“Yes,” said the duke.

“Rose was thereupon committed for perjury.  I found her in prison on that charge when I returned to Scotland.  I did not see her then.  I was afraid to show myself, especially as I knew the girl felt very bitterly toward me, believing that I had willfully betrayed her into danger, when in point of fact it was her own dishonesty that led to her arrest.  Her vanity tempted her to purloin and secrete a portion of the most valuable jewels from the booty that had accidentally in the confusion of the thieves’ flight fallen into my hands along with the money that was my own.  I had intended, secretly to return the jewels upon the first opportunity, but the unfortunate woman secreted them, and denied all knowledge of them.  After my flight she was so mad as to wear the watch in public, and to take it to a West End jeweller for repairs.  Of course that jeweller, like others, had a full description of the watch, recognized the stolen property, and caused the arrest of the holder.”

“We heard all that on the trial.  Do not exhaust yourself by repeating anything that has already come to our knowledge,” said the duke.

“I refer to this only to explain the bitterness of the girl’s feelings toward me as the reason why I was obliged to keep concealed.”

“But if the girl had been favorable toward you, would not it have been equally dangerous for you to have shown yourself?”

“Oh! no; my disguise was too complete.  Besides, if I had not been disguised—­you see in that neighborhood I had never been known as myself, but had always been mistaken for you—­and the people were not undeceived up to that time.  Give me a little more brandy.  Ah! this spurring up a jaded horse!  You see it does not get into my head.  It only keeps up my sinking strength,” added the man, after the duke had complied with his request.

“I remained in the neighborhood to see the result of Rose Cameron’s trial for perjury.  It was near the end of the term when she was arraigned at Banff.  She would certainly have been convicted, for it was in evidence that she had sworn that the Marquis of Arondelle had been the confederate of the thieves and murderers, and had himself received and delivered to her the stolen booty; and her testimony was rebutted on the spot, not only by the high character and standing of the marquis, but by witnesses who proved an alibi for him.  She would certainly have been convicted, I say, had not an unexpected witness appeared in her behalf.  John Potts, the valet, who had been discharged from custody, came upon the stand, took the oath, and testified to the existence of a perfect counterpart of the Marquis of Arondelle, in the person of one John Scott, the companion of the accused woman, who had always foolishly believed him to be the young marquis himself.  This testimony not only vindicated the accused woman from the charge of perjury, but opened her eyes to the facts of the case—­namely, that I had never abandoned her to suffer in my stead while I went off to marry another woman, as she had supposed—­that my only sin against her was in having allowed her to deceive herself in believing me to be Lord Arondelle.”