WHO WAS THE THIRD MAID?

It was on a wild October evening about a year ago that my wife and I arrived by train at a well-known watering-place in the North of England.  The wind was howling and roaring with delight at its resistless power; the rain came hissing down in large drops.

On yonder headland doubtless might be heard “The Whistling Woman”—­dread harbinger of death and disaster to the mariner.  The gale had been hourly increasing in violence, till for the last hour before arriving at our destination we had momentarily expected that the train would be blown from the track.  Our hotel was situated on an eminence overlooking the town; and as we slowly ascended to it in our cab we thought:  “Well, we must not be surprised to find our intended abode for the night has vanished.”

However, presently we stopped in front of a building which looked substantial enough to withstand anything; and in answer to our driver’s application to the bell, the door was promptly opened by a smartly-attired porter.  He was closely followed by a person full of smiles and bows, who posted himself in the doorway ready to receive us.

All at once there was a terrific bang, as though a forty-pounder had been fired to welcome our arrival; and he of the smiles and bows was hurled headlong against the muddy wheel of our conveyance by the slamming-to of the large door.  My wife’s bonnet blew off and tugged hard at its moorings; the light in the porch was extinguished; while the wind seemed to give a shriek of triumph at the jokes he was playing upon us.  Here we were, then, in total darkness and exposed to the drenching rain.  However, half-an-hour afterwards all our discomforts were forgotten as we sat down to an excellent dinner a la carte.

Next morning I was abroad very early, looking for lodgings.  Fortune seemed to smile upon me on this occasion; for scarcely had I proceeded fifty yards from my hotel when I came upon a very nice-looking row of houses, and in the window of the first was “Lodgings to let.”  Knocking at the door, it was soon opened by a very neat-looking maid.

I inquired if I could see the proprietor, but was told that Miss G. was not yet down.  I said I would wait; and was shown into a very comfortably-furnished dining-room.  Soon Miss G. appeared, and proved to be a pretty brunette of about five-and-twenty, whose dark eyes during our short interview were every now and then fixed on me with an intentness that seemed to be trying to read what kind of person I was; whilst her manner, though decidedly pleasing, had a certain restlessness in it which I could not help observing.  Her father and mother being both dead, she kept the lodging-house herself.  I asked her if she had a good cook, to which she replied that she was responsible for most of that difficult part of the menage herself, keeping two maids to assist in the house and parlour work.  She went on to say that her drawing-room was “dissected:”  a term common amongst north country lodging-house keepers, and meant to express that it was undergoing its autumn cleaning, but she would have it put straight if I wished.  I told her that we should be quite contented with the dining-room, provided we had a good bed-room.  This she at once showed me, and, soon coming to terms, I returned to the hotel.