09 Sands
09 Sands
by
Bram Stoker
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www.bramstoker.org
***
Mr. Arthur Fernlee Markam, who took what was known as the Red
House above the Mains of Crooken, was a London merchant, and being
essentially a cockney, thought it necessary when he went for the
summer holidays to Scotland to provide an entire rig-out as a
Highland chieftain, as manifested in chromolithographs and on
the music-hall stage. He had once seen in the Empire the Great
Prince-"The Bounder King"-bring down the house by appearing as "The
MacSlogan of that Ilk," and singing the celebrated Scotch song.
"There's naething like haggis to mak a mon dry!" and he had ever
since preserved in his mind a faithful image of the picturesque
and warlike appearance which he presented. Indeed, if the true
inwardness of Mr. Markam's mind on the subject of his selection of
Aberdeenshire as a summer resort were known, it would be found that
in the foreground of the holiday locality which his fancy painted
stalked the many hued figure of the MacSlogan of that Ilk. However,
be this as it may, a very kind fortune-certainly so far as external
beauty was concerned-led him to the choice of Crooken Bay. It is
a lovely spot, between Aberdeen and Peterhead, just under the
rock-bound headland whence the long, dangerous reefs known as The
Spurs run out into the North Sea. Between this and the "Mains of
Crooken"-a village sheltered by the northern cliffs-lies the deep
bay, backed with a multitude of bent-grown dunes where the rabbits
are to be found in thousands. Thus at either end of the bay is a
rocky promontory, and when the dawn or the sunset falls on the
rocks of red syenite the effect is very lovely. The bay itself is
floored with level sand and the tide runs far out, leaving a smooth
waste of hard sand on which are dotted here and there the stake nets
and bag nets of the salmon fishers. At one end of the bay there is
a little group or cluster of rocks whose heads are raised something
above high water, except when in rough weather the waves come over
them green. At low tide they are exposed down to sand level; and
here is perhaps the only little bit of dangerous sand on this part
of the eastern coast. Between the rocks, which are apart about some
fifty feet, is a small quicksand, which, like the Goodwins, is
dangerous only with the incoming tide. It extends outwards till it
is lost in the sea, and inwards till it fades away in the hard sand
of the upper beach. On the slope of the hill which rises beyond
the dunes, midway between the Spurs and the Port of Crooken, is the
Red House. It rises from the midst of a clump of fir-trees which
protect it on three sides, leaving the whole sea front open. A trim,
old-fashioned garden stretches down to the roadway, on crossing
which a grassy path, which can be used for light vehicles, threads
a way to the shore, winding amongst the sand hills.
When the Markam family arrived at the Red House after their
thirty-six hours of pitching on the Aberdeen steamer Ban Righ from
Blackwall, with the subsequent train to Yellon and drive of a dozen
miles, they all agreed that they had never seen a more delightful
spot. The general satisfaction was more marked as at that very time
none of the family were, for several reasons, inclined to find
favourable anything or any place over the Scottish border. Though
the family was a large one, the prosperity of the business allowed
them all sorts of personal luxuries, amongst which was a wide
latitude in the way of dress. The frequency of the Markam girls'
new frocks was a source of envy to their bosom friends and of joy
to themselves.
Arthur Fernlee Markam had not taken his family into his
confidence regarding his new costume. He was not quite certain
that he should be free from ridicule, or at least from sarcasm,
and as he was sensitive on the subject, he thought it better
to be actually in the suitable environment before he allowed the
full splendour to burst on them. He had taken some pains to insure
the completeness of the Highland costume. For the purpose he had
paid many visits to "The Scotch All-Wool Tartan Clothing Mart"
which had been lately established in Copthall-court by the Messrs.
