“It seems to me that you have been very shamefully treated,” said Holmes.

“Oh, no, sir!  He was too good and kind to leave me so.  Why, all the morning he was saying to me that, whatever happened, I was to be true; and that even if something quite unforeseen occurred to separate us, I was always to remember that I was pledged to him, and that he would claim his pledge sooner or later.  It seemed strange talk for a wedding morning, but what has happened since gives a meaning to it.”

“Most certainly it does.  Your own opinion is, then, that some unforeseen catastrophe has occurred to him?”

“Yes, sir.  I believe that he foresaw some danger, or else he would not have talked so.  And then I think that what he foresaw happened.”

“But you have no notion as to what it could have been?”

“None.”

“One more question.  How did your mother take the matter?”

“She was angry, and said that I was never to speak of the matter again.”

“And your father?  Did you tell him?”

“Yes, and he seemed to think, with me, that something had happened, and that I should hear of Hosmer again.  As he said, what interest could anyone have in bringing me to the door of the church, and then leaving me?  Now, if he had borrowed my money, or if he had married me and got my money settled on him, there might be some reason; but Hosmer was very independent about money, and never would look at a shilling of mine.  And yet what could have happened?  And why could he not write?  Oh! it drives me half mad to think of, and I can’t sleep a wink at night.”  She pulled a little handkerchief out of her muff, and began to sob heavily into it.

“I shall glance into the case for you,” said Holmes, rising, “and I have no doubt that we shall reach some definite result.  Let the weight of the matter rest upon me now, and do not let your mind dwell upon it further.  Above all, try to let Mr. Hosmer Angel vanish from your memory, as he has done from your life.”

“Then you don’t think I’ll see him again?”

“I fear not.”

“Then what has happened to him?”

“You will leave that question in my hands.  I should like an accurate description of him, and any letters of his which you can spare.”

“I advertised for him in last Saturday’s Chronicle,” said she.  “Here is the slip, and here are four letters from him.”

“Thank you.  And your address?”

“No. 31 Lyon Place, Camberwell.”

“Mr. Angel’s address you never had, I understand.  Where is your father’s place of business?”

“He travels for Westhouse & Marbank, the great claret importers of Fenchurch Street.”

“Thank you.  You have made your statement very clearly.  You will leave the papers here, and remember the advice which I have given you.  Let the whole incident be a sealed book, and do not allow it to affect your life.”