round towards the glass, and again turned away
from it. "No!" she said. "I have Mrs. Lecount
to face, as well as her master. No paint."
After consulting her watch, she left the room,
and went down stairs again. It wanted ten
minutes only of two o'clock.

Captain Wragge was waiting for her in the
parlour—respectable in a frock-coat, a stiff summer
cravat, and a high white hat; specklessly
and cheerfully rural, in a buff waistcoat, grey
trousers and gaiters to match. His collars were
higher than ever, and he carried a bran-new
camp-stool in his hand. Any tradesman in
England who had seen him at that moment,
would have trusted him on the spot.

"Charming!" said the captain, paternally
surveying Magdalen when she entered the room.
"So fresh and cool! A little too pale, my dear,
and a great deal too serious. Otherwise perfect.
Try if you can smile."

"When the time comes for smiling," said
Magdalen, bitterly, "trust my dramatic training
for any change of face that may be necessary.
Where is Mrs. Wragge?"

"Mrs. Wragge has learnt her lesson," replied
the captain, "and is rewarded by my permission
to sit at work in her own room. I sanction her
new fancy for dressmaking, because it is sure to
absorb all her attention, and to keep her at home.
There is no fear of her finishing the Oriental
Robe 'in a hurry'—for there is no mistake in
the process of making it which she is not
certain to commit. She will sit incubating her
gown—pardon the expression—like a hen over an
addled egg. I assure you her new whim relieves
me. Nothing could be more convenient under
existing circumstances."

He strutted away to the window—looked out
—and beckoned to Magdalen to join him.
"There they are!" he said, and pointed, to the
parade.

Mr. Noel Vanstone slowly walked by, as she
looked, dressed in a complete suit of old-fashioned
nankeen. It was apparently one of the days when
the state of his health was at the worst. He
leaned on Mrs. Lecount's arm, and was protected
from the sun by a light umbrella which she held
over him. The housekeeper—dressed to perfection,
as usual, in a quiet lavender-coloured summer
gown, a black mantilla, an unassuming straw
bonnet, and a crisp blue veil—escorted her invalid
master with the tenderest attention; sometimes
directing his notice respectfully to the various
objects of the sea view; sometimes, bending her
head in graceful acknowledgment of the courtesy
of passing strangers on the parade, who stepped
aside to let the invalid pass by. She produced a
visible effect among the idlers on the beach.
They looked after her, with unanimous interest;
and exchanged confidential nods of approval
which said as plainly as words could have
expressed it: — "A very domestic person! a truly
superior woman!"

Captain Wragge' s parti-coloured eyes followed
Mrs. Lecount with a steady, distrustful attention.
"Tough work for us, there" he whispered
in Magdalen's ear; "tougher work than you
think, before we turn that woman out of her
place."

"Wait," said Magdalen, quietly. "Wait, and
see."

She walked to the door. The captain followed
her without making any further remark. "I'll
wait till you're married," he thought to himself—
"not a moment longer, offer me what you may."

At the house door, Magdalen addressed him
again.

"We will go that way," she said, pointing
southward—"then turn, and meet them, as they
come back."

Captain Wragge signified his approval of the
arrangement: and followed Magdalen to the
garden gate. As she opened it to pass through,
her attention was attracted by a lady, with a
nursery-maid and two little boys behind her,
loitering on the path outside the garden wall.
The lady started, looked eagerly, and smiled to
herself, as Magdalen came out. Curiosity had
got the better of Kirke's sister—and she had
come to Aldborough for the express purpose of
seeing Miss Bygrave.

Something in the shape of the lady's face,
something in the expression of her dark eyes
reminded Magdalen of the merchant-captain
whose uncontrolled admiration had annoyed her
on the previous evening. She instantly
returned the stranger's scrutiny by a frowning,
ungracious look. The lady coloured, paid the
look back with interest, and slowly walked on.

"A hard, bold, bad girl," thought Kirke's
sister. "What could Robert be thinking of to
admire her? I am almost glad he is gone. I
hope and trust he will never set eyes on Miss
Bygrave again."

"What boors the people are here!" said
Magdalen to Captain Wragge. "That woman
was even ruder than the man last night. She is
like him, in the face. I wonder who she is?"

"I'll find out directly," said the captain. "We
can't be too cautious about strangers." He at
once appealed to his friends, the boatmen. They
were close at hand; and Magdalen heard the
questions and answers plainly.

"How are you all, this morning?" said Captain
Wragge, in his easy jocular way. "And how's
the wind? Nor'-west and by west, is it? Very
good. Who is that lady?"

"That's Mrs. Strickland, sir."

"Ay! ay! The clergyman's wife and the
captain's sister. Where's the captain to-day?"

"On his way to London, I should think, sir.
His ship sails for China, at the end of the
week."

China! As that one word passed the man's
lips, a pang of the old sorrow struck Magdalen
to the heart. Stranger as he was, she began to
hate the bare mention of the merchant-captain's
name. He had troubled her dreams of the past
night—and now, when she was most desperately
and recklessly bent on forgetting her old