has interested her. She has given herself up,
more and more hopelessly, to her own brooding
thoughts; thoughts which I believe first
entered her mind, on the day when the utter
ruin of the prospects on which her marriage
depended was made known to her. She has
formed some desperate project of contesting the
possession of her father's fortune with Michael
Vanstone; and the stage career which she
has gone away to try, is nothing more than a
means of freeing herself from all home-dependence,
and of enabling her to run what mad risks
she pleases, in perfect security from all
home-control. What it costs me to write of her in
these terms, I must leave you to imagine. The
time has gone by when any consideration of
distress to my own feelings can weigh with me.
Whatever I can say which will open your eyes
to the real danger, and strengthen your conviction
of the instant necessity of averting it, I say
in despite of myself, without hesitation and
without reserve.

"One word more, and I have done.

"The last time you were so good as to come
to this house, do you remember how Magdalen
embarrassed and distressed us, by questioning
you about her right to bear her father's name?
Do you remember her persisting in her
inquiries, until she had forced you to acknowledge
that, legally speaking, she and her sister had No
Name? I venture to remind you of this, because
you have the affairs of hundreds of clients to
think of, and you might well have forgotten the
circumstance. Whatever natural reluctance she
might otherwise have had to deceiving us, and
degrading herself, by the use of an assumed
name, that conversation with you is certain
to have removed. We must discover her, by
personal description—we can trace her in no
other way.

"I can think of nothing more to guide your
decision in our deplorable emergency. For
God's sake, let no expense and no efforts be
spared. I send my letter by private messenger:
it ought to reach you by ten o'clock this morning,
at the latest. Let me have one line in
answer, to say you will act instantly for the best.
My only hope of quieting Norah is to show her
a word of encouragement from your pen.

"Believe me, dear sir,

"Yours sincerely and obliged,

"HARRIET GARTH."

III.

FROM MAGDALEN TO NORAH (ENCLOSED IN THE
PRECEDING LETTER).

"MY DARLING,— Try to forgive me. I have
struggled against myself, till I am worn out in
the effort. I am the wretchedest of living
creatures. Our quiet life here, maddens me; I can
bear it no longer; I must go. If you knew
what my thoughts are; if you knew how hard I
have fought against them, and how horribly they
have gone on haunting me in the lonely quiet
of this house, you would pity and forgive me.
Oh, my love, don't feel hurt at my not opening
my heart to you as I ought! I dare not
open it. I dare not show myself to you as I
really am.

"Pray don't send and seek after me; I will
write and relieve all your anxieties. You know,
Norah, we must get our living for ourselves; I
have only gone to get mine in the way which is
fittest for me. Whether I succeed, or whether
I fail, I can do myself no harm, either way. I
have no position to lose, and no name to
degrade. Don't doubt I love you—don't let Miss
Garth doubt my gratitude. I go away miserable
at leaving you; but I must go. If I had loved
you less dearly, I might have had the courage
to say this in your presence—but how could I
trust myself to resist your persuasions, and
to bear the sight of your distress? Farewell,
my darling. Take a thousand kisses from
me, my own best dearest love, till we meet
again.

"MAGDALEN."

IV.

FROM SERGEANT BULMER (OF THE DETECTIVE
POLICE) TO MR. PENDRIL.

"Scotland Yard,

"September 29th, 1846.

"SIR,—Your clerk informs me that the parties
interested in our inquiry after the missing young
lady, are anxious for news of the same. I went
to your office to speak to you about the matter
to-day. Not having found you, and not being
able to return and try again to-morrow, I write
these lines to save delay, and to tell you how we
stand thus far.

"I am sorry to say, no advance has been made
since my former report. The trace of the young
lady which we found nearly a week since, still
remains the last trace discovered of her. This
case seems a mighty simple one, looked at from
a distance. Looked at close, it alters very
considerably for the worse, and becomes, to speak
the plain truth—a Poser.

"This is how we now stand:

"We have traced the young lady to the
theatrical agent's in Bow-street. We know that
at an early hour on the morning of the twenty-
third, the agent was called down stairs, while
he was dressing, to speak to a young lady in a
cab at the door. We know that, on her
production of Mr. Huxtable's card, he wrote on it
Mr. Huxtable's address, and heard her order
the cabman to drive to the terminus. We believe
she left by the nine o'clock train. We followed
her by the twelve o'clock train. We have
ascertained that she called, at half-past two, at
Mr. Huxtable's lodgings; that she found he was
away, and not expected back till eight in the
evening; that she left word she would call
again at eight; and that she never returned.
Mr. Huxtable's statement is—he and the young
lady have never set eyes on each other. The
first consideration which follows, is this:—Are
we to believe Mr. Huxtable? I have carefully
inquired into his character; I know as much, or
more, about him than he knows about himself;
and my opinion is, that we are to believe him.
To the best of my knowledge, he is a perfectly
honest man.