Hearts to break but nane to sell,
Gear to tine but nane to hain;--
We maun dree a weary spell
Ere our lad comes back again.



II

A LUCID INTERVAL


To adopt the opening words of a more famous tale, "The truth
of this strange matter is what the world has long been looking
for." The events which I propose to chronicle were known to
perhaps a hundred people in London whose fate brings them into
contact with politics. The consequences were apparent to all the
world, and for one hectic fortnight tinged the soberest
newspapers with saffron, drove more than one worthy election
agent to an asylum, and sent whole batches of legislators to
Continental cures. "But no reasonable explanation of the
mystery has been forthcoming until now, when a series of chances
gave the key into my hands.

Lady Caerlaverock is my aunt, and I was present at the two
remarkable dinner-parties which form the main events in this
tale. I was also taken into her confidence during the terrible
fortnight which intervened between them. Like everybody else, I
was hopelessly in the dark, and could only accept what happened
as a divine interposition. My first clue came when James, the