his name sounds like a
sweetmeat, was probably one of the many mysterious Italians, brothers of
the Count of Udolpho and Spalatro and Zeluco, who haunted the readers of
the romances of the latter eighteenth century. This personage enquired
whether he was addressing "il Dottor Betoni Scozzere."

The physician having answered this question, asked, for no conceivable
reason, in bad Italian of a Scotchman by a Scotchman (for we learn that
the unknown was a Chevalier Graham), the mysterious moustached man
requested him to attend at once upon "one who stood in immediate need."
Dr. Beaton's enquiries as to the nature of the assistance and the person
who required it, having been answered with the solemn remark that "the
relief of the malady, and not the circumstances of the patient, is the
province of a physician," and the proposal being made that he should go
to the sick person blindfolded and in a shuttered carriage, the doctor's
prudence and the thought of the famous Torrifino dictated a flat refusal;
but the mysterious stranger would not let him off. "Signor," he exclaimed
(persistently talking bad Italian), "I respect your doubts; by one word
I could dispel them; but it is a secret which would be embarrassing to
the possessor. It concerns the interest and safety of one--the most
illustrious and unfortunate of the Scottish Jacobites." "What! Whom?"
exclaimed Dr. Beaton. "I can say no more," replied the stranger; "but if
you would venture any service for one who was once the dearest to your
country and your cause, follow me." "Let us go," cried Dr. Beaton, the
enthusiasm for Prince Charlie entirely getting the better of the thought
of the famous Torrifino; and so, blindfolded, he was conveyed, partly by
land and partly by water (what water, in those Apennine valleys where
there are no streams save torrents in which even a punt would be
impossible, it is difficult to understand), to a house standing in a
garden. That it did stand in a garden appears to have been a piece of
information volunteered by the mysterious Chevalier Graham, for Dr.
Beaton expressly states that it was not till the two had passed through
a "long range of apartments" that the bandage was removed from his eyes.

The doctor found himself in a "splendid saloon, hung with crimson
velvet, and blazing with mirrors which reached from the ceiling to the
floor. At the farther end a pair of folding doors stood open, and showed
the dim perspective of a long conserv