3rd Narrative, Contributed by Franklin Blake, Chapter 1.

In the spring of the year 1849, I was wandering in the east, and had then recently altered

the traveling plans, which I laid out some months before, in which I had communicated to

my lawyer and my banker in London.

This change made it necessary for me to send one of my servants to obtain my letters and

remittances from the English Council in a certain city, which was no longer included,

as one of my resting places in my new traveling scheme.

The man was to join me again at an appointed place in time, an accident for which he was

not responsible, delayed him on his errand.

For a week, I and my people waited, encamped on the borders of a desert.

At the end of that time, the missing man made his appearance, with the money and the letters

at the entrance of my tent.

"'I am afraid I bring you bad news, sir,' he said, and pointed to one of the letters,

which had a morning border rounded, and the address on which was in the handwriting

of Mr. Brough.

I know nothing, in a case of this kind, so unendurable as suspense.

The letter, with the morning border, was the letter that I opened first.

It informed me that my father was dead, and that I was heir to his great fortune.

The wealth, which had thus fallen into my hands, brought it responsibilities with it, and

Mr. Brough entreated me to lose no time in returning to England.

By daybreak the next morning I was on my way back to my own country.

The picture presented of me by my old friend Betteridge at the time of my departure from

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