you through the keyhole last night, sir. I wish you
good-morning."

Returning to my hotel, I left no attempt to discover her untried.
I traced the coachman who had driven her. He had set her down at
a shop, and had then been dismissed. I questioned the
shop-keeper. He remembered that he had sold some articles of
linen to a lady with her veil down and a traveling-bag in her
hand, and he remembered no more. I circulated a description of
her in the different coach offices. Three "elegant young ladies,
with their veils down, and with traveling-bags in their hands,"
answered to the description; and which of the three was the
fugitive of whom I was in search, it was impossible to discover.
In the days of railways and electric telegraphs I might have
succeeded in tracing her. In the days of which I am now writing,
she set investigation at defiance.

I read and reread her letter, on the chance that some slip of the
pen might furnish the clew which I had failed to find in any
other way. Here is the narrative that she addressed to me, copied
from the original, word for word:


"DEAR SIR--Forgive me for leaving you again as I left you in
Perthshire. After what took place last night, I have no other
choice (knowing my own weakness, and the influence that you seem
to have over me) than to thank you gratefully for your kindness,
and to bid you farewell. My sad position must be my excuse for
separating myself from you in this rude manner, and for venturing
to send you back your letter of introduction. If I use the
letter, I only offer you a means of communicating with me. For
your sake, as well as for mine, this mu st not be. I must never
give you a second opportunity of saying that you love me; I must
go away, leaving no trace behind by which you can possibly
discover me.

"But I cannot forget that I owe my poor life to your compassion
and your courage. You, who saved me, have a right to know what
the provocation was that drove me to drowning myself, and what my
situation is, now that I am (thanks to you) still a living woman.
You shall hear my sad story, sir; and I will try to tell it as
briefly as possible.

"I was married, not very long since, to a Dutch gentleman, whose
name is Van Brandt. Please excuse my entering into family
particulars. I have endeavored to write and tell you about my
dear lost father and my old home. But the tears come into my eyes
when I think of my happy past life. I really cannot see the lines
as I try to write them.

"Let me, then, only say that Mr. Van Brandt was well recommended
to my good father before I married. I have only now discovered
that he obtained these recommendations from his friends under a
false pretense, which it is needless to trouble you by mentioning
in detail. Ignorant of what he had done, I lived with him
happily. I cannot truly declare that he was the object of my
first love, but he was the one person in the world whom I had to
look up to after my father's death. I esteemed him and respected
him, and, if I may say so without vanity, I did indeed make him a
good wife.

"So the time went on, sir, prosperously enough, until the evening
came when you and I met on the bridge.

"I was out alone in our garden, trimming the shrubs, when the
maid-servant came and told me there was a foreign lady in a
carriage at the door who desired to say a word to Mrs. Van
Brandt. I sent the maid on before to show her into the
sitting-room, and I followed to receive my visitor as soon as I
had made myself tidy. She was a dreadful woman, with a flushed,
fiery face and impudent, bright eyes. 'Are you Mrs. Van Brandt?'
she said. I answered, 'Yes.' 'Are you really married to him?' she
asked me. That question (naturally enough, I think) upset my
temper. I said, 'How dare you doubt it?' She laughed in my face.
'Send for Van Brandt,' she said. I went out into the passage and
called him down from the room upstairs in which he was writing.
'Ernest,' I said, 'here is a person who has insulted me. Come
down directly.' He left his room the moment he heard me. The
woman followed me out into the passage to meet him. She made him
a low courtesy. He turned deadly pale the moment he set eyes on
her. That frightened me. I said to him, 'For God's sake, what
does this mean?' He took me by the arm, and he answered: 'You
shall know soon. Go back to your gardening, and don't return to
the house till I send for you.' His looks were so shocking, he
was so unlike himself, that I declare he daunted me. I let him
take me as far as the garden door. He squeezed my hand. 'For my
sake, darling,' he whispered, 'do what I ask of you.' I went into
the garden and sat me down on the nearest bench, and waited
impatiently for what was to come.

"How long a time passed I don't know. My anxiety got to such a
pitch at last that I could bear it no longer. I ventured back to
the house.

"I listened in the passage, and heard nothing. I went close to
the parlor door, and still there was silence. I took courage, and
opened the door.

"The room was empty. There was a letter on the table. It was in
my husband's handwriting, and it was addressed to me. I opened it


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