mechanically combing out her hair, while that all-
important consideration occupied her mind. The
agitation of the moment had raised a feverish
colour in her cheeks, and had brightened the
light in her large grey eyes. She was conscious
of looking her best; conscious how her beauty
gained by contrast, after the removal of the
disguise. Her lovely light brown hair looked
thicker and softer than ever, now that it had
escaped from its imprisonment under the grey wig.
She twisted it this way and that, with quick
dexterous fingers; she laid it in masses on her
shoulders; she threw it back from them in a
heap, and turned sideways to see how it fell—to
see her back and shoulders, freed from the
artificial deformities of the padded cloak. After a
moment, she faced the looking-glass once more;
plunged both hands deep in her hair; and, resting
her elbows on the table, looked closer and
closer at the reflexion of herself, until her breath
began to dim the glass. "I can twist any man
alive round my finger," she thought, with a smile
of superb triumph, "as long as I keep my looks!
If that contemptible wretch saw me now——"
She shrank from following the thought to its end,
with a sudden horror of herself: she drew back
from the glass, shuddering, and put her hands
over her face. "Oh Frank!" she murmured,
"but for you, what a wretch I might be!" Her
eager fingers snatched the little white silk bag
from its hiding-place in her bosom; her lips
devoured it with silent kisses. "My darling! my
angel! Oh, Frank, how I love you!" The tears
gushed into her eyes. She passionately dried
them, restored the bag to its place, and turned
her back on the looking-glass. "No more of
myself," she thought; "no more of my mad,
miserable self for to-day!"

Shrinking from all further contemplation of
her next step in advance—shrinking from the
fast-darkening future, with which Noel Vanstone
was now associated in her inmost thoughts—she
looked impatiently about the room for some
homely occupation which might take her out
of herself. The disguise which she had flung
down between the wall and the bed recurred to
her memory. It was impossible to leave it there.
Mrs. Wragge (now occupied in sorting her
parcels) might weary of her employment, might
come in again at a moment's notice, might pass
near the bed and see the grey cloak. What was
to be done?

Her first thought was to put the disguise back
in her trunk. But, after what had happened,
there was danger in trusting it so near to herself,
while she and Mrs. Wragge were together under
the same roof. She resolved to be rid of it that
evening, and boldly determined on sending it
back to Birmingham. Her bonnet-box fitted
into her trunk. She took the box.out, thrust in
the wig and cloak; and remorselessly flattened
down the bonnet at the top. The gown (which
she had not yet taken off) was her own; Mrs.
Wragge had been accustomed to see her in it—
there was no need to send the gown back.
Before closing the box, she hastily traced these
lines on a sheet of paper: "I took the enclosed things
away by mistake. Please keep them for me with
the rest of my luggage in your possession, until
you hear from me again." Putting the paper on
the top of the bonnet, she directed the box to
Captain Wragge, at Birmingham; took it down
stairs immediately; and sent the landlady's
daughter away with it to the nearest Receiving
House. "That difficulty is disposed of," she
thought, as she went back to her own room
again.

Mrs. Wragge was still occupied in sorting her
parcels, on her narrow little bed. She turned
round with a faint scream, when Magdalen looked
in at her. "I thought it was the ghost again,"
said Mrs. Wragge. "I'm trying to take warning,
my dear, by what's happened to me. I've
put all my parcels straight, just as the captain
would like to see 'em. I'm up at heel with
both shoes. If I close my eyes to-night—which
I don't think I shall—I'll go to sleep as straight
as my legs will let me. And I'll never have
another holiday as long as I live. I hope I
shall be forgiven," said Mrs. Wragge, mournfully
shaking her head. "I humbly hope I shall be
forgiven."

"Forgiven!" repeated Magdalen. "If other
women wanted as little forgiving as you do——
Well! well! Suppose you open some of these
parcels. Come! I want to see what you have
been buying to-day."

Mrs. Wragge hesitated, sighed penitently,
considered a little, stretched out her hand timidly
towards one of the parcels, thought of the
supernatural warning, and shrank back from her own
purchases with a desperate exertion of self-
control.

"Open this one," said Magdalen, to encourage
her: "What is it?"

Mrs. Wragge's faded blue eyes began to
brighten dimly, in spite of her remorse; but she
self-denyingly shook her head. The master
passion of shopping might claim his own again—but
the ghost was not laid yet.

"Did you get it a bargain?" asked Magdalen,
confidentially.

"Dirt cheap," cried poor Mrs. Wragge, falling
headlong into the snare, and darting at the
parcel as eagerly as if nothing had
happened.

Magdalen kept her gossiping over her
purchases for an hour or more; and then wisely
determined to distract her attention from all
ghostly recollections, in another way, by taking
her out for a walk.

As they left the lodgings, the door of Noel
Vanstone's house opened, and the woman-
servant appeared, bent on another errand. She
was apparently charged with a letter on this
occasion, which she carried carefully in her hand.
Conscious of having formed no plan yet, either
for attack or defence, Magdalen wondered, with
a momentary dread, whether Mrs. Lecount had
decided already on opening fresh communications