Her first thought was to put the disguise back in her trunk.  But after what had happened, there was danger in trusting it so near to herself while she and Mrs. Wragge were together under the same roof.  She resolved to be rid of it that evening, and boldly determined on sending it back to Birmingham.  Her bonnet-box fitted into her trunk.  She took the box out, thrust in the wig and cloak, and remorselessly flattened down the bonnet at the top.  The gown (which she had not yet taken off) was her own; Mrs. Wragge had been accustomed to see her in it—­there was no need to send the gown back.  Before closing the box, she hastily traced these lines on a sheet of paper:  “I took the inclosed things away by mistake.  Please keep them for me, with the rest of my luggage in your possession, until you hear from me again.”  Putting the paper on the top of the bonnet, she directed the box to Captain Wragge at Birmingham, took it downstairs immediately, and sent the landlady’s daughter away with it to the nearest Receiving-house.  “That difficulty is disposed of,” she thought, as she went back to her own room again.

Mrs. Wragge was still occupied in sorting her parcels on her narrow little bed.  She turned round with a faint scream when Magdalen looked in at her.  “I thought it was the ghost again,” said Mrs. Wragge.  “I’m trying to take warning, my dear, by what’s happened to me.  I’ve put all my parcels straight, just as the captain would like to see ’em.  I’m up at heel with both shoes.  If I close my eyes to-night—­which I don’t think I shall—­I’ll go to sleep as straight as my legs will let me.  And I’ll never have another holiday as long as I live.  I hope I shall be forgiven,” said Mrs. Wragge, mournfully shaking her head.  “I humbly hope I shall be forgiven.”

“Forgiven!” repeated Magdalen.  “If other women wanted as little forgiving as you do—­Well! well!  Suppose you open some of these parcels.  Come!  I want to see what you have been buying to-day.”

Mrs. Wragge hesitated, sighed penitently, considered a little, stretched out her hand timidly toward one of the parcels, thought of the supernatural warning, and shrank back from her own purchases with a desperate exertion of self-control.

“Open this one.” said Magdalen, to encourage her:  “what is it?”

Mrs. Wragge’s faded blue eyes began to brighten dimly, in spite of her remorse; but she self-denyingly shook her head.  The master-passion of shopping might claim his own again—­but the ghost was not laid yet.

“Did you get it at a bargain?” asked Magdalen, confidentially.

“Dirt cheap!” cried poor Mrs. Wragge, falling headlong into the snare, and darting at the parcel as eagerly as if nothing had happened.

Magdalen kept her gossiping over her purchases for an hour or more, and then wisely determined to distract her attention from all ghostly recollections in another way by taking her out for a walk.