MacCallum More and Roderick MacDhu. He had anxious consultations
with the head of the firm-MacCullum as he called himself, resenting
any such additions as "Mr." or "Esquire." The known stock of buckles,
buttons, straps, brooches and ornaments of all kinds were examined
in critical detail; and at last an eagle's feather of sufficiently
magnificent proportions was discovered, and the equipment was
complete. It was only when he saw the finished costume, with the
vivid hues of the tartan seemingly modified into comparative
sobriety by the multitude of silver fittings, the cairngorm
brooches, the philibeg, dirk and sporran that he was fully and
absolutely satisfied with his choice. At first he had thought of
the Royal Stuart dress tartan, but abandoned it on the MacCallum
pointing out that if he should happen to be in the neighbourhood
of Balmoral it might lead to complications. The MacCullum, who,
by the way, spoke with a remarkable cockney accent, suggested
other plaids in turn; but now that the other question of accuracy
had been raised, Mr. Markam foresaw difficulties if he should by
chance find himself in the locality of the clan whose colours he
had usurped. The MacCallum at last undertook to have, at Markam's
expense, a special pattern woven which would not be exactly the
same as any existing tartan, though partaking of the characteristics
of many. It was based on the Royal Stuart, but contained suggestions
as to simplicity of pattern from the Macalister and Ogilvie clans,
and as to neutrality of colour from the clans of Buchanan, Macbeth,
Chief of Macintosh and Macleod. When the specimen had been shown
to Markam he had feared somewhat lest it should strike the eye of
his domestic circle as gaudy; but as Roderick MacDhu fell into
perfect ecstasies over its beauty he did not make any objection
to the completion of the piece. He thought, and wisely, that if a
genuine Scotchman like MacDhu liked it, it must be right-especially
as the junior partner was a man very much of his own build and
appearance. When the MacCallum was receiving his cheque-which, by
the way, was a pretty stiff one-he remarked:
"I've taken the liberty of having some more of the stuff woven in
case you or any of your friends should want it." Markam was gratified,
and told him that he should be only too happy if the beautiful stuff
which they had originated between them should become a favourite, as
he had no doubt it would in time. He might make and sell as much as
he would.
Markam tried the dress on in his office one evening after the
clerks had all gone home. He was pleased, though a little frightened,
at the result. The MacCullum had done his work thoroughly, and there
was nothing omitted that could add to the martial dignity of the
wearer.
"I shall not, of course, take the claymore and the pistols with
me on ordinary occasions," said Markam to himself as he began to
undress. He determined that he would wear the dress for the first
time on landing in Scotland, and accordingly on the morning when the
Ban Righ was hanging off the Girdle Ness lighthouse, waiting for
the tide to enter the port of Aberdeen, he emerged from his cabin
in all the gaudy splendour of his new costume. The first comment
he heard was from one of his own sons, who did not recognise him
at first.
"Here's a guy! Great Scott! It's the governor!" And the boy
fled forthwith and tried to bury his laughter under a cushion in
the saloon. Markam was a good sailor and had not suffered from
the pitching of the boat, so that his naturally rubicund face was
even more rosy by the conscious blush which suffused his cheeks
when he had found himself at once the cynosure of all eyes. He
could have wished that he had not been so bold for he knew from
the cold that there was a big bare spot under one side of his
jauntily worn Glengarry cap. However, he faced the group of
strangers boldly. He was not, outwardly, upset even when some
of their comments reached his ears.
"Happy thought! Let us fill our mulls; now's the chance!" said
a young Oxford man on his way home to Inverness. But presently Mr.
Markam heard the voice of his eldest daughter.
"Where is he? Where is he?" and she came tearing along the deck
with her hat blowing behind her. Her face showed signs of agitation,
for her mother had just been telling her of her father's condition;
but when she saw him she instantly burst into laughter so violent
that it ended in a fit of hysterics. Something of the same kind
happened to each of the other children. When they had all had their
turn Mr. Markam went to his cabin and sent his wife's maid to tell
each member of the family that he wanted to see them at once. They
all made their appearance, suppressing their feelings as well as
they could. He said to them very quietly:
"Yes, father!" they all answered gravely, "no one could be more
generous!"
"There, now, run away and enjoy yourselves! We shan't have another
word about it." Then he went on deck again and stood bravely the fire
of ridicule which he recognised around him, though nothing more was
said within his hearing.
Mrs. Markam and the elder girls would have liked to make some
protest or to do something to relieve their feelings of chagrin at
the ridicule which they saw on all faces, but there was a look of
fixed determination on the face of the seeming Highlander which
awed them a little, and they were silent. It might have been that
the eagle's feather, even when rising above the bald head, the
cairngorm brooch even on the fat shoulder, and the claymore, dirk
and pistols, even when belted round the extensive paunch and
protruding from the stocking on the sturdy calf, fulfilled their
existence as symbols of martial and terrifying import! When the
party arrived at the gate of the Red House there awaited them
a crowd of Crooken inhabitants, hatless and respectfully silent;
the remainder of the population was painfully toiling up the hill.
