could open his lips, Mrs. Lecount's plump hands
descended on his shoulders; put him softly
back in his chair; and restored the plate of
strawberries to its former position on his
lap.

"Are you residing in London, ma'am?" asked
Mrs. Lecount.

"No," replied Magdalen. "I reside in the
country."

"If I want to write to you, where can I
address my letter?"

"To the post-office, Birmingham," said
Magdalen, mentioning the place which she had last
left, and at which all letters were still addressed
to her.

Mrs. Lecount repeated the direction to fix it
in her memory—advanced two steps in the
passage—and quietly laid her right hand on
Magdalen's arm.

"A word of advice, ma'am," she said; "one
word, at parting. You are a bold woman, and a
clever woman. Don't be too bold; don't be too
clever. You are risking more than you think
for." She suddenly raised herself on tiptoe, and
whispered the next words in Magdalen's ear.
"I hold you in the hollow of my hand!" said Mrs.
Lecount, with a fierce, hissing emphasis on every
syllable. Her left hand clenched itself stealthily,
as she spoke. It was the hand in which she had
concealed the fragment of stuff from Magdalen's
gown—the hand which held it fast at that
moment.

"What do you mean?" asked Magdalen, pushing
her back.

Mrs. Lecount glided away politely to open the
house door.

"I mean nothing now," she said; "wait a
little, and time may show. One last question,
ma'am, before I bid you good-by. When your
pupil was a little innocent child, did she ever
amuse herself by building a house of cards?"

Magdalen impatiently answered by a gesture
in the affirmative.

"Did you ever see her build up the house
higher and higher," proceeded Mrs. Lecount,
"till it was quite a pagoda of cards? Did you
ever see her open her little child's eyes wide, and
look at it, and feel so proud of what she had
done already that she wanted to do more? Did
you ever see her steady her pretty little hand,
and hold her innocent breath, and put one
other card on the top—and lay the whole
house, the instant afterwards, a heap of ruins
on the table? Ah, you have seen that!
Give her, if you please, a friendly message
from me. I venture to say she has built the
house high enough already; and I recommend
her to be careful before she puts on that other
card."

"She shall have your message," said Magdalen,
with Miss Garth's bluntness, and Miss
Garth's emphatic nod of the head. "But I doubt
her minding it. Her hand is rather steadier than
you suppose; and I think she will put on the
other card."

"And bring the house down," said Mrs.
Lecount.

"And build it up again," rejoined Magdalen.
"I wish you good morning."

"Good morning," said Mrs. Lecount, opening
the door. "One last word, Miss Garth. Do
think of what I said in the back room! Do try
the Golden Ointment for that sad affliction in
your eyes!"

As Magdalen crossed the threshold of the door,
she was met by the postman, ascending the
house steps, with a letter picked out from the
bundle in his hand. "Noel Vanstone, Esquire?"
she heard the man say interrogatively, as she
made her way down the front garden to the
street.

She passed through the garden gate, little
thinking from what new difficulty and new
danger her timely departure had saved her. The
letter which the postman had just delivered into
the housekeeper's hands, was no other than the
anonymous letter addressed to Noel Vanstone
by Captain Wragge.

A GOSSIP ABOUT FLOWERS.

ALPHONSE KARR, who discourses so pleasantly
on all subjects, and whose charming "travels"
round his own and other people's gardens are so
well known, has lately produced a volume bearing
the attractive title of Flowers. He first
discourses of garden walls, which, he says, assist
the purposes of Nature, plants being nowhere so
fine, so luxuriant, so happy, as when they are
supported by and stretched along them, and he
covers them in this manner: Plant ivy against the
barrier exposed to the north, it will soon be
entirely covered, and in winter will afford food and
shelter to the song-birds, where they can safely
build. Let the climbing vine trail its branches on
a wall that receives only the morning sun: its
leaves will be green all the summer, and glow
with a rich purple in autumn. Give a southern
aspect to the Glycine Chinensis (or Wistaria),
and it will flower twice a year, in April and in
August; in the same situation the several
varieties of Bignonia will flourish; and wherever
you have room on your walls encourage climbing
roses, white and yellow jasmines, passion-
flowers, sweet-smelling clematis, violet-coloured,
white, and pink Maurendiæ, every kind of
creeper, in short, that opens its petals to the
sun; the lowliest amongst them will conceal
what the loftier-rising stems have left bare. Let
your garden wall be as flat as you please on
your neighbour's side, if it be a party-wall, and
he likes it so; but, on your own, preserve as
many angular forms and irregularities as
possible, to give your garden the air of being
enclosed by rocks. Is it indispensable, also, that
the top of the wall should be an inexorably
straight line? Here and there along the top leave
spaces of different sizes, for letting in flowerpots
containing wallflower, wild geranium,
saxifrage, houseleek, valerian, and so forth; and let
the trellis for the climbing plants be painted