tention.
I turned eagerly to the first lines. They announced that the writer
had escaped me for the second time: early that morning she had left
Edinburgh. The paper inclosed proved to be my letter of introduction to
the dressmaker returned to me.

I was more than angry with her--I felt her second flight from me as a
downright outrage. In five minutes I had hurried on my clothes and was
on my way to the inn in the Canongate as fast as a horse could draw me.

The servants could give me no information. Her escape had been effected
without their knowledge.

The landlady, to whom I next addressed myself, deliberately declined to
assist me in any way whatever.

"I have given the lady my promise," said this obstinate person, "to
answer not one word to any question that you may ask me about her. In
my belief, she is acting as becomes an honest woman in removing herself
from any further communication with you. I saw you through the keyhole
last night, sir. I wish you good-morning."

Returning to my hotel, I left no attempt to discover her untried. I
traced the coachman who had driven her. He had set her down at a shop,
and had then been dismissed. I questioned the shop-keeper. He remembered
that he had sold some articles of linen to a lady with her veil down and
a traveling-bag in her hand, and he remembered no more. I circulated a
description of her in the different coach offices. Three "elegant young
ladies, with their veils down, and with traveling-bags in their hands,"
answered to the description; and which of the three was the fugitive
of whom I was in search, it was impossible to discover. In the days of
railways and electric telegraphs I might have succeeded in tracing
her. In the days of which I am now writing, she set investigation at
defiance.

I read and reread her letter, on the chance that some slip of the pen
might furnish the clew which I had failed to find in any other way. Here
is the narrative that she addressed to me, copied from the original,
word for word:

"DEAR SIR--Forgive me for leaving you again as I left you in Perthshire.
After what took place last night, I have no other choice (knowing my own
weakness, and the influence that you seem to have over me) than to
thank you gratefully for your kindness, and to bid you farewell. My sad
position must be my excuse for separating myself from you in this rude
manner, and for venturing to send you back your letter of introduction.
If I use the letter