two remaining narratives. One was contained in a letter, and the
other in the form of a diary, and both had been received by him
directly from the writers. Besides these contributions, he had
undertaken to help us by some work of his own, and had been
engaged for the last four days in molding certain events which
had happened within his personal knowledge into the form of a
story. His extreme fastidiousness as a writer interfered,
however, so seriously with his progress that he was still sadly
behindhand, and was likely, though less heavily burdened than
Morgan or myself, to be the last to complete his allotted task.

Such was our position, and such the resources at our command,
when the first of the Ten Days dawned upon us. Shortly after four
in the afternoon I completed my work of revision, numbered the
manuscripts from one to six exactly as they happened to lie under
my hand, and inclosed them all in a portfolio, covered with
purple morocco, which became known from that time by the imposing
title of The Purple Volume.

Miss Jessie returned from her expedition just as I was tying the
strings of the portfolio, and, womanlike, instantly asked leave
to peep inside, which favor I, manlike, positively declined to
grant.

As soon as dinner was over our guest retired to array herself in
magnificent evening costume. It had been arranged that the
readings were to take place in her own sitting-room; and she was
so enthusiastically desirous to do honor to the occasion, that
she regretted not having brought with her from London the dress
in which she had been presented at court the year before, and not