told me that when he was a young man in London he borrowed a few pounds
to add to a few he had saved up, and opened a little inn at Hammersmith.
One evening, after the inn had been open about a couple of months,
every idler in the neighbourhood ran off to Westminster. The Houses of
Parliament were on fire.

'Not a soul remained in his parlour besides himself, and he began
picking up the pipes and glasses his customers had hastily relinquished.
At length a young lady about seventeen or eighteen came in. She asked
if a woman was there waiting for herself--Miss Jane Taylor. He said no;
asked the young lady if she would wait, and showed her into the small
inner room. There was a glass-pane in the partition dividing this room
from the bar to enable the landlord to see if his visitors, who sat
there, wanted anything. A curious awkwardness and melancholy about the
behaviour of the girl who called, caused my informant to look frequently
at her through the partition. She seemed weary of her life, and sat with
her face buried in her hands, evidently quite out of her element in
such a house. Then a woman much older came in and greeted Miss Taylor by
name. The man distinctly heard the following words pass between them:--

'"Why have you not brought him?"

'"He is ill; he is not likely to live through the night."

'At this announcement from the elderly woman, the young lady fell to the
floor in a swoon, apparently overcome by the news. The landlord ran in
and lifted her up. Well, do what they would they could not for a long
time bring her back to consciousness, and began to be much alarmed. "Who
is she?" the innkeeper said to the other woman. "I know her," the other
said, with deep meaning in her tone. The elderly and young woman seemed
allied, and yet strangers.

'She now showed signs of life, and it struck him (he was plainly of an
inquisitive turn), that in her half-bewildered state he might get some
information from her. He stooped over her, put his mouth to her ear,
and said sharply, "What's your name?" "To catch a woman napping
is difficult, even when she's half dead; but I did it," says the
gatekeeper. When he asked her her name, she said immediately--

'"Cytherea"--and stopped suddenly.'

'My own name!' said Cytherea.

'Yes--your name. Well, the gateman thought at the time it might be
equally with Jane a name she had invented for the occasion, that they
might not trace her; but I think it was truth unconsciously utte