that day, transcended the recollection of the
oldest inhabitant. The congregation were
already seated, when the Lord of Mournivale,
accompanied by two veiled ladies, entered by a
private chancel, the party taking their seats in
full view of the assembly.

General Sir George Corsellis was, at this time,
a man past middle-age, of colossal build, massive
head, broad nose, and eyebrows so redundant as
almost to emulate little beards. The prevailing
expression of this far from attractive face, was
stern even to ferocity; but that it was capable
of much softening was apparent even to
purblind Timothy Beatle—who, throughout the
service, addressed his responses personally to
Sir George, adjured him in a stentorian voice
to join in the performance of the psalmody, and
having, in effect, bestowed upon the astonished
gentleman his undivided attention, was, finally,
in a position to aver that, whenever he
(Corsellis) glanced at one of the veiled creatures at
his side, his face changed " from a devil's to an
angel's."

The service drew to a conclusion without the
veils being for an instant removed. It must be
acknowledged that good Mr. Loanham (whose
discourse had been directed against the indulgence
of idle curiosity, and prying into mysteries
out of our path) did his very best to advance
the secret wishes of his flock: prolonging his
address, by the aid of impromptu interpolations, to
an extent which, under any other circumstances,
would have been considered inordinate.

It was all in vain. Even every sermon must
have an end—so had Mr. Loanham's—and, with
a reluctant blessing, the congregation dispersed.
When a reasonable time had been allowed for
all undesigning persons to withdraw, the
Mournivale party quitted their pew: she, who was
presumed to be Lady Corsellis, leaning upon her
husband's stalwart arm; the dwarf-like figure of
their companion bringing up the rear. Every
pretext for lingering about the little churchyard
had by this time been exhausted. One
individual, alone, stood rooted to the spot—
Miss Tiffany. The lady remained, as it were,
under a vow.

Miss Tiffany represented the strong-minded
element in the circle of Covey-le-Street. To her,
appeal was wont to be made in all such cases as,
under ordinary social circumstances, would have
necessitated the interposition of the masculine
mind; and, hitherto, Miss Tiffany had been true
to her position and herself. It was alleged of
her, and by her, that, in no purpose on which
she had really set her heart, had she ever been
baffled. In a perhaps unguarded moment, she
had pledged herself to see and to speak with one
or both of the mysterious ladies of Mournivale.
She was here to redeem that pledge.

Sending away her maid, Marian, to a little
distance, she herself took up a position half-
way between the church and the corner of an
avenue of elms which formed a by-path to
Mournivale.

As the three figures moved past, she touched
the dress of her who walked alone.

"A thousand pardons," said Miss Tiffany.
"May I be allowed to sp——?"

The stranger made a sort of impatient bow,
and continued her way.

Miss Tiffany, somewhat piqued by this reception,
returned to the charge.

"Again, I ask your pardon," she said. "I
assure you, I am not a beggar. I wish merely
to inquire what is Lady Corsellis's pleasure
concerning the proposed new sch——?"

The stranger put her hand upon her arm, as
if to impose silence, but, with the other, pointed
forward in such a manner as to invite Miss
Tiffany to accompany her. Thus, maid Marian,
watching in the distance, saw the four disappear
into the avenue.

Another minute, and her mistress was seen
returning; but with a step so strange and
uncertain, and a demeanour altogether so unusual,
that Marian started off hastily to meet her. To
Marian's alarm and surprise, Miss Tiffany took
not the slightest notice of her; but reeled on, as
it were, in the direction of home, her eyes fixed
and staring, her face pale as ashes, her hands
working wildly, as though in desperate
endeavour to keep off some invisible assailant.

"Horror, horror!" was the only reply her
terrified attendant could obtain, in answer to
her repeated inquiries.

Arrived at home, Miss Tiffany went straight
to her chamber, and, locking the door, remained
in strict seclusion until the evening. Then she
rang for Marian, and gave her certain directions
for the morrow, which raised that young lady's
surprise and consternation to their climax.

On the following day, there appeared a notice
in the front garden, describing that desirable
cottage- residence as to be let, furnished or
unfurnished, for an indefinite period, with instant
possession.

To the numerous inquirers, answer was
returned that Miss Tiffany had been summoned to
the sick-bed of a relative, who, though near in
blood, was somewhat distant in body, being, in
fact, resident in Australasia. Consequently,
Miss Tiffany must not be expected back
immediately.

Miss Tiffany had, in real deed, departed
that morning, and all the explanation afforded
of this sudden resolution, was contained in
the following note, addressed to an intimate
friend:

"Good-by, Sophy dear. Love to all friends.
Shun Mournivale. Beware of curiosity. Seek
to know no more.

                 " Your unhappy friend,

                                                 "THERESA."

I will not dwell upon the hubbub created by
this event in the community of either Covey.
My business is with facts, and the next fact in
my recollection (putting aside innumerable
unsubstantiated rumours concerning the doings of
the family at Mournivale), is a visit paid one
evening by the steward Harper to my friend
Charley Tincture.

Harper, who was naturally a hearty fellow,