later than the day after to-morrow—possibly
earlier. If you remain in York, if you attempt
to communicate with Mr. Huxtable, that spy will
find you out. If, on the other hand, you leave
the city before he comes (taking your departure
by other means than the railway, of course), you
put him in the same predicament as the clerk—
you defy him to find a fresh trace of you. There is
my brief abstract of your present position. What
do you think of it?"

"I think it has one defect," said Magdalen.
"It ends in nothing."

"Pardon me," retorted the captain. "It ends
in an arrangement for your safe departure, and
in a plan for the entire gratification of your
wishes in the direction of the stage. Both
drawn from the resources of my own
experience; and both waiting a word from you, to be
poured forth immediately, in the fullest detail."

"I think I know what that word is," replied
Magdalen, looking at him attentively,

"Charmed to hear it, I am sure. You have
only to say, 'Captain Wragge, take charge of
me'—and my plans are yours from that
moment."

"I will take to-night to consider your
proposal;" she said, after an instant's reflection.
"You shall have my answer to-morrow morning."

Captain Wragge looked a little disappointed.
He had not expected the reservation on his side
to be met so composedly by a reservation on
hers.

"Why not decide at once?" he remonstrated,
in his most persuasive tones. "You have only to
consider——"

"I have more to consider than you think for,"
she answered. "I have another object in view,
besides the object you know of."

"May I ask——?"

"Excuse me, Captain Wragge—you may not
ask. Allow me to thank you for your hospitality,
and to wish you good night. I am worn out. I
want rest."

Once more, the captain wisely adapted himself
to her humour, with the ready self-control of an
experienced man.

"Worn-out, of course!" he said, sympathetically
"Unpardonable on my part not to have
thought of it before. We will resume our
conversation to-morrow. Permit me to give you a
candle. Mrs. Wragge!"

Prostrated by mental exertion, Mrs. Wragge
was pursuing the course of the omelette in
dreams. Her head was twisted one way, and her
body the other. She snored meekly. At intervals,
one of her hands raised itself in the air, shook
an imaginary frying-pan, and dropped again with
a faint thump on the cookery-book in her lap.
At the sound of her husband's voice, she started
to her feet; and confronted him with her mind
fast asleep, and her eyes wide open.

"Assist Miss Vanstone," said the captain.
"And the next time you forget yourself in your
chair, fall asleep straight—don't annoy me by
falling asleep crooked."

Mrs. Wragge opened her eyes a little wider,
and looked at Magdalen, in helpless amazement.

"Is the captain breakfasting by candlelight?"
she inquired, meekly. "And haven't I done the
omelette?"

Before her husband's corrective voice could
apply a fresh stimulant, Magdalen took her
compassionately by the arm, and led her out of the
room.

"Another object besides the object I know
of?" repeated Captain Wragge, when he was left
by himself. "Is there a gentleman in the
background, after all? Is there mischief brewing in
the dark, that I don't bargain for?"

RUSSIAN TRAVEL.

A PRIEST PLAYING HIS CARDS.

ON leaving the church* I happened to fall in
beside Sanderson, and as we proceeded to the
count's residence I asked him what he knew
of the morals of these Russians priests. "Is
card-playing a very common thing with them?"

*See A LOOK ROUND THE CHURCH, in No. 156.

"Common! Why all Russia is ready to play
cards morning, noon, and night. Shuffle, shuffle,
shuffle, and deal. The emperor's whole court
plays; the aristocracy play to a man; the ladies,
of all grades, fill up their time at cards—Fool,
Your-own-Trump, Three-Leaves, Kings, Windmill,
and a hundred other games. The shopkeepers
sit playing cards for hours at their shop-
doors. The bargeman in his boat, the peasant
in his hut, children, young men, girls, all play
cards. Many an estate changes hands in an
evening. I have known three hundred men,
women, and children, and a large property,
staked on a single game. But these long-haired,
long-bearded, broadbrims of lazy priests are, of
all such gamblers, the most incessant. I will
tell you an instance of my own knowledge."

And this is what Sanderson told :

You saw that fat, tall priest, with the large
brown beard, who sprinkled the holy water on
the bairns. Weel, he is the head pope of this
church, and lives beside it; in fact, there is a
covered passage leading from the church to his
house direct. One evening before a saint's day
I was on a visit to Mr. Pins, who lives in that
wooden house beside yon cotton-mill in the hollow,
and we were enjoying ourselves as we best
could, when a message came from the priest to
ask us all to supper. He had a few friends with
him, and would be glad to see us. As nothing
of this kind is to be refused we went—I, and
Pins, and his wife and daughter. The priest's
friends were two beardys like himself who were
to assist next day in church; his wife, also,
of course, was there. Supper over, cards were
introduced, and down sat Pins and the three
holy men to the game, while I was left to entertain
the leddies as well as I could. The four
gamblers gradually forgot everything else in
the room, the head priest being the most intent
of the four. The game went on. Now Pins
swept the table of roubles, and anon one or