On the brink of that terrible conclusion, Miss Garth shrank back in dismay.  Her heart was the heart of a true woman.  It accepted the conviction which raised Norah higher in her love:  it rejected the doubt which threatened to place Magdalen lower.  She rose and paced the room impatiently; she recoiled with an angry suddenness from the whole train of thought in which her mind had been engaged but the moment before.  What if there were dangerous elements in the strength of Magdalen’s character—­was it not her duty to help the girl against herself?  How had she performed that duty?  She had let herself be governed by first fears and first impressions; she had never waited to consider whether Magdalen’s openly acknowledged action of that morning might not imply a self-sacrificing fortitude, which promised, in after-life, the noblest and the most enduring results.  She had let Norah go and speak those words of tender remonstrance, which she should first have spoken herself.  “Oh!” she thought, bitterly, “how long I have lived in the world, and how little I have known of my own weakness and wickedness until to-day!”

The door of the room opened.  Norah came in, as she had gone out, alone.

“Do you remember leaving anything on the little table by the garden-seat?” she asked, quietly.

Before Miss Garth could answer the question, she held out her father’s will and her father’s letter.

“Magdalen came back after you went away,” she said, “and found these last relics.  She heard Mr. Pendril say they were her legacy and mine.  When I went into the garden she was reading the letter.  There was no need for me to speak to her; our father had spoken to her from his grave.  See how she has listened to him!”

She pointed to the letter.  The traces of heavy tear-drops lay thick over the last lines of the dead man’s writing.

“Her tears,” said Norah, softly.

Miss Garth’s head drooped low over the mute revelation of Magdalen’s return to her better self.

“Oh, never doubt her again!” pleaded Norah.  “We are alone now—­we have our hard way through the world to walk on as patiently as we can.  If Magdalen ever falters and turns back, help her for the love of old times; help her against herself.”

“With all my heart and strength—­as God shall judge me, with the devotion of my whole life!” In those fervent words Miss Garth answered.  She took the hand which Norah held out to her, and put it, in sorrow and humility, to her lips.  “Oh, my love, forgive me!  I have been miserably blind—­I have never valued you as I ought!”

Norah gently checked her before she could say more; gently whispered, “Come with me into the garden—­come, and help Magdalen to look patiently to the future.”

The future!  Who could see the faintest glimmer of it?  Who could see anything but the ill-omened figure of Michael Vanstone, posted darkly on the verge of the present time—­and closing all the prospect that lay beyond him?