There had come a letter in the stage from Winchester.  She opened it.  “Could Mr. Rand arrive by such a day?  The case was important—­the interests large—­the fee large, too.  Could he come just as soon as the jury, the press, and Mr. Jefferson hanged Aaron Burr?  An early reply—­”

Jacqueline rose, brought writing-materials from the escritoire to the table, and copied rapidly, in her clear, Italian hand, the Winchester letter, then laid it to one side to be folded with her own to Lewis for to-morrow’s stage to Williamsburgh.  The next letter was, she knew, from Albemarle, and not important.  She laid it aside.  The third she opened; it was from a gentleman in Westmoreland who wished in a certain litigation “the services, sir, of the foremost lawyer in the state.”  Jacqueline smiled and laid it with the Albemarle letter.  The matter might wait until the foremost lawyer’s return.  There were now two letters, and neither was from Washington.  One was indeed about matters political, a tirade from a party leader on Rand’s folly in declining, last year, the nomination for Governor, but it contained nothing to demand his instant attention.  The other, which had come by boat from Norfolk, seemed of no consequence.

Jacqueline put both aside, and took into her hand the packet given her by Colonel Nicholas.  She sat for a moment, looking at the superscription.  “A letter from Washington,” Lewis said, “outlining the Embargo measures.  Open and glance through it to see if there be any message I should have at once.”  She thought no otherwise than that this was the letter in question.  Mr. Jefferson was, she knew, upon the defensive in regard to these measures, and she was glad to believe that he had fallen into an ancient habit and was willing, as of old, to expatiate upon his policy to Lewis Rand.

She broke the red seals and unfolded the paper.  It proved to be a letter covering a letter.  She let fall the folded, inner missive, drew a candle nearer, and read in Jefferson’s small, formal, and very clear hand:—­

I have the honour to restore to you the letter which you will find enclosed.  If you ask how it came into my hands, I have but to say that, in times of crisis and peril, rules of conduct, on the part of a government as of an individual, have somewhat to bow to necessity.  Enough that it did come into my hands—­last autumn.  Judge if I have used it against you!  It is now returned to you because I no longer conceive it necessary to hold it.  I might have burned it; I prefer that you shall do so.

I have but a word to add to our conversation of last August at Monticello.  I am a man of strong affections.  Your youth and all the eager service you did me in those years, and the great hopes I had for you, endeared you to me.  These things are present in my mind.  Were they not so, you would have heard from me in other wise!  Were they not so, that which I now enclose should not travel back to the writer’s