“I came to the conclusion yesterday,” said the doctor, entering abruptly on his business, “that our patient was strong enough to justify us at last in running all risks, and communicating with her friends; and I have accordingly followed the clew which that queer fellow, Captain Wragge, put into our hands.  You remember he advised us to apply to Mr. Pendril, the lawyer?  I saw Mr. Pendril two days ago, and was referred by him—­not overwillingly, as I thought—­to a lady named Miss Garth.  I heard enough from her to satisfy me that we have exercised a wise caution in acting as we have done.  It is a very, very sad story; and I am bound to say that I, for one, make great allowances for the poor girl downstairs.  Her only relation in the world is her elder sister.  I have suggested that the sister shall write to her in the first instance, and then, if the letter does her no harm, follow it personally in a d ay or two.  I have not given the address, by way of preventing any visits from being paid here without my permission.  All I have done is to undertake to forward the letter, and I shall probably find it at my house when I get back.  Can you stop at home until I send my man with it?  There is not the least hope of my being able to bring it myself.  All you need do is to watch for an opportunity when she is not in the front room, and to put the letter where she can see it when she comes in.  The handwriting on the address will break the news before she opens the letter.  Say nothing to her about it—­take care that the landlady is within call—­and leave her to herself.  I know I can trust you to follow my directions, and that is why I ask you to do us this service.  You look out of spirits this morning.  Natural enough.  You’re used to plenty of fresh air, captain, and you’re beginning to pine in this close place.”

“May I ask a question, doctor?  Is she pining in this close place, too?  When her sister comes, will her sister take her away?”

“Decidedly, if my advice is followed.  She will be well enough to be moved in a week or less.  Good-day.  You are certainly out of spirits, and your hand feels feverish.  Pining for the blue water, captain—­pining for the blue water!” With that expression of opinion, the doctor cheerfully went out.

In an hour the letter arrived.  Kirke took it from the landlady reluctantly, and almost roughly, without looking at it.  Having ascertained that Magdalen was still engaged at her toilet, and having explained to the landlady the necessity of remaining within call, he went downstairs immediately, and put the letter on the table in the front room.  Magdalen heard the sound of the familiar step on the floor.  “I shall soon be ready,” she called to him, through the door.

He made no reply; he took his hat and went out.  After a momentary hesitation, he turned his face eastward, and called on the ship-owners who employed him, at their office in Cornhill.