As they left the lodgings, the door of Noel Vanstone’s house opened, and the woman-servant appeared, bent on another errand.  She was apparently charged with a letter on this occasion which she carried carefully in her hand.  Conscious of having formed no plan yet either for attack or defense, Magdalen wondered, with a momentary dread, whether Mrs. Lecount had decided already on opening fresh communications, and whether the letter was directed to “Miss Garth.”

The let ter bore no such address.  Noel Vanstone had solved his pecuniary problem at last.  The blank space in the advertisement was filled up, and Mrs. Lecount’s acknowledgment of the captain’s anonymous warning was now on its way to insertion in the Times.

THE END OF THE THIRD SCENE.

BETWEEN THE SCENES.

PROGRESS OF THE STORY THROUGH THE POST.

I.

Extract from the Advertising Columns of “The Times."

“AN UNKNOWN FRIEND is requested to mention (by advertisement) an address at which a letter can reach him.  The receipt of the information which he offers will be acknowledged by a reward of Five Pounds.”

II.

From Captain Wragge to Magdalen.

“Birmingham, July 2d, 1847.

“MY DEAR GIRL—­The box containing the articles of costumes which you took away by mistake has come safely to hand.  Consider it under my special protection until I hear from you again.

“I embrace this opportunity to assure you once more of my unalterable fidelity to your interests.  Without attempting to intrude myself into your confidence, may I inquire whether Mr. Noel Vanstone has consented to do you justice?  I greatly fear he has declined—­in which case I can lay my hand on my heart, and solemnly declare that his meanness revolts me.  Why do I feel a foreboding that you have appealed to him in vain?  Why do I find myself viewing this fellow in the light of a noxious insect?  We are total strangers to each other; I have no sort of knowledge of him, except the knowledge I picked up in making your inquiries.  Has my intense sympathy with your interests made my perceptions prophetic? or, to put it fancifully, is there really such a thing as a former state of existence? and has Mr. Noel Vanstone mortally insulted me—­say, in some other planet?

“I write, my dear Magdalen, as you see, with my customary dash of humor.  But I am serious in placing my services at your disposal.  Don’t let the question of terms cause you an instant’s hesitation.  I accept beforehand any terms you like to mention.  If your present plans point that way, I am ready to squeeze Mr. Noel Vanstone, in your interests, till the gold oozes out of him at every pore.  Pardon the coarseness of this metaphor.  My anxiety to be of service to you rushes into words; lays my meaning, in the rough, at your feet; and leaves your taste to polish it with the choicest ornaments of the English language.