in the last degree.  You will not find it my course of conduct, Mr. Vanstone—­you will not find me preaching what I don’t practice.  If I trust you with my niece, I trust you with every inferior responsibility toward her and toward me.  Give me your hand, sir; tell me, on your word of honor, that you will provide for your wife as becomes her position and your means, and the question of settlements is decided between us from this moment at once and forever!” Having carried out Magdalen’s instructions in this lofty tone, he threw open his respectable frockcoat, and sat with head erect and hand extended, the model of parental feeling and the picture of human integrity.

For one moment Noel Vanstone remained literally petrified by astonishment.  The next, he started from his chair and wrung the hand of his magnanimous friend in a perfect transport of admiration.  Never yet, throughout his long and varied career, had Captain Wragge felt such difficulty in keeping his countenance as he felt now.  Contempt for the outburst of miserly gratitude of which he was the object; triumph in the sense of successful conspiracy against a man who had rated the offer of his protection at five pounds; regret at the lost opportunity of effecting a fine stroke of moral agriculture, which his dread of involving himself in coming consequences had forced him to let slip—­all these varied emotions agitated the captain’s mind; all strove together to find their way to the surface through the outlets of his face or his tongue.  He allowed Noel Vanstone to keep possession of his hand, and to heap one series of shrill protestations and promises on another, until he had regained his usual mastery over himself.  That result achieved, he put the little man back in his chair, and returned forthwith to the subject of Mrs. Lecount.

“Suppose we now revert to the difficulty which we have not conquered yet,” said the captain.  “Let us say that I do violence to my own habits and feelings; that I allow the considerations I have already mentioned to weigh with me; and that I sanction your wish to be united to my niece without the knowledge of Mrs. Lecount.  Allow me to inquire in that case what means you can suggest for the accomplishment of your end?”

“I can’t suggest anything,” replied Noel Vanstone, helplessly.  “Would you object to suggest for me?”

“You are making a bolder request than you think, Mr. Vanstone.  I never do things by halves.  When I am acting with my customary candor, I am frank (as you know already) to the utmost verge of imprudence.  When exceptional circumstances compel me to take an opposite course, there isn’t a slyer fox alive than I am.  If, at your express request, I take off my honest English coat here and put on a Jesuit’s gown—­if, purely out of sympathy for your awkward position, I consent to keep your secret for you from Mrs. Lecount—­I must have no unseasonable scruples to contend with on your part.  If it is neck or nothing on my side, sir, it must be neck or nothing on yours also.”