thing at all, is a taste for science, implanted by her deceased husband, the professor.  I think I see a chance here of working my way into her good graces, and casting a little needful dust into those handsome black eyes of hers.  Acting on this idea when I purchased the lady’s tea at Ipswich, I also bought on my own account that far-famed pocket-manual of knowledge, ’Joyce’s Scientific Dialogues.’  Possessing, as I do, a quick memory and boundless confidence in myself, I propose privately inflating my new skin with as much ready-made science as it will hold, and presenting Mr. Bygrave to Mrs. Lecount’s notice in the character of the most highly informed man she has met with since the professor’s death.  The necessity of blindfolding that woman (to use your own admirable expression) is as clear to me as to you.  If it is to be done in the way I propose, make your mind easy—­Wragge, inflated by Joyce, is the man to do it.

“You now have my whole budget of news.  Am I, or am I not, worthy of your confidence in me?  I say nothing of my devouring anxiety to know what your objects really are—­that anxiety will be satisfied when we meet.  Never yet, my dear girl, did I long to administer a productive pecuniary Squeeze to any human creature, as I long to administer it to Mr. Noel Vanstone.  I say no more. Verbum sap. Pardon the pedantry of a Latin quotation, and believe me,

“Entirely yours,

“HORATIO WRAGGE.

“P.S.—­I await my instructions, as you requested.  You have only to say whether I shall return to London for the purpose of escorting you to this place, or whether I shall wait here to receive you.  The house is in perfect order, the weather is charming, and the sea is as smooth as Mrs. Lecount’s apron.  She has just passed the window, and we have exchanged bows.  A sharp woman, my dear Magdalen; but Joyce and I together may prove a trifle too much for her.”

XIII.

Extract from the “East Suffolk Argus."

“ALDBOROUGH.—­We notice with pleasure the arrival of visitors to this healthful and far-famed watering-place earlier in the season than usual during the present year. Esto Perpetua is all we have to say.

“VISITORS’ LIST.—­Arrivals since our last.  North Shingles Villa—­Mrs. Bygrave; Miss Bygrave.”

THE FOURTH SCENE.

ALDBOROUGH, SUFFOLK.

CHAPTER I.

THE most striking spectacle presented to a stranger by the shores of Suffolk is the extraordinary defenselessness of the land against the encroachments of the sea.

At Aldborough, as elsewhere on this coast, local traditions are, for the most part, traditions which have been literally drowned.  The site of the old town, once a populous and thriving port, has almost entirely disappeared in the sea.  The German Ocean has swallowed up streets, market-places, jetties, and public walks; and the merciless waters, consummating their work of devastation, closed, no longer than eighty years since, over the salt-master’s cottage at Aldborough, now famous in memory only as the birthplace of the poet CRABBE.