His strange and unaccountable disappearance at the time naturally created comment, but no trace could be found of his whereabouts, or as to whether he had met with foul treatment.  And yet the most curious part of the story remains to be told.  On leaving his house in Jermyn Street, Piccadilly, Mr. Howe went no further than to a small street in Westminster, where he took a room, for which he paid five or six shillings a week, and changing his name, and disguising himself by wearing a black wig—­for he was a fair man—­he remained in this locality during the whole time of his absence.  At the time he disappeared from his home, Mr. Howe had had two children by his wife, but these both died a few years afterwards.  But, being left without the necessary means of subsistence, Mrs. Howe, after waiting two or three years in the hope of her husband’s return, was forced to apply for an Act of Parliament to procure an adequate settlement of his estate, and a provision for herself out of it during his absence, as it was uncertain whether he was alive or dead.  This act Mr. Howe suffered to be passed, and read the progress of it in a little coffee-house which he frequented.

After the death of her children, Mrs. Howe removed from her house in Jermyn Street to a smaller one in Brewer Street, near Golden Square.  Just over against her lived one Salt, a corn chandler, with whom Mr. Howe became acquainted, usually dining with him once or twice a week.  The room where they sat overlooked Mrs. Howe’s dining room, and Salt, believing Howe to be a bachelor, oftentimes recommended her to him as a suitable wife.  And, curious to add, during the last seven years of his mysterious absence, Mr. Howe attended every Sunday service at St. James’s Church, Piccadilly, and sat in Mr. Salt’s seat, where he had a good view of his wife, although he could not be easily seen by her.

At last, however, Mr. Howe made up his mind to return home, and the evening before he took this step, sent her an anonymous note requesting her to meet him the following day in Birdcage Walk, St. James’s Square.  At the time this billet arrived, Mrs. Howe was entertaining some friends and relatives at supper—­one of her guests being a Dr. Rose, who had married her sister.

After reading the note, Mrs. Howe tossed it to Dr. Rose, laughingly remarking, “You see, brother, old as I am, I have got a gallant.”

But Dr. Rose recognised the handwriting as that of Mr. Howe, which so upset Mrs. Howe that she fainted away.  It was eventually arranged that Dr. Rose and his wife, with the other guests who were then at supper, should accompany Mrs. Howe the following evening to the appointed spot.  They had not long to wait before Mr. Howe appeared, who, after embracing his wife, walked home with her in the most matter-of-fact manner, the two living together in the most happy and harmonious manner till death divided them.

The reason of this mysterious disappearance, Mr. Howe would never explain, but Dr. Rose often maintained that he believed his brother would never have returned to his wife had not the money which he took with him—­supposed to have been from one to two thousand pounds—­been all spent.  “Anyhow,” he used to add, “Mr. Howe must have been a good economist, and frugal in his manner of living, otherwise the money would scarce have held out.”