“How much luggage?” she asked, confidentially.  “The captain’s gone out.  Let’s go and get it!”

“Mrs. Wragge!” cried a terrible voice at the door.

For the first time in Magdalen’s experience, Mrs. Wragge was deaf to the customary stimulant.  She actually ventured on a feeble remonstrance in the presence of her husband.

“Oh, do let her have her Things!” pleaded Mrs. Wragge.  “Oh, poor soul, do let her have her Things!”

The captain’s inexorable forefinger pointed to a corner of the room—­dropped slowly as his wife retired before it—­and suddenly stopped at the region of her shoes.

“Do I hear a clapping on the floor!” exclaimed Captain Wragge, with an expression of horror.  “Yes; I do.  Down at heel again!  The left shoe this time.  Pull it up, Mrs. Wragge! pull it up!—­The chaise will be here to-morrow morning at nine o’clock,” he continued, addressing Magdalen.  “We can’t possibly venture on claiming your box.  There is note-paper.  Write down a list of the necessaries you want.  I will take it myself to the shop, pay the bill for you, and bring back the parcel.  We must sacrifice the box—­we must, indeed.”

While her husband was addressing Magdalen, Mrs. Wragge had stolen out again from her corner, and had ventured near enough to the captain to hear the words “shop” and “parcel.”  She clapped her great hands together in ungovernable excitement, and lost all control over herself immediately.

“Oh, if it’s shopping, let me do it!” cried Mrs. Wragge.  “She’s going out to buy her Things!  Oh, let me go with her—­please let me go with her!”

“Sit down!” shouted the captain.  “Straight! more to the right—­more still.  Stop where you are!”

Mrs. Wragge crossed her helpless hands on her lap, and melted meekly into tears.

“I do so like shopping,” pleaded the poor creature; “and I get so little of it now!”

Magdalen completed her list; and Captain Wragge at once left the room with it.  “Don’t let my wife bore you,” he said, pleasantly, as he went out.  “Cut her short, poor soul—­cut her short!”

“Don’t cry,” said Magdalen, trying to comfort Mrs. Wragge by patting her on the shoulder.  “When the parcel comes back you shall open it.”

“Thank you, my dear,” said Mrs. Wragge, meekly, drying her eyes; “thank you kindly.  Don’t notice my handkerchief, please.  It’s such a very little one!  I had a nice lot of them once, with lace borders.  They’re all gone now.  Never mind!  It will comfort me to unpack your Things.  You’re very good to me.  I like you.  I say—­you won’t be angry, will you?  Give us a kiss.”

Magdalen stooped over her with the frank grace and gentleness of past days, and touched her faded cheek.  “Let me do something harmless!” she thought, with a pang at her heart—­“oh let me do something innocent and kind for the sake of old times!”

She felt her eyes moistening, and silently turned away.