about this as I do. You see, I succeeded to a prodigious
accumulation of old law-papers and old tin boxes, some of them of
Peter's hoarding, some of his father's, John, first of the dynasty, a
great man in his day. Among other collections, were all the papers of
the Durrisdeers."

"The Durrisdeers!" cried I. "My dear fellow, these may be of the
greatest interest. One of them was out in the 'Forty-five; one had some
strange passages with the devil--you will find a note of it in Law's
'Memorials,' I think; and there was an unexplained tragedy, I 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, humdrum 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 Katharine Durie, in 'Twenty-seven;
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 character; and besides, said he, 'I am
not bound to open them before the year 1889.' You may fancy if these
words struck me: I instituted a hunt through all the M'Brair
repositories; and at last hit upon that packet which (if you have had
enough wine) I propose to show you at on