“I will tell you what I mean,” she said.  “I mean to marry him.”

Captain Wragge started up on his knees, and stopped on them, petrified by astonishment.

“Remember what I told you,” said Magdalen, looking away from him again.  “I have lost all care for myself.  I have only one end in life now, and the sooner I reach it—­and die—­the better.  If—­” She stopped, altered her position a little, and pointed with one hand to the fast-ebbing stream beneath her, gleaming dim in the darkening twilight—­“if I had been what I once was, I would have thrown myself into that river sooner than do what I am going to do now.  As it is, I trouble myself no longer; I weary my mind with no more schemes.  The short way and the vile way lies before me.  I take it, Captain Wragge, and marry him.”

“Keeping him in total ignorance of who you are?” said the captain, slowly rising to his feet, and slowly moving round, so as to see her face.  “Marrying him as my niece, Miss Bygrave?”

“As your niece, Miss Bygrave.”

“And after the marriage—?” His voice faltered, as he began the question, and he left it unfinished.

“After the marriage,” she said, “I shall stand in no further need of your assistance.”

The captain stooped as she gave him that answer, looked close at her, and suddenly drew back, without uttering a word.  He walked away some paces, and sat down again doggedly on the grass.  If Magdalen could have seen his face in the dying light, his face would have startled her.  For the first time, probably, since his boyhood, Captain Wragge had changed color.  He was deadly pale.

“Have you nothing to say to me?” she asked.  “Perhaps you are waiting to hear what terms I have to offer?  These are my terms; I pay all our expenses here; and when we part, on the day of the marriage, you take a farewell gift away with you of two hundred pounds.  Do you promise me your assistance on those conditions?”

“What am I expected to do?” he asked, with a furtive glance at her, and a sudden distrust in his voice.

“You are expected to preserve my assumed character and your own,” she answered, “and you are to prevent any inquiries of Mrs. Lecount’s from discovering who I really am.  I ask no more.  The rest is my responsibility—­not yours.”

“I have nothing to do with what happens—­at any time, or in any place—­after the marriage?”

“Nothing whatever.”

“I may leave you at the church door if I please?”

“At the church door, with your fee in your pocket.”

“Paid from the money in your own possession?”

“Certainly!  How else should I pay it?”

Captain Wragge took off his hat, and passed his handkerchief over his face with an air of relief.

“Give me a minute to consider it,” he said.

“As many minutes as you like,” she rejoined, reclining on the bank in her former position, and returning to her former occupation of tearing up the tufts of grass and flinging them out into the air.