Faintly and more faintly the inner voices now pleaded with her to pause on the downward way.  The discovery which had poisoned her heart with its first distrust of her sister; the tidings which had followed it of her husband’s death; the sting of Mrs. Lecount’s triumph, felt through all, had done their work.  The remorse which had embittered her married life was deadened now to a dull despair.  It was too late to make the atonement of confession—­too late to lay bare to the miserable husband the deeper secrets that had once lurked in the heart of the miserable wife.  Innocent of all thought of the hideous treachery which Mrs. Lecount had imputed to her—­she was guilty of knowing how his health was broken when she married him; guilty of knowing, when he left her the Combe-Raven money, that the accident of a moment, harmless to other men, might place his life in jeopardy, and effect her release.  His death had told her this—­had told her plainly what she had shrunk, in his lifetime, from openly acknowledging to herself.  From the dull torment of that reproach; from the dreary wretchedness of doubting everybody, even to Norah herself; from the bitter sense of her defeated schemes; from the blank solitude of her friendless life—­what refuge was left?  But one refuge now.  She turned to the relentless Purpose which was hurrying her to her ruin, and cried to it with the daring of her despair—­Drive me on!

For days and days together she had bent her mind on the one object which occupied it since she had received the lawyer’s letter.  For days and days together she had toiled to meet the first necessity of her position—­to find a means of discovering the Secret Trust.  There was no hope, this time, of assistance from Captain Wragge.  Long practice had made the old militia-man an adept in the art of vanishing.  The plow of the moral agriculturist left no furrows—­not a trace of him was to be found!  Mr. Loscombe was too cautious to commit himself to an active course of any kind; he passively maintained his opinions and left the rest to his client—–­he desired to know nothing until the Trust was placed in his hands.  Magdalen’s interests were now in Magdalen’s own sole care.  Risk or no risk, what she did next she must do by herself.

The prospect had not daunted her.  Alone she had calculated the chances that might be tried.  Alone she was now determined to make the attempt.

“The time has come,” she said to herself, as she sat over the fire.  “I must sound Louisa first.”

She collected the scattered coins in her lap, and placed them in a little heap on the table, then rose and rang the bell.  The landlady answered it.

“Is my servant downstairs?” inquired Magdalen.

“Yes, ma’am.  She is having her tea.”

“When she has done, say I want her up here.  Wait a moment.  You will find your money on the table—­the money I owe you for last week.  Can you find it? or would you like to have a candle?”