"No, sir; he has been away all day. The
young lady told me she would come back at eight
o'clock."

"Just so. I will call and see Mr. Huxtable
at the same time."

"Any name, sir?"

"No; say a gentleman called on theatrical
business—that will be enough. Wait one minute,
if you please. I am a stranger in York; will
you kindly tell me which is the way to Coney-
street?"

The woman gave the required information;
the door closed, and the stranger hastened away
in the direction of Coney-street.

On this occasion, Captain Wragge made no
attempt to follow him. The handbill revealed
plainly enough that the man's next object was to
complete the necessary arrangements with the
local solicitor, on the subject of the promised
reward.

Having seen and heard enough for his
immediate purpose, the captain retraced his
steps down the street, turned to the right, and
entered on the Esplanade, which, in that quarter
of the city, borders the river-side between the
swimming-baths and Lendal Tower. "This is a
family matter," said Captain Wragge to himself,
persisting, from sheer force of habit, in the old
assertion of his relationship to Magdalen's
mother; "I must consider it in all its bearings."
He tucked the umbrella under his arm, crossed
his hands behind him, and lowered himself
gently into the abyss of his own reflections. The
order and propriety observable in the captain's
shabby garments, accurately typified the order
and propriety which distinguished the operations
of the captain's mind. It was his habit always
to see his way before him through a neat
succession of alternatives—and so he saw it now.

Three courses were open to him in connexion
with the remarkable discovery which he had just
made. The first course was to do nothing in
the matter at all. Inadmissible, on family
grounds: equally inadmissible on pecuniary
grounds; rejected accordingly. The second
course was to deserve the gratitude of the young
lady's friends, rated at fifty pounds. The third
course was by a timely warning, to deserve the
gratitude of the young lady herself, rated—at an
unknown figure. Between these two last
alternatives, the wary Wragge hesitated; not from
doubt of Magdalen's pecuniary resources, for he
was totally ignorant of the circumstances which
had deprived the sisters of their inheritance—but
from doubt whether an obstacle, in the shape of
an undiscovered gentleman, might not be
privately connected with her disappearance from
home. After mature reflection, he determined to
pause, and be guided by circumstances. In the
mean time, the first consideration was to be
beforehand with the messenger from London, and
to lay hands securely on the young lady herself.

"I feel for this misguided girl," mused the
captain, solemnly strutting backwards and
forwards by the lonely river-side. "I always have
looked upon her—I always shall look upon her
in the light of a niece."

Where was the adopted relative at that
moment? In other words, how was a young lady,
in Magdalen's critical position, likely to while
away the hours until Mr. Huxtable's return? If
there was an obstructive gentleman in the
background, it would be mere waste of time to pursue
the question. But if the inference which the handbill
suggested was correct—if she was really alone,
at that moment, in the city of York—where was
she likely to be?

Not in the crowded thoroughfares, to begin
with. Not viewing the objects of interest in
the Minster, for it was now past the hour at
which the cathedral could be seen. Was she
in the waiting-room at the railway? She
would hardly run that risk. Was she in one of
the hotels? Doubtful, considering that she was
entirely by herself. In a pastrycook's shop?
Far more likely. Driving about in a cab?
Possible, certainly; but no more. Loitering away
the time in some quiet locality, out of doors?
Likely enough, again, on that fine autumn evening.
The captain paused, weighed the relative
claims on his attention of the quiet locality
and the pastrycook's shop; and decided for
the first of the two. There was time enough
to find her at the pastrycook's, to inquire
after her at the principal hotels, or, finally, to
intercept her in Mr. Huxtable's immediate
neighbourhood, from seven to eight. While
the light lasted, the wise course was to use
it in looking for her out of doors. Where?
The Esplanade was a quiet locality; but she was
not there—not on the lonely road beyond, which
ran back by the Abbey Wall. Where, next?
The captain stopped, looked across the river,
brightened under the influence of a new idea, and
suddenly hastened back to the ferry.

"The Walk on the Walls," thought this
judicious man, with a twinkle of his parti-coloured
eyes. "The quietest place in York: and the
place that every stranger goes to see."

In ten minutes more, Captain Wragge was
exploring the new field of search. He mounted to
the walls (which enclose the whole western
portion of the city) by the North-street Postern, from
which the walk winds round, until it ends again
at its southernly extremity, in the narrow passage
of Rosemary-lane. It was then twenty minutes
to seven. The sun had set more than half an
hour since; the red light lay broad and low in
the cloudless western heaven; all visible objects
were softening in the tender twilight, but were
not darkening yet. The first few lamps lit in
the street below, looked like faint little specks of
yellow light, as the captain started on his walk
through one of the most striking scenes which
England can show.

On his right hand, as he set forth, stretched
the open country beyond the walls—the rich green
meadows, the boundary trees dividing them, the
broad windings of the river in the distance, the
scattered buildings nearer to view; all wrapped