A Moorland Legend. 1 1 7 



and memorable above all at Kingsford. The heaviest snow- 

 storm of the generation buried the country before daylight, 

 and in the morning Miss Annie Western was missing. They 

 searched high and low without effect until the postmaster 

 delivered to Mrs. Preston a letter which had been slipped 

 into his box during the night. It said : 



" DEAR MRS. PRESTON, 



" Pray, do not make any inquiries for me. I am 

 gone, I hope for good, but, be that as it may, certainly not 

 to return again. You have been as kind to me as a mother, 

 and would have been kinder had I allowed you. Some day, 

 perhaps, I may see you again. 



" Yours truly, 



"ANNIE WESTERN," 



There was no doubt about this note ; the handwriting 

 was the same finished specimen of caligraphy which, coming 

 before them at this lonesome moorland hotel, used to excite 

 the wonder and compliments of the tourist and official cus- 

 tomers when they paid their bills. 



For awhile the people around had so much concern with 

 their stock lost in the snow, and their complete isolation 

 from the world from the same cause, that they soon ceased 

 to puzzle themselves about the strange disappearance of Mrs. 

 Preston's courteous assistant. It was only to be expected 

 that the disappearance of number Ninety-six should be 

 coupled with it ; but guesses, though plentiful, were unsatis- 

 fying, and by-and-by the wonder ceased. 



#-:;:*# # 



The escape of the convict Tolly, and the shooting of the 

 other three runaways, strangely enough, excited no more 

 attention in the country at large than could be measured by 