The silence was broken by only one sound, that of a man with a
deep voice.
Mr. Markam was not quite satisfied with his walk. He could not
meet any of his neighbours. It was not that there were not enough
people about, for every house and cottage seemed to be full; but the
people when in the open were either in their doorways some distance
behind him, or on the roadway a long distance in front. As he passed
he could see the tops of heads and the whites of eyes in the windows
or round the corners of doors. The only interview which he had was
anything but a pleasant one. This was with an odd sort of old man
who was hardly ever heard to speak except to join in the "Amens" in
the meeting-house. His sole occupation seemed to be to wait at the
window of the post-office from eight o'clock in the morning till
the arrival of the mail at one, when he carried the letter-bag to a
neighbouring baronial castle. The remainder of his day was spent
on a seat in a draughty part of the port, where the offal of the
fish, the refuse of the bait, and the house rubbish was thrown, and
where the ducks were accustomed to hold high revel.
When Saft Tammie beheld him coming he raised his eyes, which
were generally fixed on the nothing which lay on the roadway opposite
his seat, and, seeming dazzled as if by a burst of sunshine, rubbed
them and shaded them with his hand. Then he started up and raised his
hand aloft in a denunciatory manner as he spoke:-
Markam could not but feel a little upset by this tirade. Only
that it was spoken by a seeming madman, he would have put it down
to some eccentric exhibition of Scottish humour or impudence; but
the gravity of the message-for it seemed nothing else-made such
a reading impossible. He was, however, determined not to give in to
ridicule, and although he had not as yet seen anything in Scotland
to remind him even of a kilt, he determined to wear his Highland
dress. When he returned home, in less than half-an-hour, he found
that every member of the family was, despite the headaches, out
taking a walk. He took the opportunity afforded by their absence
of locking himself in his dressing-room, took off the Highland
dress, and, putting on a suit of flannels, lit a cigar and had a
snooze. He was awakened by the noise of the family coming in, and
at once donning his dress made his appearance in the drawing-room
for tea.
For a good while Mr. Markam sat and looked at the rising moon and
the growing area of light which followed its rise. Then he turned and
faced eastwards, and sat with his chin in his hand looking seawards,
and revelling in the peace and beauty and freedom of the scene. The
roar of London-the darkness and the strife and weariness of London
life-seemed to have passed quite away, and he lived at the moment
a freer and higher life. He looked at the glistening water as it
stole its way over the flat waste of sand, coming closer and closer
insensibly-the tide had turned. Presently he heard a distant shouting
along the beach very far off.
"God be thankit, I'm nae too late!" and a fisherman with great
thigh-boots came hurriedly climbing over the rock. In an instant
he recognised the gravity of the danger, and with a cheering "Haud
fast, mon! I'm comin'!" scrambled down till he found a firm foothold.
Then with one strong hand holding the rock above, he leaned down,
and catching Markam's wrist, called out to him, "Haud to me, mon!
Haud to me wi' your ither hond!"
Then he lent his great strength, and with a steady, sturdy pull,
dragged him out of the hungry quicksand and placed him safe upon the
rock. Hardly giving him time to draw breath, he pulled and pushed
him-never letting him go for an instant-over the rock into the firm
sand beyond it, and finally deposited him, still shaking from the
magnitude of his danger, high up on the beach. Then he began to
speak:
Mr. Markam was deeply touched and thankful for his escape from a
horrible death; but the sting of the charge of vanity thus made once
more against him came through his humility. He was about to reply
angrily, when suddenly a great awe fell upon him as he remembered the
warning words of the half-crazy letter-carrier: "Meet thyself face
to face, and repent ere the quicksand shall swallow thee!"
The answer came with reverence from the hardy fisherman, "Na!
Na! Ye owe that to God; but, as for me, I'm only too glad till be
the humble instrument o' His mercy."
"But you will let me thank you," said Mr. Markam, taking both
the great hands of his deliverer in his and holding them tight.
"My heart is too full as yet, and my nerves are too much shaken to
let me say much; but, believe me, I am very, very grateful!" It
was quite evident that the poor old fellow was deeply touched, for
the tears were running down his cheeks.
"Ay, sir! thank me and ye will-if it'll do yer poor heart good.
An' I'm thinking that if it were me I'd like to be thankful too. But,
sir, as for me I need no thanks. I am glad, so I am!"
