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 doors 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?"
"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."
"Thankyou. 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."
"You are very kind, Mr. Holmes, but I cannot do that. I shall be true to Hosmer. He shall find me ready when he comes back."
For all the preposterous hat and the vacuous face, there was something noble in the simple faith of our visitor which compelled our respect. She laid her little bundle of papers upon the table, and went her way, with a promise to come again whenever she might be summoned.
Sherlock Holmes sat silent for a few minutes with his finger tips still pressed together, his legs stretched out in front of him, and his gaze directed upwards to the ceiling. Then he took down from the rack the old and oily clay pipe, which was to him as a counsellor, and, having lit it, he leaned back in his chair, with the thick blue cloudwreaths spinning up from him, and a look of infinite languor in his face.
"Quite an interesting study, that maiden,"
.png)
"SHE LAID A LITTLE BUNDLE UPON THE TABLE."
