fterwards, when Cranstoun was abroad, Mary, so far
anticipating her wifely duties, entered his room in order to look
out his things for the wash. She found more "dirty linen" than she
expected. In an unlocked trunk was a letter of recent date,
addressed to the gallant captain by a lady then enjoying his
protection in town. Even Miss Blandy's robust affection was not, for
the moment, able to overlook a treachery so base. She locked the
trunk, put the key in her pocket, and at the first opportunity
handed it to Cranstoun, with the remark that he should in future be
more careful of his private correspondence. A disgusting scene
ensued. For two hours the wretched little captain wept and raved,
imploring her forgiveness. On his knees, clinging to the skirts of
her gown, he swore he would not live till night unless she pardoned
his offence. Mary asked him to leave Henley at once; she would not
expose him, and their engagement "might seem to go off by degrees."
But the miserable creature conjured her by her mother's dying words
not to give him up, vowing never to repeat "the same provocations."
In the end Mary foolishly yielded; one wonders at the strength of
that abnormal passion by which she was driven to accept a position
so impossible for a decent and intelligent girl.

Soon after this incident Cranstoun was summoned to Scotland, where
his mother, Lady Cranstoun, was "extremely ill." "Good God!" cried
this admirable son, "what shall I do? I have no money to carry me
thither, and all my fortune is seized on but my half-pay!" For the
third time Miss Blandy came to the rescue, even giving him back a
miniature of his ugly countenance with which he had formerly
presented her. At six o'clock next morning he set out for the North
in a post-chaise. The old attorney rose early with good heart to
speed the parting guest, and furnished him with a half-pint bottle
of rum for the journey. Mary says they "all shed tears"; if so, hers
were the only genuine tokens of regret. As she waved good-bye to her
lover and watched the departing chaise till it was lost to view
along the London road, she little thought that, although his
sinister influence would remain with her to the end, his graceless
person had passed from her sight for ever.

It was the month of November, 1750, when Cranstoun took final leave
of Henley. In October, a year after Mrs. Blandy's death, divers
curious phenomena had been observed in the old house by the bridge.
Cran