never presented itself. Bedtime came again; and
found her placed between the two alternatives
of trusting to the doubtful chances of the next
morning— or of trying the keys boldly in the
dead of night. In former times, she would have
made her choice without hesitation. She
hesitated now— but the wreck of her old courage
still sustained her, and she determined to make
the venture at night.

They kept early hours at St. Crux. If she
waited in her room until half-past eleven, she
would wait long enough. At that time, she
stole out on to the staircase, with the keys in
her pocket, and the candle in her hand.

On passing the entrance to the corridor on the
bedroom floor, she stopped and listened. No
sound of snoring, no shuffling of infirm footsteps,
was to be heard on the other side of the screen.
She looked round it distrustfully. The stone
passage was a solitude, and the truckle-bed was
empty. Her own eyes had shown her old Mazey
on his way to the upper regions, more than an
hour since, with a candle in his hand. Had he
taken advantage of his master's absence, to enjoy
the unaccustomed luxury of sleeping in a room?
As the thought occurred to her, a sound from
the farther end of the corridor just caught her
ear. She softly advanced towards it; and heard
through the door of the last and remotest of the
spare bed-chambers, the veteran's lusty snoring
in the room inside. The discovery was startling,
in more senses than one. It deepened the
impenetrable mystery of the truckle-bed; for it
showed plainly that old Mazey had no barbarous
preference of his own for passing his nights in
the corridor— he occupied that strange and
comfortless sleeping-place, purely and entirely
on his master's account.

It was no time for dwelling on the reflections
which this conclusion might suggest. Magdalen
retraced her steps along the passage,
and descended to the first floor. Passing the
doors nearest to her, she tried the library
first. On the staircase, and in the corridors, she
had felt her heart throbbing fast with an
unutterable fear— but a sense of security returned
to her when she found herself within the four
walls of the room, and when she had closed the
door on the ghostly quiet outside.

The first lock she tried was the lock of the
table-drawer. None of the keys fitted it. Her
next experiment was made on the cabinet. Would
the second attempt fail, like the first? No!
One of the keys fitted; one of the keys, with a
little patient management, turned the lock. She
looked in eagerly. There were open shelves
above, and one long drawer under them. The
shelves were devoted to specimens of curious
minerals, neatly labelled and arranged. The
drawer was divided into compartments. Two of
the compartments contained papers. In the first
she discovered nothing but a collection of
receipted bills. In the second she found a heap of
business-documents— but the writing, yellow with
age, was enough of itself to warn her that the

Trust was not there. She shut the doors of the
cabinet; and, after locking them again with some
little difficulty, proceeded to try the keys in the
bookcase cupboards next, before she continued
her investigations in the other rooms.

The bookcase cupboards were unassailable;
the drawers and cupboards in all the other
rooms were unassailable. One after another,
she tried them patiently in regular succession.
It was useless. The chance which the cabinet in
the library had offered in her favour, was the first
chance and the last.

She went back to her room; seeing nothing
but her own gliding shadow; hearing nothing
but her own stealthy footfall in the midnight
stillness of the house. After mechanically putting
the keys away in their former hiding-place, she
looked towards her bed— and turned away
from it, shuddering. The warning
remembrance of what she had suffered that morning
in the garden, was vividly present to
her mind. " Another chance tried," she thought
to herself, " and another chance lost! I shall
break down again if I think of it— and I shall
think of it, if I lie awake in the dark." She had
brought a work-box with her to St. Crux, as one
of the many little things which in her character
of a servant it was desirable to possess; and
she now opened the box, and applied herself
resolutely to work. Her want of dexterity with
her needle, assisted the object she had in view:
it obliged her to pay the closest attention to
her employment; it forced her thoughts away
from the two subjects of all others which she
now dreaded most— herself and the future.

The next day, as he had arranged, the admiral
returned. His visit to London had not improved
his spirits. The shadow of some unconquerable
doubt still clouded his face; and his restless
tongue was strangely quiet, while Magdalen
waited on him at his solitary meal. That night,
the snoring resounded once more on the inner
side of the screen, and old Mazey was back again
in the comfortless truckle-bed.

Three more days passed— April came. On the
second of the month— returning as unexpectedly
as he had departed a week before— Mr. George
Bartram reappeared at St. Crux.

He came back early in the afternoon; and had
an interview with his uncle in the library. The
interview over, he left the house again; and was
driven to the railway by the groom, in time to
catch the last train to London that night. The
groom noticed, on the road, that " Mr. George
seemed to be rather pleased than otherwise at
leaving St. Crux." He also remarked, on his
return, that the admiral swore at him for over-
driving the horses— an indication of ill temper,
on the part of his master, which he described as
being entirely without precedent, in all his former
experience. Magdalen, in her department of
service, had suffered in like manner under the old
man's irritable humour: he had been dissatisfied
with everything she did in the dining-room; and
he had found fault with all the dishes, one after