save him and her governess, whose lips on the subject had been effectually sealed, she continued to live enveloped in a mystery, without even the prospect of its ever being solved. That, however, which appeared to her to be most strange, was the fact of her going, twice a-year, with her father, to meet this lady, whom she never on any other occasion saw; and with whom she was permitted to remain but one hour. This did appear to her to be strange, indeed. She had been instructed by her father to address her as Mrs. Greville; but he himself never saw her. Henriette invariably entered the room alone, and the moment she entered, Mrs. Greville would eagerly receive her in her arms, and while indulging in a passionate flood of tears, would kiss her, and bless her, and press her to her heart with the most intense affection. In person, Mrs. Greville was above the middle height: her features were regular and handsome, and, while her manners were extremely elegant, her figure was commanding; but she always appeared to be overwhelmed with grief, although the presence of Henrietta seemed to inspire her with the most ecstatic joy. Often would Henrietta enquire anxiously why she did not visit them—why they met there—why at those particular times, and so on; but Mrs. Greville, while the tears were gushing forth, would only answer that she was forbidden to explain—that she was indeed happy, most happy, to see her—that she loved her—dearly, passionnately loved her—and that it was for her own happiness that she knew no more.
But even this was unknown in the village. It was not known even to the landlady of the inn!—which was wisely ordered—wisely, because, had it been known to her, of course her curiosity would have been seriously diminished, and without curiosity how could such ladies live and thrive?
Perhaps, however, Aunt Eleanor took more interest in the matter than any other person in the village. She knew not exactly why she should feel so much interest in an affair of this nature, but she, nevertheless did; and hence, on being reminded that that was the day on which the parties in question met, she thought less of the mystery of the preceding night. She did, however, eventually allude to it, and that too, in a most feeling strain, and the result was, that her reverend friend shook his head, and advised her to wait patiently, and to watch with diligence, albeit, he knew no more what she was to watch for, than she knew what to suspect, or what design it was against which she ought to guard.
In the mean time, the village was in a state of commotion. The apparition, of course, had been variously described; and the gossips had so ingeniously improved upon each description, that it soon became a monster—twelve feet high. In the height of a ghost, a few feet, more or less, is a matter of very slight importance; but when, to its height they had added their conceptions of its breadth, depth, and general deportment, the picture was truly appalling.
The gentlemen who had absolutely seen it, of course, met early at the Crumpet and Crown. There was but one absent, and that was Mr.
