in the market-place; but as it is not so easy to keep one’s place of abode secret in a small gossipping community, for once in her life she made a virtue of necessity, and openly divulged the fact of her locale, number and all specified.  She did not know a creature in the town or in the suburbs—­she came there for solitude.  Conjecture was afloat in all quarters as to who or what she could be.  Some said she must be a gentlewoman, because she wore velvet and satin, and gold chains—­moreover, paid well for everything.  Others affirmed she might be a gentlewoman—­gentlewomen did queer things sometimes—­but there must be some very strange reason for a lone and unknown female to drop from the skies, as it were, in the midst of strangers.  For our own part, our mind was easier on her account, now that she had broken through her rule of secrecy; and we even hoped that when we saw her again, she might go a step farther, and throw off the veil entirely.

On calling at her lodgings, however, the next day, we learned that the lodger had decamped, after placing in the landlady’s hand the solatium of another week’s rent, as specified in the agreement—­a week’s notice or a week’s money.  Thus, for the space of five-and-twenty years, every now and then, did the Mysterious Lady turn up.  Whenever we left home on a visit, we were sure, on our return, to find a card on the table, inscribed with the mystical characters—­’Miss Jerningham.’  No message left, no address given.  The last time we ever saw her was in Hyde Park, walking arm-in-arm with her brother the general; and soon after we heard from the worthy veteran, that ‘Bessie had gone on her travels again.’

If Miss Jerningham has really ceased to exist, her end was as mysterious and uncertain as the movements of her life.  We say if, because we feel by no means sure on the subject, and should neither faint nor scream if she were to enter the apartment at this moment.  It is about five years since General Jerningham set hurriedly off, in considerable dismay, for the scene of a direful conflagration in a northern county, wherein several unfortunate individuals had perished.  The fire originated at a hotel, and the General had reasons for fearing that his sister might be among the number of the sufferers, for she was known to have followed that route.  A notification likewise had appeared in the public prints, respecting an unknown lady, whose remains awaited the coroner’s inquest, but afforded no clue whatever to recognition.

General Jerningham, however, came to the conclusion that he indeed beheld the mortal remains of his poor sister, although the only evidence he could obtain was the description given of her appearance by those who had seen her in life.  He may have been influenced, likewise, by the fact, that the unfortunate lady had arrived at the hotel only on the previous day, and that no one knew who she was, whence she had come, or whither she was going.  After making every