years old, judging from the lines about his mouth and eyes, but in some
other respects he looked considerably younger. He wore neither beard nor
whiskers, but his short hair, and his thick, drooping moustache were
both jet black, and betrayed as yet, thanks either to Nature or Art,
none of those straggling streaks of silver which tell so plainly of the
advance of years. He had a clear olive complexion, a large aquiline nose
and deep-set eyes, piercing and full of fire, under a grand sweep of
eyebrow. In person he was tall and thin; broad-chested, but lean in the
flank, with hands and feet that looked almost effeminate, so small were
they in comparison with his size. A black frock-coat, tightly buttoned,
set off to advantage a figure of which he might still be reasonably
proud. The remainder of his costume was in quiet keeping with the first
fashion of the period.

Captain Ducie smoked and read and stared out of the window much as
eleven out of twelve of us would do under similar circumstances, while
milepost after milepost flashed out for an instant and was gone. After a
time he took a letter out of his breast-pocket, opened it, and read it.
It was brief, and ran as under:--

"Stapleton, Scotland, March 31st.

"MY DEAR NED,--Since you wish it, come down here for a few weeks;
whether to recruit your health or your finances matters not.
Mountain air and plain living are good for both. However, I warn
you beforehand that you will find us very dull. Lady B.'s health is
hardly what it ought to be, and we are seeing no company just now.
If you like to take us as we are, I say again--come.

"As for the last paragraph of your letter, I scarcely know in what