Oldstone broke the seal, put on his spectacles, and thus began:--

  _Letter from Mr. Vandyke McGuilp to Mr. Oldstone._

                                               "Rome, Oct. --, 17--. "MY ESTEEMED FRIEND,

  "I offer you my most humble apologies for my delay in answering your
  interesting and most welcome letter, which, in fact, I have only just
  received. You will see by what follows that there were some
  extenuating circumstances, which may go far towards exculpating my
  apparent neglect. Your letter arrived at the 'Café Greco,' where I
  usually have my letters directed, the day after my departure from
  Rome. They could not forward it, not knowing my whereabouts, so I did
  not get it until after my return. "I must now go back some months to explain to you how, from over
  anxiety about finishing a picture, I had put off my trip for the
  summer so late as to be about the last man left in Rome; for all those
  who can abandon the Eternal City before the great heat comes on. At
  the time I speak of I actually believe there were more statues in Rome
  than living men. The models even had all returned to their respective
  villages, and the steps of the Spanish Staircase in the Piazza di
  Spagna were deserted. You may remember, sir, how even in your day they
  congregated in groups on this broad and elegant flight of steps,
  waiting for custom, lighting up the scene with their bright costumes. Well, the heat grew at length unbearable, till, what with over-work
  and the climate, I found myself prostrate with Roman fever. I was
  necessarily confined to my bed, and it was with difficulty that I
  could find a doctor. At last they sent me a Capuchin friar, who
  professed to have some knowledge of medical science--very limited, I
  should imagine, though perhaps enough for my purpose. He prescribed
  me medicine, and sent to attend upon me the cobbler's wife, who lives
  on the ground floor, and who makes my bed and sweeps out my room for
  me. The poor old woman has a sick husband, and looks far from healthy
  herself. She is yellow, almost toothless, with a strong beard, very
  far from clean--and oh! her breath! There, I will say no more. The
  poor old thing did her best, no doubt, and I don't want to be
  ungrateful. I couldn't help wishing, I remember, that instead of being
  laid up here I could have been laid up in England--somewhere in the
  country--say at the 'Headless Lady,' and had the pretty Helen to wait
  upon me. It would be worth while getting ill then." "Stay," broke in Helen; "does he say that? Let me see. You are not
joking with me, sir?" "No, my dear," answered Oldstone, "I am not joking. You may see for
yourself; but I don't know if I ought to read you all this nonsense. Won't it content you just to know that he is alive and well?" Without heeding her friend and counsellor, Helen rubbed her hands
together with glee, and laughed, saying, "Oh! I _do_ wish he would come
and be ill in our house--oh! no, I don't mean that, do I? I mean that he
would come and live here altogether, without being ill, and that I could
be with him always, all day long, and never leave him." "Yes, my dear," replied Oldstone; "I know what you mean. You would
like--there, never mind. The thing can't be, so what is the use of
thinking about him?" "Why not, if it makes me happy?" was the rejoinder. "There, there, I can never argue with a woman," muttered Oldstone. "I've
a good mind not to read you any more of his nonsense." "Mr. Oldstone," cried Helen, "you know you couldn't be so cruel." "Well, my dear," asked her friend, "what more do you want to know? I
can't wade knee-deep through all this. There isn't time. Your mother
will be calling you soon." "Oh, yes, sir, please. Just a little more before mother calls. Then I'll
go at once," pleaded Helen, coaxingly. The antiquary was as wax in her hands. "Well, then, he goes on to say:"

"As soon as I was fairly recovered, I thought I would delay my holiday
no longer, and accordingly took the diligence, only too glad to leave
the infected city behind me, and to breathe a little fresh mountain air. What a complete change of climate I experienced high up in these
mountain regions! And, oh! I cannot describe to you the extreme beauty
and wildness of the scenery; the quaintness of some of these mountain
villages, and the primitive state of their inhabitants! I had not been
long in one of these out-of-the-way places when one morning I was
tramping along in search of the picturesque, laden with my painting
materials, when from behind some rocky crags some dozen brigands
surrounded me. "'_Faccia in terra_' (face on the ground), cried the brigand chief and
the rest of the band in chorus, as they levelled their carbines at me. "I was alone and unarmed, so had no choice but to do as I was commanded,
so I prostrated myself, face to the ground. Several brigands came
forward to search me, robbed me of my gold watch and all my loose cash. Then they opened my pocket-book, where, besides finding paper money,
they came upon my passport. This they handed to their chief. "'So,' said he, after perusing it; 'so it seems you are an Englishman. Good. The English are rich. You must put up with our company until your
friends can disburse the sum of ten thousand pounds sterling.' "In vain I tried to explain to him that I was only a poor artist, who
earned his living by the sweat of his brow. I saw I was not believed. "'But you have rich friends,' he persisted. 'I know it by your face; so
you don't fool me.' "He then made a sign for me to follow them, so I had to tramp higher and
higher up into the mountains, till I was ready to drop, while these well
trained mountaineers leapt from crag to crag with the agility of a
chamois, till they reached a cave, where they halted." "There, Helen, run along," said Mr. Oldstone, as he had got thus far. "There's your mother calling you." Off rushed Helen to her mother, who was waiting for her at the door of
the kitchen. "Come, girl," cried Dame Hearty, "I can't think what you find to talk
about with Mr. Oldstone every day. You are quite losing your head. Now,
set to work, for we are terribly behind-hand." The door once closed upon Helen, our antiquary read his friend's letter
slowly through to the end. It gave an elaborate account of our artist's
experience with the brigands, which we need not relate. Stay!--here was
something at the end of the letter, marked "Private," that promised to
be interesting. What could it be? "(_Private._)--I must now touch upon a subject which causes me the
  greatest anxiety. A report has reached me through an artist friend,
  who was staying on a visit to Lord Landborough, who, you will
  remember, bought my picture entitled 'The Landlord's Daughter.'