That Arthur Fernlee Markam was really thankful and grateful was
shown practically later on. Within a week's time there sailed into
Port Crooken the finest fishing smack that had ever been seen in
the harbour of Peterhead. She was fully found with sails and gear
of all kinds, and with nets of the best. Her master and men went
away by the coach, after having left with the salmon-fisher's wife
the papers which made her over to him.
"Na! Na!" came the answer, "there is nae sic another fule in
these parts. Nor has there been since the time o' Jamie Fleeman-him
that was fule to the Laird o' Udny. Why, mon! sic a heathenish dress
as ye have on till ye has nae been seen in these pairts within the
memory o' mon. An' I'm thinkin' that sic a dress never was for
sittin' on the cauld rock, as ye done beyont. Mon! but do ye no
fear the rheumatism or the lumbagy wi' floppin' doon on to the
cauld stanes wi' yer bare flesh! I was thinking that it was daft
ye waur when I see ye the mornin' doon be the port, but it's fule
or eediot ye maun be for the like o' thot!" Mr. Markam did not care
to argue the point, and as they were now close to his own home he
asked the salmon-fisher to have a glass of whisky-which he did-and
they parted for the night. He took good care to warn all his family
of the quicksand, telling them that he had himself been in some
danger from it.
All that night he never slept. He heard the hours strike one after
the other; but try how he would he could not get to sleep. Over and
over again he went through the horrible episode of the quicksand,
from the time that Saft Tammie had broken his habitual silence to
preach to him of the sin of vanity and to warn him. The question kept
ever arising in his mind-"Am I then so vain as to be in the ranks of
the foolish?" and the answer ever came in the words of the crazy
prophet: " 'Vanity of vanities! All is vanity.' Meet thyself face to
face, and repent ere the quicksand shall swallow thee!" Somehow a
feeling of doom began to shape itself in his mind that he would yet
perish in that same quicksand, for there he had already met himself
face to face.
In the gray of the morning he dozed off, but it was evident that
he continued the subject in his dreams, for he was fully awakened by
his wife, who said:
"Do sleep quietly! That blessed Highland suit has got on your
brain. Don't talk in your sleep, if you can help it!" He was somehow
conscious of a glad feeling, as if some terrible weight had been
lifted from him, but he did not know any cause for it. He asked his
wife what he had said in his sleep, and she answered:
He was awakened early by a maid who came to tell him that there
was a fisherman at the door who wanted to see him. He dressed himself
as quickly as he could-for he was not yet expert with the Highland
dress-and hurried down, not wishing to keep the salmon-fisher waiting.
He was surprised and not altogether pleased to find that his visitor
was none other than Saft Tammie, who at once opened fire on him:
"I maun gang awa' t' the post; but I thocht that I would waste an
hour on ye, and ca' roond just to see if ye waur still that fou wi'
vanity as on the nicht gane by. An I see that ye've no learned the
lesson. Well! the time is comin', sure eneucht! However I have all
the time i' the marnins to my ain sel', so I'll aye look roond jist
till see how ye gang yer ain gait to the quicksan', and then to
the de'il! I'm aff till ma wark the noo!" And he went straightway,
leaving Mr. Markam considerably vexed, for the maids within earshot
were vainly trying to conceal their giggles. He had fairly made up
his mind to wear on that day ordinary clothes, but the visit of Saft
Tammie reversed his decision. He would show them all that he was not
a coward, and he would go on as he had begun-come what might. When
he came to breakfast in full martial panoply the children, one and all,
held down their heads and the backs of their necks became very red
indeed. As, however, none of them laughed-except Titus, the youngest
boy, who was seized with a fit of hysterical choking and was promptly
banished from the room-he could not reprove them, but began to break
his egg with a sternly determined air. It was unfortunate that as his
wife was handing him a cup of tea one of the buttons of his sleeve
caught in the lace of her morning wrapper, with the result that the
hot tea was spilt over his bare knees. Not unnaturally, he made use
of a swear word, whereupon his wife, somewhat nettled, spoke out:
It was manifest after a few days that Mr. Markam would have to
take the major part of his outdoor exercise by himself. The girls now
and again took a walk with him, chiefly in the early morning or late
at night, or on a wet day when there would be no one about; they
professed to be willing to go at all times, but somehow something
always seemed to occur to prevent it. The boys could never be found
at all on such occasions, and as to Mrs. Markam she sternly refused
to go out with him on any consideration so long as he should continue
to make a fool of himself. On the Sunday he dressed himself in his
habitual broadcloth, for he rightly felt that church was not a place
for angry feelings; but on Monday morning he resumed his Highland
garb. By this time he would have given a good deal if he had never
thought of the dress, but his British obstinacy was strong, and he
would not give in. Saft Tammie called at his house every morning,
and, not being able to see him nor to have any message taken to him,
used to call back in the afternoon when the letter-bag had been
delivered and watched for his going out. On such occasions he never
failed to warn him against his vanity in the same words which he
had used at the first. Before many days were over Mr. Markam had
come to look upon him as little short of a scourge.
