"And you do not find this letter," said I, "affects the conclusion
which you have just told me you have come to concerning your present
plans?"
He smiled, and answered: "No. But if you do what you have
sometimes talked about and turn the adventures of my unworthy self
into a novel, mind you print this letter."
"Why so?" said I, feeling as though such a letter as this should
have been held sacred from the public gaze.
"Because my mother would have wished it published; if she had
known you were writing about me and had this letter in your
possession, she would above all things have desired that you should
publish it. Therefore publish it if you write at all."
This is why I have done so.
Within a month Ernest carried his intention into effect, and
having made all the arrangements necessary for his children's welfare,
left England before Christmas.
I heard from him now and again and learnt that he was visiting
almost all parts of the world, but only staying in those places
where he found the inhabitants unusually good-looking and agreeable.
He said he had filled an immense quantity of note-books, and I have no
doubt he had. At last in the spring of 1867 he returned, his luggage
stained with the variation of each hotel advertisement 'twixt here and
Japan.
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