"Permit me to introduce myself," said the Englishman, as he ripped his coat-lining and drew out a folded sheet of purple parchment. "I am Lord Ronley, fifth Earl of Pickford, and, cousin of his Most Excellent Majesty the King of England; there is the proof." He tossed the parchment to the table carelessly, resuming his chair. "Forgive me," said he, as the general took it. "I have little taste for such theatricals. Necessity is my only excuse." "It is enough," said the other. "I am glad to know you. I hope sometime we shall stop fighting each other--we of the same race and blood. It is unnatural." "Give me your hand," said the Englishman, with heartier feeling than I had seen him show, as he advanced. "Amen! I say to you." "Will you write your message? Here are ink and paper," said the general. His Lordship sat down at the table and hurriedly wrote these letters:-- "PRESCOTT, ONTARIO, November 17, 1813. "To SIR CHARLES GRAVLEIGH, The Weirs, above Landsmere, Wrentham, Frontenac County, Canada. "MY DEAR GRAVLEIGH: Will you see that the baroness and her two wards, the Misses de Lambert, are conveyed by my coach, on the evening of the 18th inst, to that certain point on the shore pike between Amsbury and Lakeside known as Burnt Ridge, there to wait back in the timber for my messenger? Tell them they are to be returned to their home, and give them my very best wishes. Lamson will drive, and let the bearer ride with the others. "Very truly yours, "RONLEY." _To whom it may concern_. "Mme. St. Jovite, the bearer, is on her way to my house at Wrentham, Frontenac County, second concession, with a despatch of urgent character. I shall be greatly favored by all who give her furtherance in this journey. "Respectfully, etc., "Ronley, "Colonel of King's Guard." For fear of a cipher, the general gave tantamount terms for each letter, and his Lordship rewrote them. "I thought the name St. Jovite would be as good as any," he remarked. The rendezvous was carefully mapped. The guard came, and his Lordship rose languidly. "One thing more," said he. "Let the men go over without arms--if--if you will be so good." "I shall consider that," said the general. "And when shall the messenger start?" "Within the hour, if possible," my chief answered. As they went away, the general sat down with me for a moment, to discuss the matter. XXII Herein is the story of the adventures of his Lordship's courier, known as Mme. St. Jovite, on and after the night of November 17, 1813, in Upper Canada. This account may be accepted as quite trustworthy, its writer having been known to me these many years, in the which neither I nor any of my friends have had occasion to doubt her veracity. The writer gave more details than are desirable, but the document is nothing more than a letter to an intimate friend. I remember well she had an eye for color and a taste for description not easy to repress.