At last he became impatient, and wrote to Ashmead, whose address he had, and said, frankly, he had a delicacy in intruding on Mademoiselle Klosking, in her grief. Yet his own feelings would not allow him to seem to neglect her. Would Mr. Ashmead, then, tell him where she was, as she had not written to any one in Barfordshire--not even to her tried friend, Miss Gale. He received an answer by return of post. “DEAR SIR--I am grieved to tell you that Mademoiselle Klosking has retired from public life. She wrote to me, three weeks ago, from Dover, requesting me to accept, as a token of her esteem, the surplus money I hold in hand for her--I always drew her salary--and bidding me farewell. The sum included her profits by psalmody, minus her expenses, and was so large it could never have been intended as a mere recognition of my humble services; and I think I have seldom felt so down-hearted as on receiving this princely donation. It has enabled me to take better offices, and it may be the foundation of a little fortune; but I feel that I have lost the truly great lady who has made a man of me. Sir, the relish is gone for my occupation: I can never be so happy as I was in working the interests of that great genius, whose voice made our leading soprani sound like whistles, and who honored me with her friendship. Sir, she was not like other leading ladies. She never bragged, never spoke ill of any one; and _you_ can testify to her virtue and her discretion. “I am truly sorry to learn from you that she has written to no one in Barfordshire. I saw, by her letter to me, she had left the stage; but her dropping you all looks as if she had left the world. I do hope she has not been so mad as to go into one of those cursed convents. “Mr. Vizard, I will now write to friends in all the Continental towns where there is good music. She will not be able to keep away from that long. I will also send photographs; and hope we may hear something. If not, perhaps a _judicious advertisement_ might remind her that she is inflicting pain upon persons to whom she is dear. I am, sir, your obliged and grateful servant, “JOSEPH ASHMEAD.” Here was a blow. I really believe Vizard felt this more deeply than all his other disappointments. He brooded over it for a day or two; and then, as he thought Miss Gale a very ill-used person, though not, of course, so ill-used as himself, he took her Ashmead's letter. “This is nice!” said she. “There--I must give up loving women. Besides, they throw me over the moment a man comes, if it happens to be the right one.” “Unnatural creatures!” said Vizard. “Ungrateful, at all events.” “Do you think she has gone into a convent?” “Not she. In the first place, she is a Protestant; and, in the second, she is not a fool.” “I will advertise.” “The idea!” “Do you think I am going to sit down with my hands before me, and lose her forever?” “No, indeed; I don't think you are that sort of a man at all, ha! ha!”