This policy of waiting was so manifestly the wise policy—­the wily Mr. Bygrave was so sure to have provided himself, in case of emergency, with evidence to prove the identity which he and his niece had assumed for their purpose—­that Mrs. Lecount at once decided to keep her own counsel the next morning, and to pause before attacking the conspiracy until she could produce unanswerable facts to help her.  Her master’s acquaintance with the Bygraves was only an acquaintance of one day’s standing.  There was no fear of its developing into a dangerous intimacy if she merely allowed it to continue for a few days more, and if she permanently checked it, at the latest, in a week’s time.

In that period what measures could she take to remove the obstacles which now stood in her way, and to provide herself with the weapons which she now wanted?

Reflection showed her three different chances in her favor—­three different ways of arriving at the necessary discovery.

The first chance was to cultivate friendly terms with Magdalen, and then, taking her unawares, to entrap her into betraying herself in Noel Vanstone’s presence.  The second chance was to write to the elder Miss Vanstone, and to ask (with some alarming reason for putting the question) for information on the subject of her younger sister’s whereabouts, and of any peculiarities in her personal appearance which might enable a stranger to identify her.  The third chance was to penetrate the mystery of Mrs. Bygrave’s seclusion, and to ascertain at a personal interview whether the invalid lady’s real complaint might not possibly be a defective capacity for keeping her husband’s secrets.  Resolving to try all three chances, in the order in which they are here enumerated, and to set her snares for Magdalen on the day that was now already at hand, Mrs. Lecount at last took off her dressing-gown and allowed her weaker nature to plead with her for a little sleep.

The dawn was breaking over the cold gray sea as she lay down in her bed again.  The last idea in her mind before she fell asleep was characteristic of the woman—­it was an idea that threatened the captain.  “He has trifled with the sacred memory of my husband,” thought the Professor’s widow.  “On my life and honor, I will make him pay for it.”

Early the next morning Magdalen began the day, according to her agreement with the captain, by taking Mrs. Wragge out for a little exercise at an hour when there was no fear of her attracting the public attention.  She pleaded hard to be left at home; having the Oriental Cashmere Robe still on her mind, and feeling it necessary to read her directions for dressmaking, for the hundredth time at least, before (to use her own expression) she could “screw up her courage to put the scissors into the stuff.”  But her companion would take no denial, and she was forced to go out.  The one guileless purpose of the life which Magdalen now led was the resolution that poor Mrs. Wragge should not be made a prisoner on her account; and to that resolution she mechanically clung, as the last token left her by which she knew her better-self.