in the evening stillness, all made beautiful by the
evening peace. On his left hand, the majestic west
front of York Minster soared over the city, and
caught the last brightest light of heaven on the
summits of its lofty towers. Had this noble
prospect tempted the lost girl to linger and look
at it? No; thus far, not a sign of her. The
captain looked round him attentively, and
walked on.

He reached the spot where the iron course of
the railroad strikes its way through arches in the
old wall. He paused at this place—where the
central activity of a great railway enterprise
beats with all the pulses of its loud-clanging life,
side by side with the dead majesty of the past,
deep under the old historic stones which tell of
fortified York and the sieges of two centuries
since—he stood on this spot, and searched for
her again, and searched in vain. Others were
looking idly down at the desolate activity on the
wilderness of the iron rails; but she was not
among them. The captain glanced doubtfully
at the darkening sky, and walked on.

He stopped again, where the postern of
Micklegate still stands, and still strengthens the city
wall as of old. Here the paved walk descends a
few steps, passes through the dark stone guard-
room of the ancient gate, ascends again, and
continues its course southward until the walls reach
the river once more. He paused, and peered
anxiously into the dim inner corners of the old
guard-room. Was she waiting there for the
darkness to come, and hide her from prying eyes?
No: a solitary workman loitered through the
stone chamber; but no other living creature
stirred in the place. The captain mounted the
steps which led out from the postern, and walked
on.

He advanced some fifty or sixty yards along
the paved footway; the outlying suburbs of York
on one side of him, a rope walk and some patches
of kitchen garden occupying a vacant strip of
ground, on the other. He advanced with eager
eyes and quickened step—for he saw before him
the lonely figure of a woman, standing by the
parapet of the wall, with her face set towards the
westward view. He approached cautiously, to
make sure of her before she turned and observed
him. There was no mistaking that tall dark figure,
as it rested against the parapet with a listless
grace. There she stood, in her long black cloak
and gown, the last dim light of evening falling
tenderly on her pale resolute young face. There she
stood—not three months since the spoilt darling
of her parents; the priceless treasure of the
household, never left unprotected, never trusted
alone—there she stood in the lovely dawn of her
womanhood, a castaway in a strange city, wrecked
on the world!

Vagabond as he was, the first sight of her
staggered even the dauntless assurance of Captain
Wragge. As she slowly turned her face and
looked at him, he raised his hat, with the nearest
approach to respect which a long life of unblushing
audacity had left him capable of making.

"I think I have the honour of addressing the
younger Miss Vanstone?" he began. "Deeply
gratified, I am sure—for more reasons than one."

She looked at him with a cold surprise. No
recollection of the day when he had followed
her sister and herself on their way home with
Miss Garth, rose in her memory, while he now
confronted her, with his altered manner and his
altered dress.

"I think you are mistaken," she said, quietly.
"You are a perfect stranger to me."

"Pardon me," replied the captain; "I am a
species of relation. I had the pleasure of seeing
you in the spring of the present year. I
presented myself on that memorable occasion to an
honoured preceptress in your late father's family.
Permit me, under equally agreeable circumstances
to present myself to you. My name is Wragge."

By this time he had recovered complete possession
of his own impudence; his parti-coloured
eyes twinkled cheerfully, and he accompanied his
modest, announcement of himself with a dancing-
master's bow.

Magdalen frowned, and drew back a step.
The captain was not a man to be daunted by a
cold reception. He tucked his umbrella under
his arm, and jocosely spelt his name for her
further enlightenment. "W, R, A, double G, E—
Wragge," said the captain, ticking off the letters
persuasively on his fingers.

"I remember your name," said Magdalen.
"Excuse me for leaving you abruptly. I have
an engagement."

She tried to pass him, and walk on northwards
towards the railway. He instantly met the
attempt by raising both hands, and displaying a
pair of darned black gloves outspread in polite
protest.

"Not that way," he said; "not that way,
Miss Vanstone, I beg and entreat!"

"Why not?" she asked haughtily.

"Because," answered the captain, "that is
the way which leads to Mr. Huxtable's."

In the ungovernable astonishment of hearing
his reply, she suddenly bent forward, and, for the
first time, looked him close in the face. He
sustained her suspicious scrutiny, with every
appearance of feeling highly gratified by it.
"H, U, X—Hux," said the captain, playfully
returning to the old joke; "T, A—ta, Huxta;
B, L, E—ble; Huxtable."

"What do you know about Mr. Huxtable?"
she asked. "What do you mean by mentioning
him to me?"

The captain's curly lips took a new twist
upwards. He immediately replied, to the best
practical purpose, by producing the handbill from
his pocket.

"There is just light enough left," he said,
"for young (and lovely) eyes to read by. Before
I enter upon the personal statement which your
flattering inquiry claims from me, pray bestow a
moment's attention on this Document."

She took the handbill from him. By the last
gleam of twilight, she read the lines which set a