once, else we shall arrive in Scotland before it does.’
    While she was speaking, I became aware of a great commotion going on in the courtyard outside: the sound of clattering hooves, coach wheels, barking dogs and braying horses. Moving over to the window, I peered through the dusty pane, craning my neck to see what might be going forward.
    â€˜What is it, Laura?’ Sophia asked, coming to join me.
    â€˜A coroneted coach has just arrived at the inn.’
    From our vantage point, we could perceive an elderly gentleman descend and make his way gingerly towards the inn door.
    â€˜Who can it be?’ Sophia wondered aloud.
    â€˜I have never seen him before,’ I confessed, trembling with unexpected excitement, ‘but my heart instinctively murmurs to me that he is my grandfather!’
    â€˜You have a heart murmur?’ Sophia was somewhat concerned.
    Before I could answer this, we both turned around just as the gentleman entered the room. White-haired and leaning heavily upon a cane, he appeared to be as old as Methuselah. He must, at the very least, have reached his ninetieth year.
    â€˜Make way for Lord St Clair!’ a liveried footman announced grandly.
    To this, however, I paid no heed. Rushing over to him at once, I fell on my knees at his feet and declared, ‘Oh my beloved grandpapa! Pray acknowledge me as your own dear granddaughter who has been parted from you these many years.’
    He looked as if he were likely to fall over in a faint. After inspecting me closely, however, he presently said in a weak, raspy voice, ‘Lord bless me! You are indeed my granddaughter.’
    â€˜Didn’t I just say so?’
    â€˜Your resemblance to my Laurina and Laurina’s daughter, my sweet Claudia, cannot be denied. I acknowledge you as the daughter of one and granddaughter of the other.’
    I had no time to express my gratitude at his ready acceptance, for he had directed his attention towards Sophia, who had been watching him with a look of wonder upon her face. As his gaze met hers, his eyes grew round in astonishment.
    â€˜Good Heavens! Another