a circumstance from which I augured very ill.

"Madam," I began; and then again, "Madam;" but could make no more

of it. Nor yet did Mrs. Henry come to my assistance with a word.

In this pass I began gathering up the papers where they lay

scattered on the table; and the first thing that struck me, their

bulk appeared to have diminished. Once I ran them through, and

twice; but the correspondence with the Secretary of State, on which

I had reckoned so much against the future, was nowhere to be found.

I looked in the chimney; amid the smouldering embers, black ashes

of paper fluttered in the draught; and at that my timidity

vanished.

"Good God, madam," cried I, in a voice not fitting for a sick-room,

"Good God, madam, what have you done with my papers?"

"I have burned them," said Mrs. Henry, turning about. "It is

enough, it is too much, that you and I have seen them."

"This is a fine night's work that you have done!" cried I. "And

all to save the reputation of a man that ate bread by the shedding

of his comrades' blood, as I do by the shedding of ink."

"To save the reputation of that family in which you are a servant,

Mr. Mackellar," she returned, "and for which you have already done

so much."

"It is a family I will not serve much longer," I cried, "for I am

driven desperate. You have stricken the sword out of my hands; you

have left us all defenceless. I had always these letters I could

shake over his head; and now - What is to do? We are so falsely

situate we dare not show the man the door; the country would fly on

fire against us; and I had this one hold upon him - and now it is

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