By the time the week was out the enforced partial solitude, the
constant chagrin, and the never-ending brooding which was thus
engendered, began to make Mr. Markam quite ill. He was too proud
to take any of his family into his confidence, since they had in his
view treated him very badly. Then he did not sleep well at night,
and when he did sleep he had constantly bad dreams. Merely to assure
himself that his pluck was not failing him he made it a practice to
visit the quicksand at least once every day, he hardly ever failed
to go there the last thing at night. It was perhaps this habit that
wrought the quicksand with its terrible experience so perpetually
into his dreams. More and more vivid these became, till on waking at
times he could hardly realise that he had not been actually in the
flesh to visit the fatal spot. He sometimes thought that he might
have been walking in his sleep.
One night his dream was so vivid that when he awoke he could not
believe that it had only been a dream. He shut his eyes again and
again, but each time the vision, if it was a vision, or the reality,
if it was a reality, would rise before him. The moon was shining
full and yellow over the quicksand as he approached it; he could see
the expanse of light shaken and disturbed and full of black shadows
as the liquid sand quivered and trembled and wrinkled and eddied
as was its wont between its pauses of marble calm. As he drew close
to it another figure came towards it from the opposite side with
equal footsteps. He saw that it was his own figure, his very self,
and in silent terror, compelled by what force he knew not, he
advanced-charmed as the bird is by the snake, mesmerised or
hypnotised,-to meet this other self. As he felt the yielding
sand closing over him he awoke in the agony of death, trembling
with fear, and, strange to say, with the silly man's prophecy
seeming to sound in his ears: " 'Vanity of vanities! All is vanity!'
See thyself and repent ere the quicksand swallow thee!"
"It is a very strange thing, but the man seems to have some odd
kind of gift. Whether it be that 'second sight' which we Scotch
people are so prone to believe in, or some other occult form of
knowledge, I know not, but nothing of a disastrous tendency ever
occurs in this place but the men with whom he lives are able to
quote after the event some saying of his which certainly appears
to have foretold it. He gets uneasy or excited-wakes up, in
fact-when death is in the air!"
This did not in any way tend to lessen Mr. Markam's concern, but
on the contrary seemed to impress the prophecy more deeply on his
mind. Of all the books which he had read on his new subject of study
none interested him so much as a German one "Der Doppelganger" by Dr.
Heinrich von Aschenberg, formerly of Bonn. Here he learned for the
first time of cases where men had led a double existence-each nature
being quite apart from the other-the body being always a reality
with one spirit, and a simulacrum with the other. Needless to say
that Mr. Markam realised this theory as exactly suiting his own case.
The glimpse which he had of his own back the night of his escape
from the quicksand-his own footmarks disappearing into the quicksand
with no return steps visible-the prophecy of Saft Tammie about his
meeting himself and perishing in the quicksand-all lent aid to
the conviction that he was in his own person an instance of the
doppelganger. Being then conscious of a double life he took steps
to prove its existence to his own satisfaction. To this end on one
night before going to bed he wrote his name in chalk on the soles
of his shoes. That night he dreamed of the quicksand, and of his
visiting it-dreamed so vividly that on waking in the gray of the
dawn he could not believe that he had not been there. Arising,
without disturbing his wife, he sought his shoes.
"I have come to see ye once again-once again; and there ye sit,
still just like a cockatoo on a pairch. Weel, mon, I forgie ye! Mind
ye that, I forgie ye!" And without a word more he turned and walked
out of the house, leaving the master in speechless indignation.
