That night no rest came to her.  That night the roused forces of Good and Evil fought their terrible fight for her soul—­and left the strife between them still in suspense when morning came.  As the clock of York Minster struck nine, she followed Mrs. Wragge to the chaise, and took her seat by the captain’s side.  In a quarter of an hour more York was in the distance, and the highroad lay bright and open before them in the morning sunlight.

THE END OF THE SECOND SCENE.

BETWEEN THE SCENES.

CHRONICLE OF EVENTS:  PRESERVED IN CAPTAIN WRAGGE’S DISPATCH-BOX.

I.

Chronicle for October, 1846.

I HAVE retired into the bosom of my family.  We are residing in the secluded village of Ruswarp, on the banks of the Esk, about two miles inland from Whitby.  Our lodgings are comfortable, and we possess the additional blessing of a tidy landlady.  Mrs. Wragge and Miss Vanstone preceded me here, in accordance with the plan I laid down for effecting our retreat from York.  On the next day I followed them alone, with the luggage.  On leaving the terminus, I had the satisfaction of seeing the lawyer’s clerk in close confabulation with the detective officer whose advent I had prophesied.  I left him in peaceable possession of the city of York, and the whole surrounding neighborhood.  He has returned the compliment, and has left us in peaceable possession of the valley of the Esk, thirty miles away from him.

Remarkable results have followed my first efforts at the cultivation of Miss Vanstone’s dramatic abilities.

I have discovered that she possesses extraordinary talent as a mimic.  She has the flexible face, the manageable voice, and the dramatic knack which fit a woman for character-parts and disguises on the stage.  All she now wants is teaching and practice, to make her sure of her own resources.  The experience of her, thus gained, has revived an idea in my mind which originally occurred to me at one of the “At Homes” of the late inimitable Charles Mathews, comedian.  I was in the Wine Trade at the time, I remember.  We imitated the Vintage-processes of Nature in a back-kitchen at Brompton, and produced a dinner-sherry, pale and curious, tonic in character, round in the mouth, a favorite with the Court of Spain, at nineteen-and-sixpence a dozen, bottles included—­Vide Prospectus of the period.  The profits of myself and partners were small; we were in advance of the tastes of the age, and in debt to the bottle merchant.  Being at my wits’ end for want of money, and seeing what audiences Mathews drew, the idea occurred to me of starting an imitation of the great Imitator himself, in the shape of an “At Home,” given by a woman.  The one trifling obstacle in the way was the difficulty of finding the woman.  From that time to this, I have hitherto failed to overcome it.  I have conquered it at last; I have