five-and-twenty pounds flowed from a stroke of
her father's pen into the hands of any one in the
house who chose to ask for it.

Captain Wragge's eyes dwelt on the little bag,
as the eyes of lovers dwell on their mistresses.
"Happy bag!" he murmured, as she put it back
in her bosom. He rose; dived into a corner of
the room; produced his neat despatch-box; and
solemnly unlocked it on the table between
Magdalen and himself.

"The nature of the man, my dear girl—the
nature of the man," he said, opening one of
his plump little books, bound in calf and vellum.
"A transaction has taken place between us. I
must have it down in black and white." He
opened the book at a blank page, and wrote at
the top, in a fine mercantile hand:—"Miss
Vanstone the Younger: In account with Horatio
Wragge, late of the Royal Militia. Dr.—Cr. Sept.
24th, 1846. Dr.: To estimated value of H. Wragge's
interest in Miss V.'s first year's salary—say
£200. Cr. By paid on account £25." Having
completed the entry—and having also shown, by
doubling his original estimate on the Debtor
side, that Magdalen's easy compliance with his
demand on her had not been thrown away on
him—the captain pressed his blotting-paper over
the wet ink, and put away the book with the air
of a man who had done a virtuous action, and
who was above boasting about it.

"Excuse me for leaving you abruptly," he
said. "Time is of importance; I must make
sure of the chaise. If Mrs. Wragge comes in,
tell her nothing—she is not sharp enough to be
trusted. If she presumes to ask questions,
extinguish her immediately. You have only to
be loud. Pray take my authority into your own
hands, and be as loud with Mrs. Wragge as I
am!" He snatched up his tall hat, bowed,
smiled, and tripped out of the room.

Sensible of little else but of the relief of
being alone; feeling no more distinct impression
than the vague sense of some serious change
having taken place in herself and her position,
Magdalen let the events of the morning come
and go like shadows on her mind, and waited
wearily for what the day might bring forth.
After the lapse of some time the door opened
softly. The giant-figure of Mrs. Wragge stalked
into the room; and stopped opposite Magdalen
in solemn astonishment.

"Where are your Things?" asked Mrs.Wragge,
with a burst of incontrollable anxiety. "I've
been up-stairs, looking in your drawers. Where
are your nightgowns and nightcaps? and your
petticoats and stockings? and your hair-pins
and bear's grease, and all the rest of it?"

"My luggage is left at the railway station,"
said Magdalen.

Mrs. Wragge's moon-face brightened dimly.
The ineradicable female instinct of Curiosity
tried to sparkle in her faded blue eyes—flickered
piteously—and died out.

"How much luggage?" she asked, confidentially.
"The captain's gone out. Let's go and get it!

"Mrs. Wragge!" cried a terrible voice at the
door.

For the first time in Magdalen's experience
Mrs. Wragge was deaf to the customary stimulant.
She actually ventured on a feeble remonstrance,
in the presence of her husband.

"Oh, do let her have her Things!" pleaded
Mrs. Wragge. "Oh, poor soul, do let her have
her Things!"

The captain's inexorable forefinger pointed to
a corner of the room—dropped slowly as his
wife retired before it—and suddenly stopped at
the region of her shoes.

"Do I hear a clapping on the floor!"
exclaimed Captain Wragge, with an expression of
horror. "Yes; I do. Down at heel again!
The left shoe, this time. Pull it up, Mrs.
Wragge! pull it up! The chaise will be here
tomorrow morning at nine o'clock," he
continued, addressing Magdalen. "We can't
possibly venture on claiming your box. There is
note-paper. Write down a list of the
necessaries you want. I will take it myself to the
shop, pay the bill for you, and bring back the
parcel. We must sacrifice the box—we must
indeed."

While her husband was addressing
Magdalen, Mrs. Wragge had stolen out again from her
corner; and had ventured near enough to the
captain to hear the words, "shop" and "parcel."
She clapped her great hands together in
ungovernable excitement, and lost all control over
herself immediately.

"Oh, if it's shopping, let me do it!" cried
Mrs. Wragge. "She's going out to buy her
Things! Oh, let me go with her—please let me
go with her!"

"Sit down!" shouted the captain. "Straight!
more to the right—more still. Stop where you
are!"

Mrs Wragge crossed her helpless hands on
her lap, and melted meekly into tears.

"I do so like shopping," pleaded the poor
creature; "and I get so little of it now!"

Magdalen completed her list; and Captain
Wragge at once left the room with it. "Don't
let my wife bore you," he said pleasantly, as he
went out. "Cut her short, poor soul—cut her
short!"

"Don't cry," said Magdalen, trying to comfort
Mrs. Wragge by patting her on the shoulder.
"When the parcel comes back you shall open
it."

"Thank you, my dear," said Mrs. Wragge,
meekly drying her eyes; "thank you kindly.
Don't notice my handkerchief, please. It's such
a very little one! I had a nice lot of 'em once,
with lace borders. They're all gone now. Never
mind! It will comfort me to unpack your
Things. You're very good to me. I like you. I
say—you won't be angry, will you? Give us a
kiss."

Magdalen stooped over her with the frank
grace and gentleness of past days, and touched
her faded cheek. "Let me do something harmless!"
she thought, with a pang at her heart—" oh,