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 was exactly one month after I had left the body of Count Fédor Uspensky in the hands of the local authorities at Malo that I received a letter from Sir Nicolas Steele—the last I ever had from him. I was then in Paris, whither I had gone direct, as he had told me; and I learned there, for the first time, that he was about to marry the daughter of Field-marshal Pouzatòv, and to settle down for good. At the same time he enclosed me a draft for a thousand pounds, and hinted that henceforth we would do well, perhaps, to take different roads through life.

"You have been a good man to me," said he in that letter, "and it goes to my heart to think that this is the end of it all. Whatever comes, I shall never forget the years in which you have been my servant and my friend. But I know your whims, and that such a life as I now propose to lead would not be the life for you. Accept the enclosed draft as a small token of a great gratitude, and be assured that wherever you are, or whatever you may do, my help will be there for you as you need it."

A fortnight after I received this letter, I was on