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"How could a poor devil like myself ever aspire to the hand of the daughter of the Baron de Hetzendorf? The name doesn't convey much to you, I suppose?" "No, I don't take much interest in unknown foreigners, I confess," replied Walter, with a smile.
Each man seated there knew that exposure of the tactics by which they were ruling the Bourse would mean the sudden end of their great prosperity. "But this is not the first occasion that documents have been stolen from Sir Henry at Glencardine," remarked the Baron Conrad de Hetzendorf.
The Tziganes that brown-faced race of gipsy wanderers, the women with their bright-coloured skirts and head-dresses, and the men with the wonderful old silver filigree buttons upon their coats -had related to him many weird stories regarding Hetzendorf and the meaning of those whispers. Yet none of their stories was so curious as that which Murie had just told him.
"I don't think there'd be much chance of that, old chap," laughed the other. "They're only heard by those doomed to an early death." "I may be. Who knows?" he asked gloomily. "Well, if I were you I wouldn't anticipate catastrophe." "No," said his friend in a more serious tone, "I've already heard those at Hetzendorf, and well, I confess they've aroused in my mind some very uncanny apprehensions."
At the moment that I pen these final lines the pair are spending a blissful honeymoon at the great old chateau of Hetzendorf, high up above the broad-flowing Danube, the Baron having kindly vacated the place and put it at their disposal for the summer.
Upon a steep hill, five kilometres from the town, stands the Baron's residence, a long, rather inartistic white building, which, however, is very luxuriously furnished. Comparatively modern, it stands near the ruins of a great old castle of Hetzendorf, which commands a wide sweep of the Danube.
Make my compliments to your wife, and believe me ever Your best Friend and Brother, FRANCIS. HETZENDORF, July 20, 1797.
The ruins of the ancient castle, where the great Marquis of Glencardine, who was such a figure in Scottish history, was born, stands perched up above a deep, delightful glen; and some little distance off stands the modern house, built in great part from the ruins of the stronghold." "And there are noises heard there the same as at Hetzendorf, you say?"
I also give my palace at Hetzendorf as a model hospital for the reception of the children of fifty families, who shall there be inoculated and cared for at my expense. This is the monument I shall erect to my beloved Josepha; and when the little ones who are rescued from death thank God for their recovery, they will pray for my poor child's departed soul. Does this please you, my son?"
Turning out of the Temple, Edgar Hamilton walked along the Strand to the Metropole, in Northumberland Avenue, where he was staying. His mind was full of what his friend had said full of that curious legend of Glencardine which coincided so strangely with that of far-off Hetzendorf. The jostling crowd in the busy London thoroughfare he did not see.
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