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At last Mr. Henry reached forth his hand, and there was nothing to
be done but give it up. Mr. Henry took the letters (both hers and
his own), and looked upon their outside, with his brows knit hard,
as if he were thinking. He had surprised me all through by his
excellent behaviour; but he was to excel himself now.

"Let me give you a hand to your room," said he to his wife. "This
has come something of the suddenest; and, at any rate, you will
wish to read your letter by yourself."

Again she looked upon him with the same thought of wonder; but he
gave her no time, coming straight to where she stood. "It will be
better so, believe me," said he; "and Colonel Burke is too
considerate not to excuse you." And with that he took her hand by
the fingers, and led her from the hall.

Mrs. Henry returned no more that night; and when Mr. Henry went to
visit her next morning, as I heard long afterwards, she gave him
the letter again, still unopened.

"Oh, read it and be done!" he had cried.

"Spare me that," said she.

And by these two speeches, to my way of thinking, each undid a
great part of what they had previously done well. But the letter,
sure enough, came into my hands, and by me was burned, unopened.


To be very exact as to the adventures of the Master after Culloden,
I wrote not long ago to Colonel Burke, now a Chevalier of the Order
of St. Louis, begging him for some notes in writing, since I could
scarce depend upon my memory at so great an interval. To confess
the truth, I have been somewhat embarrassed by his response; for he
sent me the complete memoirs of his life, touching only in places
on the Master; running to a much greater length than my whole
story, and not everywhere (as it seems to me) designed for
edification. He begged in his letter, dated from Ettenheim, that I
would find a publisher for the whole, after I had made what use of
it I required; and I think I shall best answer my own purpose and
fulfil his wishes by printing certain parts of it in full. In this
way my readers will have a detailed, and, I believe, a very genuine
account of some essential matters; and if any publisher should take
a fancy to the Chevalier's manner of narration, he knows where to
apply for the rest, of which there is plenty at his service. I put
in my first extract here, so that it may stand in the place of what
the Chevalier told us over our wine in the hall of Durrisdeer; but
you are to suppose it was not the brutal fact, but a very varnished
version that he offered to my lord.



CHAPTER III. - THE MASTER'S WANDERINGS.



FROM THE MEMOIRS OF THE CHEVALIER DE BURKE.


. . . I left Ruthven (it's hardly necessary to remark) with much
greater satisfaction than I had come to it; but whether I missed my
way in the deserts, or whether my companions failed me, I soon
found myself alone. This was a predicament very disagreeable; for
I never understood this horrid country or savage people, and the

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