“Left her home, in London, early on the morning of September 23d, 1846, A YOUNG LADY.  Age—­eighteen.  Dress—­deep mourning.  Personal appearance—­hair of a very light brown; eyebrows and eyelashes darker; eyes light gray; complexion strikingly pale; lower part of her face large and full; tall upright figure; walks with remarkable grace and ease; speaks with openness and resolution; has the manners and habits of a refined, cultivated lady.  Personal marks—­two little moles, close together, on the left side of the neck.  Mark on the under-clothing—­’Magdalen Vanstone.’  Is supposed to have joined, or attempted to join, under an assumed name, a theatrical company now performing at York.  Had, when she left London, one black box, and no other luggage.  Whoever will give such information as will restore her to her friends shall receive the above Reward.  Apply at the office of Mr. Harkness, solicitor, Coney Street, York.  Or to Messrs. Wyatt, Pendril, and Gwilt, Serle Street, Lincoln’s Inn, London.”

Accustomed as Captain Wragge was to keep the completest possession of himself in all hum an emergencies, his own profound astonishment, when the course of his reading brought him to the mark on the linen of the missing young lady, betrayed him into an exclamation of surprise which even startled the ferryman.  The traveler was less observant; his whole attention was fixed on the opposite bank of the river, and he left the boat hastily the moment it touched the landing-place.  Captain Wragge recovered himself, pocketed the handbill, and followed his leader for the second time.

The stranger directed his steps to the nearest street which ran down to the river, compared a note in his pocketbook with the numbers of the houses on the left-hand side, stopped at one of them, and rang the bell.  The captain went on to the next house; affected to ring the bell, in his turn, and stood with his back to the traveler—­in appearance, waiting to be let in; in reality, listening with all his might for any scraps of dialogue which might reach his ears on the opening of the door behind him.

The door was answered with all due alacrity, and a sufficiently instructive interchange of question and answer on the threshold rewarded the dexterity of Captain Wragge.

“Does Mr. Huxtable live here?” asked the traveler.

“Yes, sir,” was the answer, in a woman’s voice.

“Is he at home?”

“Not at home now, sir; but he will be in again at eight to-night.”

“I think a young lady called here early in the day, did she not?”

“Yes; a young lady came this afternoon.”

“Exactly; I come on the same business.  Did she see Mr. Huxtable?”

“No, sir; he has been away all day.  The young lady told me she would come back at eight o’clock.”

“Just so.  I will call and see Mr. Huxtable at the same time.”

“Any name, sir?”

“No; say a gentleman called on theatrical business—­that will be enough.  Wait one minute, if you please.  I am a stranger in York; will you kindly tell me which is the way to Coney Street?”