It is true certainly that there was a daughter named Charlotte or Caroline, or both, born to the Prince and Miss Walkenshaw in the year 1753. But it was the mother, not the daughter, who was suspected of being a spy in English pay. Clementina left the Prince, driven away by his sottish brutalities, just as did his legal wife, the Countess of Albany. The Countess adjusted her account by running away with Alfieri the poet. Abandoned by both women, Charles seems to have found some consolation in the society of his daughter Charlotte, to whom, even in his last degraded years, he showed his better side. He went through the form of making her Duchess of Albany. She remained with him till his death in 1788, and seems to have followed him to the grave a year afterwards. In any case, Stewart, the sea-captain of the legend, did not find his way to our southern isles till the earlier years of the nineteenth century. That was too late by a generation for Jacobite exiles to be concerned about the treachery of English agents. He is described in Surgeon-Major Thomson’s book as a man “who had seen the world and drunk Burgundy,” so it is possible that the story may have had a Burgundian origin. Who the buried Frenchwoman was I cannot say, but French seamen and explorers, as the map shows, have visited and examined Campbell Island. It would be a desolate spot for a Frenchwoman to live in; but when we are under earth, then, if the grave be deep enough, all lands, I suppose, are much alike. APPENDIX A WORD TO THE TOURIST [Illustration: WHITE CLIFFS, BULLER RIVER]