"Very well, then, you are in a position to tell us something of her history, and why it is she kept herself so close after she came to this town?"
But Miss Firman uttered a vigorous disclaimer to this. "No, sir," said she, "I am not. Mrs. Clemmens' history was simple enough, but her reasons for living as she did have never been explained. She was not naturally a quiet woman, and, when a girl, was remarkable for her spirits and fondness for company."
"Has she had any great sorrow since you knew her—any serious loss or disappointment that may have soured her disposition, and turned her, as it were, against the world?"
"Perhaps; she felt the death of her husband very much—indeed, has never been quite the same since she lost him."
"And when was that, if you please?"
"Full fifteen years ago, sir; just before she came to this town."
"Did you know Mr. Clemmens?"
"No, sir; none of us knew him. They were married in some small village out West, where he died—well, I think she wrote—a month if not less after their marriage. She was inconsolable for a time, and, though she consented to come East, refused to take up her abode with any of her relatives, and so settled in this place, where she has remained ever since."
The manner of the coroner suddenly changed to one of great impressiveness.
"Miss Firman," he now asked, "did it ever strike you that the hermit life she led was due to any fear or apprehension which she may have secretly entertained?"