know not what, much later, about a hundred years ago - "

"More than a hundred years ago," said Mr. Thomson. "In 1783."

"How do you know that? I mean some death."

"Yes, the lamentable deaths of my Lord Durrisdeer and his brother,

the Master of Ballantrae (attainted in the troubles)," said Mr.

Thomson with something the tone of a man quoting. "Is that it?"

"To say truth," said I, "I have only seen some dim reference to the

things in memoirs; and heard some traditions dimmer still, through

my uncle (whom I think you knew). My uncle lived when he was a boy

in the neighbourhood of St. Bride's; he has often told me of the

avenue closed up and grown over with grass, the great gates never

opened, the last lord and his old maid sister who lived in the back

parts of the house, a quiet, plain, poor, hum-drum couple it would

seem - but pathetic too, as the last of that stirring and brave

house - and, to the country folk, faintly terrible from some

deformed traditions."

"Yes," said Mr. Thomson. "Henry Graeme Durie, the last lord, died

in 1820; his sister, the honourable Miss Katherine Durie, in '27;

so much I know; and by what I have been going over the last few

days, they were what you say, decent, quiet people and not rich.

To say truth, it was a letter of my lord's that put me on the

search for the packet we are going to open this evening. Some

papers could not be found; and he wrote to Jack M'Brair suggesting

they might be among those sealed up by a Mr. Mackellar. M'Brair

answered, that the papers in question were all in Mackellar's own

hand, all (as the writer understood) of a purely narrative

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