“Thank you, George,” said the admiral, bluntly.  “I expected as much from you, and you have not disappointed me.—­If Miss Brock doesn’t get us out of this mess,” thought the wily old gentleman, as he resumed his place at the table, “my nephew’s weather-cock of a head has turned steady with a vengeance!—­We’ll consider the question settled for to-night, George,” he continued, aloud, “and call another subject.  These family anxieties don’t improve the flavor of my old claret.  The bottle stands with you.  What are they doing at the theaters in London?  We always patronized the theaters, in my time, in the Navy.  We used to like a good tragedy to begin with, and a hornpipe to cheer us up at the end of the entertainment.”

For the rest of the evening, the talk flowed in the ordinary channels.  Admiral Bartram only returned to the forbidden subject when he and his nephew parted for the night.

“You won’t forget to-morrow, George?”

“Certainly not, sir.  I’ll take the dog-cart, and drive myself over after breakfast.”

Before noon the next day Mr. George Bartram had left the house, and the last chance in Magdalen’s favor had left it with him.

CHAPTER IV.

WHEN the servants’ dinner-bell at St. Crux rang as usual on the day of George Bartram’s departure, it was remarked that the new parlor-maid’s place at table remained empty.  One of the inferior servants was sent to her room to make inquiries, and returned with the information that “Louisa” felt a little faint, and begged that her attendance at table might be excused for that day.  Upon this, the superior authority of the housekeeper was invoked, and Mrs. Drake went upstairs immediately to ascertain the truth for herself.  Her first look of inquiry satisfied her that the parlor-maid’s indisposition, whatever the cause of it might be, was certainly not assumed to serve any idle or sullen purpose of her own.  She respectfully declined taking any of the remedies which the housekeeper offered, and merely requested permission to try the efficacy of a walk in the fresh air.

“I have been accustomed to more exercise, ma’am, than I take here,” she said.  “Might I go into the garden, and try what the air will do for me?”

“Certainly.  Can you walk by yourself, or shall I send some one with you?”

“I will go by myself, if you please, ma’am.”

“Very well.  Put on your bonnet and shawl, and, when you get out, keep in the east garden.  The admiral sometimes walks in the north garden, and he might feel surprised at seeing you there.  Come to my room, when you have had air and exercise enough, and let me see how you are.”

In a few minutes more Magdalen was out in the east garden.  The sky was clear and sunny; but the cold shadow of the house rested on the garden walk and chilled the midday air.  She walked toward the ruins of the old monastery, situated on the south side of the more modern range of buildings.  Here there were lonely open spaces to breathe in freely; here the pale March sunshine stole through the gaps of desolation and decay, and met her invitingly with the genial promise of spring.