“WELL, NEPHEW?” ASKED my uncle.
“Why, sir, I cannot tell what it may mean.”
“Who gave it to you, sirrah?”
“It was young Jim Harrison himself, sir,” said the landlord, “though indeed I scarce knew him at first, for he looked like his own ghost. He was so eager that it should reach you that he would not leave me until the horse was harnessed and I started upon my way. There was one note for you and one for Sir Lothian Hume, and I wish to God he had chosen a better messenger!”
“This is a mystery indeed,” said my uncle, bending his brows over the note. “What should he be doing at that house of ill-omen? And why does he sign himself ‘him whom you knew as Jim Harrison?’ By what other style should I know him? Harrison, you can throw a light upon this. You, Mrs. Harrison; I see by your face th