"It is not too late," came the quick answer of his better self;
and full of the thought, he rose up to go home and divest himself
of the now hateful costume right away. He paused for one look at
the beautiful scene. The light lay pale and mellow, softening every
outline of rock and tree and house-top, and deepening the shadows
into velvety-black, and lighting, as with a pale flame, the incoming
tide, that now crept fringe-like across the flat waste of sand. Then
he left the rock and stepped out for the shore.
Above him the seagulls screamed, circling round the fringe of the
incoming tide, and the sound being entirely mortal recalled him to
himself. On the instant he stepped back a few quick steps, for as yet
only his feet were merged in the soft sand. As he did so the other
figure stepped forward, and coming within the deadly grip of the
quicksand began to sink. It seemed to Markam that he was looking at
himself going down to his doom, and on the instant the anguish of his
soul found vent in a terrible cry. There was at the same instant a
terrible cry from the other figure, and as Markam threw up his hands
the figure did the same. With horror-struck eyes he saw him sink
deeper into the quicksand; and then, impelled by what power he knew
not, he advanced again towards the sand to meet his fate. But as
his more forward foot began to sink he heard again the cries of the
seagulls which seemed to restore his benumbed faculties. With a
mighty effort he drew his foot out of the sand which seemed to clutch
it, leaving his shoe behind, and then in sheer terror he turned and
ran from the place, never stopping till his breath and strength
failed him, and he sank half swooning on the grassy path through the
sandhills.
***
Arthur Markam made up his mind not to tell his family of his
terrible adventure-until at least such time as he should be complete
master of himself. Now that the fatal double-his other self-had been
engulfed in the quicksand he felt something like his old peace of
mind.
That night he slept soundly and did not dream at all; and in the
morning was quite his old self. It really seemed as though his newer
and worser self had disappeared for ever; and strangely enough Saft
Tammie was absent from his post that morning and never appeared there
again, but sat in his old place watching nothing, as of old, with
lack-lustre eye. In accordance with his resolution he did not wear
his Highland suit again, but one evening tied it up in a bundle,
claymore, dirk and philibeg and all, and bringing it secretly with
him threw it into the quicksand. With a feeling of intense pleasure
he saw it sucked below the sand, which closed above it into marble
smoothness. Then he went home and announced cheerily to his family
assembled for evening prayers.
***
The remainder of the summer was passed at Crooken with delight by all
the family, and on his return to town Mr. Markam had almost forgotten
the whole of the incident of the quicksand, and all touching on it,
when one day he got a letter from the MacCallum More which caused
him much thought, though he said nothing of it to his family, and left
it, for certain reasons, unanswered. It ran as follows:
DEAR SIR,-I trust you will pardon the liberty which I take
in writing to you, but I am desirous of making an inquiry, and
I am informed that you have been sojourning during the summer
in Aberdeenshire (Scotland, N.B.). My partner, Mr. Roderick
MacDhu-as he appears for business reasons on our bill heads and
in our advertisements, his real name being Emmanuel Moses Marks
of London-went early last month to Scotland (N.B.) for a tour,
but as I have only once heard from him, shortly after his
departure, I am anxious lest any misfortune may have befallen
him. As I have been unable to obtain any news of him on making
all inquiries in my power, I venture to appeal to you. His letter
was written in deep dejection of spirit, and mentioned that he
feared a judgment had come upon him for wishing to appear as a
Scotchman on Scottish soil, as he had one moonlight night shortly
after his arrival seen his 'wraith.' He evidently alluded to the
fact that before his departure he had procured for himself a
Highland costume similar to that which we had the honour to
supply to you, with which, as perhaps you will remember, he was
much struck. He may, however, never have worn it, as he was, to
my own knowledge, diffident about putting it on, and even went
so far as to tell me that he would at first only venture to wear
it late at night or very early in the morning, and then only in
remote places, until such time as he should get accustomed to
it. Unfortunately he did not advise me of his route, so that I
am in complete ignorance of his whereabouts; and I venture to
ask if you may have seen or heard of a Highland costume similar
to your own having been seen anywhere in the neighbourhood in
which I am told you have recently purchased the estate which you
temporarily occupied. I shall not expect an answer to this letter
unless you can give me some information regarding my friend and
partner, so pray do not trouble yourself to reply unless there
be cause. I am encouraged to think that he may have been in your
neighbourhood as, though his letter is not dated, the envelope
is marked with the postmark of 'Yellon,' which I find is in
Aberdeenshire, and not far from the Mains of Crooken.