No!  He was obstinate; he refused to move from the fire; he was sick and tired of writing:  he wished he had never been born, and he loathed the sight of pen and ink.  All Mrs. Lecount’s patience and all Mrs. Lecount’s persuasion were required to induce him to write t he admiral’s address for the second time.  She only succeeded by bringing the blank envelope to him upon the paper-case, and putting it coaxingly on his lap.  He grumbled, he even swore, but he directed the envelope at last, in these terms:  “To Admiral Bartram, St. Crux-in-the-Marsh.  Favored by Mrs. Lecount.”  With that final act of compliance his docility came to an end.  He refused, in the fiercest terms, to seal the envelope.  There was no need to press this proceeding on him.  His seal lay ready on the table, and it mattered nothing whether he used it, or whether a person in his confidence used it for him.  Mrs. Lecount sealed the envelope, with its two important inclosures placed safely inside.

She opened her traveling-bag for the last time, and pausing for a moment before she put the sealed packet away, looked at it with a triumph too deep for words.  She smiled as she dropped it into the bag.  Not the shadow of a suspicion that the Will might contain superfluous phrases and expressions which no practical lawyer would have used; not the vestige of a doubt whether the Letter was quite as complete a document as a practical lawyer might have made it, troubled her mind.  In blind reliance—­born of her hatred for Magdalen and her hunger for revenge—­in blind reliance on her own abilities and on her friend’s law, she trusted the future implicitly to the promise of the morning’s work.

As she locked her traveling-bag Noel Vanstone rang the bell.  On this occasion, the summons was answered by Louisa.

“Get the spare room ready,” said her master; “this lady will sleep here to-night.  And air my warm things; this lady and I are going away to-morrow morning.”

The civil and submissive Louisa received her orders in sullen silence—­darted an angry look at her master’s impenetrable guest—­and left the room.  The servants were evidently all attached to their mistress’s interests, and were all of one opinion on the subject of Mrs. Lecount.

“That’s done!” said Noel Vanstone, with a sigh of infinite relief.  “Come and sit down, Lecount.  Let’s be comfortable—­let’s gossip over the fire.”

Mrs. Lecount accepted the invitation and drew an easy-chair to his side.  He took her hand with a confidential tenderness, and held it in his while the talk went on.  A stranger, looking in through the window, would have taken them for mother and son, and would have thought to himself:  “What a happy home!”