During that period she had never seen any other inhabitant of North Shingles leave the house.  The servant was no doubt at her work in the kitchen; Mrs. Bygrave was probably still in her bed; and Miss Bygrave (if she was up at that early hour) had perhaps received directions not to venture out in her uncle’s absence.  The difficulty of meeting the obstacle of Magdalen’s presence in the house had been, for some days past, the one difficulty which all Mrs. Lecount’s ingenuity had thus far proved unable to overcome.

She sat at the window for a quarter of an hour after the captain’s boat had left the beach with her mind hard at work, and her eyes fixed mechanically on North Shingles—­she sat considering what written excuse she could send to her master for delaying her departure from Aldborough for some days to come—­when the door of the house she was watching suddenly opened, and Magdalen herself appeared in the garden.  There was no mistaking her figure and her dress.  She took a few steps hastily toward the gate, stopped and pulled down the veil of her garden hat as if she felt the clear morning light too much for her, then hurried out on the Parade and walked away northward, in such haste, or in such pre-occupation of mind, that she went through the garden gate without closing it after her.

Mrs. Lecount started up from her chair with a moment’s doubt of the evidence of her own eyes.  Had the opportunity which she had been vainly plotting to produce actually offered itself to her of its own accord?  Had the chances declared themselves at last in her favor, after steadily acting against her for so long?  There was no doubt of it:  in the popular phrase, “her luck had turned.”  She snatched up her bonnet and mantilla, and made for North Shingles without an instant’s hesitation.  Mr. Bygrave out at sea; Miss Bygrave away for a walk; Mrs. Bygrave and the servant both at home, and both easily dealt with—­the opportunity was not to be lost; the risk was well worth running!

This time the house door was easily opened:  no one had bolted it again after Magdalen’s departure.  Mrs. Lecount closed the door softly, listened for a moment in the passage, and heard the servant noisily occupied in the kitchen with her pots and pans.  “If my lucky star leads me straight into Miss Bygrave’s room,” thought the housekeeper, stealing noiselessly up the stairs, “I may find my way to her wardrobe without disturbing anybody.”

She tried the door nearest to the front of the house on the right-hand side of the landing.  Capricious chance had deserted her already.  The lock was turned.  She tried the door opposite, on her left hand.  The boots ranged symmetrically in a row, and the razors on the dressing-table, told her at once that she had not found the right room yet.  She returned to the right-hand side of the landing, walked down a little passage leading to the back of the house, and tried a third door.  The door opened, and the two opposite extremes of female humanity, Mrs. Wragge and Mrs. Lecount, stood face to face in an instant!