The Count next morning consumed a solitary breakfast, his noble friend having risen some hours previously and gone for an early walk upon the hill.

But he was far from feeling any trace of boredom, since an open letter beside his plate appeared to provide him with an ample fund of pleasant and entertaining reflections.
"I have not withered yet," he said to himself.

"Here is proof positive that some blossom, some aroma remains!" The precise terms of this encouraging epistle were these: "THE LASH, near NETHERBRIG.
"Tuesday night.
"DEAR COUNT BUNKER,--Forgive what must seem to you INCREDIBLE boldness (!), and do not think worse of me than I deserve.

It seems such a pity that you should be so near and yet that I should lose this chance of gratifying my great desire.

If you knew how I prized the name of Bunker you would understand; but no doubt I am only one among many, and you do understand better than I can explain.
"My father is away from home, and the WORLD dictates prudence; but I know your views on conventionality are those I too have learned to share, so will you come and see me before you leave Scotland?
"With kindest regards and in great haste because I want you to get this to-morrow morning.