for once, plainly and directly to the point.
She had set a new value on herself in his
mercenary eyes. She had suggested to him a speculation
in her youth, her beauty, and her marked
ability for the stage, which had never entered
his mind, until he saw her act. The old
militia-man was quick at his shifts. He and
his plans had both turned right about together,
when Magdalen sat down to hear what he had to say.

"Mr. Huxtable's opinion is my opinion," he
began. "You are a born actress. But you must
be trained before you can do anything on the
stage. I am disengaged—I am competent—I
have trained others—I can train you. Don't
trust my word: trust my eye to my own interests.
I'll make it my interest to take pains with you,
and to be quick about it. You shall pay me for
my instructions from your profits on the stage.
Half your salary, for the first year; a third of
your salary for the second year; and half the
sum you clear by your first benefit in a London
theatre. What do you say to that? Have I
made it my interest to push you, or have I
not?"

So far as appearances went, and so far as the
stage went, it was plain that he had linked his
interests and Magdalen's together. She briefly
told him so, and waited to hear more.

"A month or six weeks' study," continued the
captain, "will give me a reasonable idea of what
you can do best. All ability runs in grooves;
and your groove remains to be found. We can't
find it here—for we can't keep you a close
prisoner for weeks together in Rosemary-lane. A
quiet country place, secure from all interference
and interruption, is the place we want for a
month certain. Trust my knowledge of Yorkshire;
and consider the place found. I see no
difficulties anywhere, except the difficulty of
beating our retreat to-morrow."

"I thought your arrangements were made last
night?" said Magdalen.

"Quite right," rejoined the captain. "They
were made last night; and here they are. We
can't leave by railway, because the lawyer's
clerk is sure to be on the look-out for you at the
York terminus. Very good; we take to the road
instead, and leave in our own carriage. Where
the deuce do we get it? We get it from the
landlady's brother, who has a horse and chaise
which he lets out for hire. That chaise comes
to the end of Rosemary-lane at an early hour tomorrow
morning. I take my wife and my niece out
to show them the beauties of the neighbourhood.
We have a pic-nic hamper with us which marks
our purpose in the public eye. You disfigure
yourself in a shawl, bonnet, and veil of Mrs.
Wragge's; we turn our backs on York; and
away we drive on a pleasure-trip for the day—
you and I on the front seat, Mrs. Wragge and the
hamper behind. Good again. Once on the high
road what do we do? Drive to the first station
beyond York, northward, southward, or eastward,
as may be hereafter determined. No lawyer's clerk
is waiting for you there. You and Mrs. Wragge
get out—first opening the hamper at a convenient
opportunity. Instead of containing chickens and
champagne, it contains a carpet-bag with the
things you want for the night. You take your
tickets for a place previously determined on; and
I take the chaise back to York. Arrived once more
in this house, I collect the luggage left behind,
and send for the woman down stairs. 'Ladies so
charmed with such-and-such-a-place (wrong place
of course) that they have determined to stop there.
Pray accept the customary week's rent, in place
of a week's warning. Good day.' Is the clerk
looking for me at the York terminus? Not he.
I take my ticket, under his very nose; I follow
you with the luggage along your line of railway
and where is the trace left of your departure?
Nowhere. The fairy has vanished; and the legal
authorities are left in the lurch."

"Why do you talk of difficulties?" asked
Magdalen. "The difficulties seem to be
provided for."

"All but ONE," said Captain Wragge, with an
ominous emphasis on the last word. "The
Grand Difficulty of humanity from the cradle to
the grave—Money." He slowly winked his
green eye; sighed with deep feeling; and buried
his insolvent hands in his unproductive pockets.

"What is the money wanted for?" inquired
Magdalen.

"To pay my bills," replied the captain, with
a touching simplicity. "Pray understand! I
never was—and never shall be—personally
desirous of paying a single farthing to any human
creature on the habitable globe. I am speaking
in your interests, not in mine."

"My interests?"

"Certainly. You can't get safely away from
York to-morrow, without the chaise. And I
can't get the chaise without money. The landlady's
brother will lend it, if he sees his sister's
bill receipted, and if he gets his day's hire
beforehand—not otherwise. Allow me to put the
transaction in a business light. We have agreed
that I am to be remunerated for my course of
dramatic instruction out of your future earnings
on the stage. Very good. I merely draw on
my future prospects; and you, on whom those
prospects depend, are naturally my banker. For
mere argument's sake, estimate my share in your
first year's salary at the totally inadequate value
of a hundred pounds. Halve that sum; quarter
that sum ——"

"How much do you want?' said Magdalen,
impatiently.

Captain Wragge was sorely tempted to take the
Reward at the top of the handbills as his basis
of calculation. But he felt the vast future
importance of present moderation; and, actually
wanting some twelve or thirteen pounds, he
merely doubled the amount, and said, "Five-and
twenty."

Magdalen took the little bag from her bosom,
and gave him the money, with a contemptuous
wonder at the number of words which he had
wasted on her for the purpose of cheating on so
small a scale. In the old days at Combe-Raven,