Her voice sank lower and lower as she spoke those kind words.  She sighed heavily, and, leaning her arm on the mantel-piece, laid her head on it with a reckless weariness miserable to see.  Louisa had not left the room, as she supposed—­Louisa came softly to her side, and kissed her hand.  Magdalen started; but she made no attempt, this time, to draw her hand away.  The sense of her own horrible isolation subdued her, at the touch of the servant’s lips.  Her proud heart melted; her eyes filled with burning tears.  “Don’t distress me!” she said, faintly.  “The time for kindness has gone by; it only overpowers me now.  Good-night!”

When the morning came, the affirmative answer which Magdalen had anticipated was the answer given.

On that day the landlady received her week’s notice to quit, and Louisa’s needle flew fast through the stitches of the parlor-maid’s dress.

THE END OF THE SIXTH SCENE.

BETWEEN THE SCENES.

PROGRESS OF THE STORY THROUGH THE POST.

I.

From Miss Garth to Mr. Pendril.

“Westmoreland House, January 3d, 1848.

“DEAR MR. PENDRIL—­I write, as you kindly requested, to report how Norah is going on, and to tell you what changes I see for the better in the state of her mind on the subject of her sister.

“I cannot say that she is becoming resigned to Magdalen’s continued silence—­I know her faithful nature too well to say it.  I can only tell you that she is beginning to find relief from the heavy pressure of sorrow and suspense in new thoughts and new hopes.  I doubt if she has yet realized this in her own mind; but I see the result, although she is not conscious of it herself.  I see her heart opening to the consolation of another interest and another love.  She has not said a word to me on the subject, nor have I said a word to her.  But as certainly as I know that Mr. George Bartram’s visits have lately grown more and more frequent to the family at Portland Place—­so certainly I can assure you that Norah is finding a relief under her suspense, which is not of my bringing, and a hope in the future, which I have not taught her to feel.

“It is needless for me to say that I tell you this in the strictest confidence.  God knows whether the happy prospect which seems to me to be just dawning will grow brighter or not as time goes on.  The oftener I see Mr. George Bartram—­and he has called on me more than once—­the stronger my liking for him grows.  To my poor judgment he seems to be a gentleman in the highest and truest sense of the word.  If I could live to see Norah his wife, I should almost feel that I had lived long enough.  But who can discern the future?  We have suffered so much that I am afraid to hope.

“Have you heard anything of Magdalen?  I don’t know why or how it is; but since I have known of her husband’s death, my old tenderness for her seems to cling to me more obstinately than ever.  Always yours truly,