CHAPTER VIII.
THE REPLY.
Thou bear'st a precious burden, gentle post, Nitre and sulphur--See that it explode not! _Old Play._ "I have received your two long letters, my dear Etherington, with equal surprise and interest; for what I knew of your Scottish adventures before, was by no means sufficient to prepare me for a statement so perversely complicated.

The Ignis Fatuus which, you say, governed your father, seems to have ruled the fortunes of your whole house, there is so much eccentricity in all that you have told me.

But _n'importe_, Etherington, you were my friend--you held me up when I was completely broken down; and, whatever you may think, my services are at your command much more from reflections on the past, than hopes for the future.

I am no speechmaker, but this you may rely on while I continue to be Harry Jekyl.

You have deserved some love at my hands, Etherington, and you have it.
"Perhaps I love you the better since your perplexities have become known to me; for, my dear Etherington, you were before too much an object of envy to be entirely an object of affection.