On entering the front room at the lodgings,
she found Mrs. Wragge just awake, lost in
drowsy bewilderment, with her cap fallen off on
her shoulders, and with one of her shoes missing
altogether. Magdalen endeavoured to persuade
her that she was tired after her journey, and
that her wisest proceeding would be to go to
bed. Mrs. Wragge was perfectly willing to
profit by this suggestion, provided she could find
her shoe first. In looking for the shoe, she
unfortunately discovered the circulars, put by on a
side-table; and forthwith recovered her recollection
of the earlier proceedings of the evening.

"Give us the pencil," said Mrs. Wragge,
shuffling the circulars in a violent hurry. "I
can't go to bed yet—I haven't half done marking
down the things I want. Let's see; where did
I leave off? Try Finch's feeding-bottle for Infants.
No! there's a cross against that: the cross means
I don't want it. Comfort in the Field. Buckler's
Indestructible Hunting Breeches. Oh dear, dear!
I've lost the place. No, I haven't! Here it is;
here's my mark against it. Elegant Cashmere
Robes; strictly oriental, very grand; reduced to
one pound, nineteen, and sixpence. Be in time.
Only three left. Only three! Oh, do lend us the
money, and let's go and get one!"

"Not to-night," said Magdalen. "Suppose
you go to bed now, and finish the circulars
tomorrow? I will put them by the bedside for
you; and you can go on with them as soon as you
wake, the first thing in the morning."

This suggestion met with Mrs. Wragge's
immediate approval. Magdalen took her into the
next room, and put her to bed like a child—
with her toys by her side. The room was so
narrow, and the bed was so small; and Mrs.
Wragge, arrayed in the white apparel proper for
the occasion—with her moon-face framed round
by a spacious halo of nightcap—looked so
hugely and disproportionately large, that Magdalen,
anxious as she was, could not repress a
smile on taking leave of her travelling companion
for the night.

"Aha!" cried Mrs. Wragge, cheerfully; "we'll
have that Cashmere Robe to-morrow. Come
here! I want to whisper something to you. Just
you look at me—I'm going to sleep crooked, and
the captain's not here to bawl at me!"

The front room at the lodgings contained a
sofa-bedstead, which the landlady arranged
betimes for the night. This done, and the candles
brought in, Magdalen was left alone to shape her
future course as her own thoughts counselled
her.

The questions and answers which had passed
in her presence that evening, at the stationer's
shop, led plainly to the conclusion that one day
more would bring Noel Vanstone's present term
of residence in Vauxhall Walk to an end. Her first
cautious resolution to pass many days together in
unsuspected observation of the house opposite
before she ventured herself inside, was entirely
frustrated by the turn events had taken. She was
placed in the dilemma of running all risks headlong
on the next day—or of pausing for a future
opportunity, which might never occur. There
was no middle course open to her. Until she had
seen Noel Vanstone with her own eyes, and had
discovered the worst there was to fear from Mrs.
Lecount—until she had achieved this double
object, with the needful precaution of keeping her
own identity carefully in the dark—not a step
could she advance towards the accomplishment of
the purpose which had brought her to London.

One after another, the minutes of the night
passed away; one after another, the thronging
thoughts followed each other over her mind—and
still she reached no conclusion; still she faltered
and doubted, with a hesitation new to her in her
experience of herself. At last she crossed the
room impatiently, to seek the trivial relief of
unlocking her trunk, and taking from it the few
things that she wanted for the night. Captain
Wragge's suspicions had not misled him. There,
hidden between two dresses, were the articles of
costume which he had missed from her box at
Birmingham. She turned them over one by one,
to satisfy herself that nothing she wanted had
been forgotten, and returned once more to her
post of observation by the window.

The house opposite was dark down to the
parlour. There, the blind, previously raised, was
now drawn over the window: the light burning
behind it, showed her for the first time that the
room was inhabited. Her eyes brightened, and
her colour rose as she looked at it.

"There he is!" she said to herself, in a low
angry whisper. "There he lives on our money,
in the house that his father's warning has closed
against me!" She dropped the blind which she
had raised to look out; returned to her trunk; and
took from it the grey wig which was part of her
dramatic costume, in the character of the North-
country lady. The wig had been crumpled in
packing: she put it on, and went to the toilette-
table to comb it out. "His father has warned
him against Magdalen Vanstone," she said,
repeating the passage in Mrs. Lecount's letter, and
laughing bitterly as she looked at herself in the
glass. "I wonder whether his father has warned
him against Miss Garth? To-morrow is sooner
than I bargained for. No matter: to-morrow
shall show."

THE ROYAL MARRIAGE ACT.

LONG sunshine to the marriage between an
English princess and the nephew of the Grand
Duke of Hesse Darmstadt! Doubtless there
is all reason why their union should be a happy
one, true though it be that the married happiness
of English princes and princesses must
come in spite—not because of—the Royal
Marriage Act: an act against which it is quite time
that somebody should protest as a shackle on
royalty that we can all—princes and people—
very well afford to strike off.

Little more than a century has passed since