Not all my inquiries, not all my cross-questionings of the whole staff of the hotel, of the visitors, of the railway officials, of nearly all the inhabitants of Lucerne and its environs, procure me a jot more knowledge. On the next few weeks I look back as on a hellish and insane dream. I can neither eat nor sleep; I am unable to remain one moment quiet; my whole existence, my nights and my days, are spent in seeking, seeking. Everything that human despair and frenzied love can do is done by me. I advertise, I communicate with the police, I employ detectives; but that fatal twelve days’ start for ever baffles me. Only on one occasion do I obtain one tittle of information. In a village a few miles from Lucerne the peasants, on the day in question, saw a carriage driving rapidly through their little street. It was closed, but through the windows they could see the occupants--a dark gentleman, with the peculiar physiognomy which has been so often described, and on the opposite seat a lady lying apparently in a state of utter insensibility. But even this leads to nothing. Oh, reader, these things happened twenty years ago; since then I have searched sea and land, but never have I seen my little Elizabeth again. BEHOLD, IT WAS A DREAM! BEHOLD, IT WAS A DREAM! CHAPTER I. Yesterday morning I received the following letter: “Weston House, Caulfield, ----shire. “MY DEAR DINAH,--You _must_ come: I scorn all your excuses, and see through their flimsiness. I have no doubt that you are much better amused in Dublin, frolicking round ball-rooms with a succession of horse-soldiers, and watching her Majesty’s household troops play Polo in the Phœnix Park, but no matter--you _must_ come. We have no particular inducements to hold out. We lead an exclusively bucolic, cow-milking, pig-fattening, roast-mutton-eating and to-bed-at-ten-o’clock-going life; but no matter--you _must_ come. I want you to see how happy two dull elderly people may be, with no special brightness in their lot to make them so. My old man--he is surprisingly ugly at the first glance, but grows upon one afterwards--sends you his respects, and bids me say that he will meet you at _any_ station on _any_ day at _any_ hour of the day or night. If you succeed in evading our persistence this time, you will be a cleverer woman than I take you for. “Ever yours affectionately, “JANE WATSON. “_August 15th._ “P.S.--We will invite our little scarlet-headed curate to dinner to meet you, so as to soften your fall from the society of the Plungers.” This is my answer: