“Don’t!” pleaded Mrs. Lecount.  “Oh, if you want to help these poor girls, don’t talk in that way!  Soften his resolution, ma’am, by entreaties; don’t strengthen it by threats!” She a little overstrained the tone of humility in which she spoke those words—­a little overacted the look of apprehension which accompanied them.  If Magdalen had not seen plainly enough already that it was Mrs. Lecount’s habitual practice to decide everything for her master in the first instance, and then to persuade him that he was not acting under his housekeeper’s resolution but under his own, she would have seen it now.

“You hear what Lecount has just said?” remarked Noel Vanstone.  “You hear the unsolicited testimony of a person who has known me from childhood?  Take care, Miss Garth—­take care!” He complacently arranged the tails of his white dressing-gown over his knees and took the plate of strawberries back on his lap.

“I have no wish to offend you,” said Magdalen.  “I am only anxious to open your eyes to the truth.  You are not acquainted with the characters of the two sisters whose fortunes have fallen into your possession.  I have known them from childhood; and I come to give you the benefit of my experience in their interests and in yours.  You have nothing to dread from the elder of the two; she patiently accepts the hard lot which you, and your father before you, have forced on her.  The younger sister’s conduct is the very opposite of this.  She has already declined to submit to your father’s decision, and she now refuses to be silenced by Mrs. Lecount’s letter.  Take my word for it, she is capable of giving you serious trouble if you persist in making an enemy of her.”

Noel Vanstone changed color once more, and began to fidget again in his chair.  “Serious trouble,” he repeated, with a blank look.  “If you mean writing letters, ma’am, she has given trouble enough already.  She has written once to me, and twice to my father.  One of the letters to my father was a threatening letter—­wasn’t it, Lecount?”

“She expressed her feelings, poor child,” said Mrs. Lecount.  “I thought it hard to send her back her letter, but your dear father knew best.  What I said at the time was, Why not let her express her feelings?  What are a few threatening words, after all?  In her position, poor creature, they are words, and nothing more.”

“I advise you not to be too sure of that,” said Magdalen.  “I know her better than you do.”

She paused at those words—­paused in a momentary terror.  The sting of Mrs. Lecount’s pity had nearly irritated her into forgetting her assumed character, and speaking in her own voice.

“You have referred to the letters written by my pupil,” she resumed, addressing Noel Vanstone as soon as she felt sure of herself again.  “We will say nothing about what she has written to your father; we will only speak of what she has written to you.  Is there anything unbecoming in her letter, anything said in it that is false?  Is it not true that these two sisters have been cruelly deprived of the provision which their father made for them?  His will to this day speaks for him and for them; and it only speaks to no purpose, because he was not aware that his marriage obliged him to make it again, and because he died before he could remedy the error.  Can you deny that?”