In a few days the answer arrived—­privately forwarded, of course, to Post-office, Whitby, by arrangement with my friend in London.

The lawyer’s reply was short and surly:  “SIR—­If my advice had been followed, you and your anonymous letter would both be treated with the contempt which they deserve.  But the wishes of Miss Magdalen Vanstone’s eldest sister have claims on my consideration which I cannot dispute; and at her entreaty I inform you that all further proceedings on my part are withdrawn—­on the express understanding that this concession is to open facilities for written communication, at least, between the two sisters.  A letter from the elder Miss Vanstone is inclosed in this.  If I don’t hear in a week’s time that it has been received, I shall place the matter once more in the hands of the police.—­WILLIAM PENDRIL.”  A sour man, this William Pendril.  I can only say of him what an eminent nobleman once said of his sulky servant—­“I wouldn’t have such a temper as that fellow has got for any earthly consideration that could be offered me!”

As a matter of course, I looked into the letter which the lawyer inclosed, before delivering it.  Miss Vanstone, the elder, described herself as distracted at not hearing from her sister; as suited with a governess’s situation in a private family; as going into the situation in a week’s time; and as longing for a letter to comfort her, before she faced the trial of undertaking her new duties.  After closing the envelope again, I accompanied the delivery of the letter to Miss Vanstone, the younger, by a word of caution.  “Are you more sure of your own courage now,” I said, “than you were when I met you?” She was ready with her answer.  “Captain Wragge, when you met me on the Walls of York I had not gone too far to go back.  I have gone too far now.”

If she really feels this—­and I think she does—­her corresponding with her sister can do no harm.  She wrote at great length the same day; cried profusely over her own epistolary composition; and was remarkably ill-tempered and snappish toward me, when we met in the evening.  She wants experience, poor girl—­she sadly wants experience of the world.  How consoling to know that I am just the man to give it her!

II.

Chronicle for November.

We are established at Derby.  The Entertainment is written; and the rehearsals are in steady progress.  All difficulties are provided for, but the one eternal difficulty of money.  Miss Vanstone’s resources stretch easily enough to the limits of our personal wants; including piano-forte hire for practice, and the purchase and making of the necessary dresses.  But the expenses of starting the Entertainment are beyond the reach of any means we possess.  A theatrical friend of mine here, whom I had hoped to interest in our undertaking, proves, unhappily, to be at a crisis in his career.  The field of human sympathy,