never yet worn an article of dress of her own making—­now toiled as anxiously over the making of Mrs. Wragge’s gown, and bore as patiently with Mrs. Wragge’s blunders, as if the sole object of her existence had been the successful completion of that one dress.  Anything was welcome to her—­the trivial difficulties of fitting a gown:  the small, ceaseless chatter of the poor half-witted creature who was so proud of her assistance, and so happy in her company—­anything was welcome that shut her out from the coming future, from the destiny to which she stood self-condemned.  That sorely-wounded nature was soothed by such a trifle now as the grasp of her companion’s rough and friendly hand—­that desolate heart was cheered, when night parted them, by Mrs. Wragge’s kiss.

The captain’s isolated position in the house produced no depressing effect on the captain’s easy and equal spirits.  Instead of resenting Magdalen’s systematic avoidance of his society, he looked to results, and highly approved of it.  The more she neglected him for his wife the more directly useful she became in the character of Mrs. Wragge’s self-appointed guardian.  He had more than once seriously contemplated revoking the concession which had been extorted from him, and removing his wife, at his own sole responsibility, out of harm’s way; and he had only abandoned the idea on discovering that Magdalen’s resolution to keep Mrs. Wragge in her own company was really serious.  While the two were together, his main anxiety was set at rest.  They kept their door locked by his own desire while he was out of the house, and, whatever Mrs. Wragge might do, Magdalen was to be trusted not to open it until he came back.  That night Captain Wragge enjoyed his cigar with a mind at ease, and sipped his brandy-and-water in happy ignorance of the pitfall which Mrs. Lecount had prepared for him in the morning.

Punctually at seven o’clock Noel Vanstone made his appearance.  The moment he entered the room Captain Wragge detected a change in his visitor’s look and manner.  “Something wrong!” thought the captain.  “We have not done with Mrs. Lecount yet.”

“How is Miss Bygrave this morning?” asked Noel Vanstone.  “Well enough, I hope, for our early walk?” His half-closed eyes, weak and watery with the morning light and the morning air, looked about the room furtively, and he shifted his place in a restless manner from one chair to another, as he made those polite inquiries.

“My niece is better—­she is dressing for the walk,” replied the captain, steadily observing his restless little friend while he spoke.  “Mr. Vanstone!” he added, on a sudden, “I am a plain Englishman—­excuse my blunt way of speaking my mind.  You don’t meet me this morning as cordially as you met me yesterday.  There is something unsettled in your face.  I distrust that housekeeper of yours, sir!  Has she been presuming on your forbearance?  Has she been trying to poison your mind against me or my niece?”