"Nothing whatever," replied Magdalen. "My
friend is timid; and the dispute with the cabman
has frightened her. Pay the man what he wants,
and let him go."

"Where is She?" asked Mrs. Wragge, in a
tremulous whisper. "Where's the woman who
scuttled by me into your room?"

"Pooh!" said Magdalen. "No woman scuttled
by you—as you call it. Look in and see for
yourself."

She threw open the door. Mrs. Wragge
walked into the room—looked all over it—saw
nobody—and indicated her astonishment at the
result, by dropping a fourth parcel, and trembling
helplessly from head to foot.

"I saw her go in here," said Mrs. Wragge, in
awe-struck accents.  "A woman in a grey cloak
and a poke bonnet. A rude woman. She scuttled
by me, on the stairs she did. Here's the room,
and no woman in it. Give us a Prayer-Book!"
cried Mrs. Wragge, turning deadly pale, and
letting her whole remaining collection of parcels
fall about her in a little cascade of commodities.
"I want to read something Good. I want to
think of my latter end. I've seen a Ghost!"

"Nonsense!" said Magdalen. "You're dreaming;
the shopping has been too much for you.
Go into your own room, and take your bonnet
off."

"I've heard tell of ghosts in nightgowns;
ghosts in sheets; and ghosts in chains,"
proceeded Mrs. Wragge, standing petrified in her
own magic circle of linendraper's parcels.
"Here's a worse ghost than any of 'em—a
ghost in a grey cloak and a poke bonnet. I
know what it is," continued Mrs. Wragge, melting
into penitent tears. "It's a judgment on
me for being so happy away from the captain.
It's a judgment on me for having been down at
heel in half the shops in London, first with one
shoe and then with the other, all the time I've
been out. I'm a sinful creature. Don't let go
of me—whatever you do, my dear, don't let go
of me!" She caught Magdalen fast by the arm,
and fell into another trembling fit at the bare
idea of being left by herself.

The one remaining chance, in such an emergency
as this, was to submit to circumstances. Magdalen
took Mrs. Wragge to a chair; having first placed
it in such a position as might enable her to turn
her back on her travelling-companion, while she
removed the false eyebrows by the help of a little
water. "Wait a minute there," she said; "and
try if you can compose yourself, while I bathe
my head."

"Compose myself?" repeated Mrs. Wragge.
"How am I to compose myself when my head
feels off my shoulders? The worst Buzzing I
ever had with the Cookery-book, was nothing to
the Buzzing I've got now with the Ghost.
Here's a miserable end to a holiday! You may
take me back again, my dear, whenever you like
—I've had enough of it already!"

Having at last succeeded in removing the
eyebrows, Magdalen was free to combat the
unfortunate impression produced on her companion's
mind, by every weapon of persuasion which her
ingenuity could employ.

The attempt proved useless. Mrs. Wragge
persisted—on evidence which, it may be remarked in
parenthesis, would have satisfied many wiser
ghost-seers than herself—in believing that she had
been supernaturally favoured by a visitor from the
world of spirits. All that Magdalen could do was
to ascertain by cautious investigation, that Mrs.
Wragge had not been quick enough to identify
the supposed ghost, with the character of the
old North country lady in the Entertainment.
Having satisfied herself on this point, she had no
resource but to leave the rest to the natural
incapability of retaining impressions—unless those
impressions were perpetually renewed—which
was one of the characteristic infirmities of her
companion's weak mind. After fortifying Mrs.
Wragge by reiterated assurances that one
appearance (according to all the laws and regulations
of ghosts) meant nothing, unless it was
immediately followed by two more—after
patiently leading back her attention to the parcels
dropped on the floor, and on the stairs—and after
promising to keep the door of communication
ajar between the two rooms, if Mrs. Wragge
would engage on her side to retire to her own
chamber, and to say no more on the terrible
subject of the ghost—Magdalen at last secured the
privilege of reflecting uninterruptedly on the
events of that memorable day.

Two serious consequences had followed her
first step forward. Mrs. Lecount had entrapped
her into speaking in her own voice; and accident
had confronted her with Mrs. Wragge, in
disguise.

What advantage had she gained to set against
these disasters? The advantage of knowing more
of Noel Vanstone and of Mrs. Lecount, than she
might have discovered in months, if she had
trusted to inquiries made for her by others. One
uncertainty which had hitherto perplexed her, was
set at rest already. The scheme she had privately
devised against Michael Vanstone—which
Captain Wragge's sharp insight had partially
penetrated, when she first warned him that their
partnership must be dissolved—was a scheme
which she could now plainly see must be
abandoned as hopeless, in the case of Michael
Vanstone's son. The father's habits of speculation
had been the pivot on which the whole
machinery of her meditated conspiracy had been
constructed to turn. No such vantage-ground
was discoverable in the doubly sordid character
of the son. Mr. Noel Vanstone was invulnerable
on the very point which had presented itself
in his father as open to attack.

Having reached this conclusion, how was she
to shape her future course? What new means
could she discover, which would lead her secretly
to her end, in defiance of Mrs. Lecount's
malicious vigilance, and Noel Vanstone's miserly
distrust?

She was seated before the looking-glass,