Downing Street. I'm far more uneasy, however, about some
prescriptions which I suspect are along with them. One, a lotion for the
cervical vertebrae, of invaluable activity, which you may take a copy
of, but strictly, on honor, for your own use only. Scaresby will obtain
the Princess's letter, and hand it to you. It is certain not to have
been opened at F. O., as they never read anything not alluded to in the
private correspondence.

This blunder has done me a deal of harm. My nerves are not in a state to
stand such shocks; and though, in fact, you are not the culpable party,
I cannot entirely acquit you for having in part occasioned it. [Harcourt
laughed good-humoredly at this, and continued:] If you care for it,
old S. will give you all the last gossip from these parts, and be the
channel of yours to me. But don't dine him; he's not worth a dinner.
He 'll only repay sherry and soda-water, and one of those execrable
cheroots you used to be famed for. Amongst the recipes, let me recommend
you an admirable tonic, the principal ingredient in which is the oil
of the star-fish. It will probably produce nausea, vertigo, and even
fainting for a week or two, but these symptoms decline at last, and,
except violent hiccup, no other inconvenience remains. Try it, at all
events.

Yours ever, H. U.

While Harcourt perused this short epistle, Scaresby, on the invitation
of his host, had helped himself freely to the Madeira, and a plate of
devilled biscuits beside it, giving, from time to time, oblique glances
towards the dark corner of the room, where Glencore lay, apparently
asleep.

"I hope Upton's letter justifies my insistence, Colonel. He certainly
gave me to understand that the case was a pressing one," said Scaresby.

"Quite so, Major Scaresby; and I have only to reiterate my excuses for
having denied myself to you. But you are aware of the reason;" and he
glanced towards where Glen-Core was lying.

"Very excellent fellow, Upton," said the Major, sipping his wine, "but
very--what shall I call it?--eccentric; very odd; not like any one else,
you know, in the way he does things. I happened to be one of his guests
t'other day. He had detained us above an hour waiting dinner, when he
came in all flurried and excited, and, turning to me, said, 'Scaresby,
have you any objection to a trip to England at his Majesty's expense?'
and as I replied, 'None whatever; indeed, it would suit my book to
perfection just now.'

"'Well