"I am suffering, as you see, from a complaint
in the eyes," replied Magdalen, steadily keeping
her profile towards the window, and carefully
pitching her voice to the tone of Miss Garth's
"I must beg your permission to wear my
veil down, and to sit away from the light."
She said those words, feeling mistress of herself
again. With perfect composure she drew the
chair back into the corner of the room beyond
the window; and seated herself, keeping the
shadow of her bonnet well over her face. Mrs.
Lecount's persuasive lips murmured a polite
expression of sympathy; Mrs. Lecount's amiable
black eyes looked more interested in the strange
lady than ever. She placed a chair for herself
exactly on a line with Magdalen's, and sat so
close to the wall as to force her visitor either to
turn her head a little farther round towards the
window, or to fail in politeness by not looking at
the person whom she addressed. "Yes," said
Mrs. Lecount, with a confidential little cough.
"And to what circumstance am I indebted for the
honour of this visit?"

"May I inquire, first, if my name happens to
be familiar to you?" said Magdalen, turning
towards her as a matter of necessity—but coolly
holding up her handkerchief, at the same time,
between her face and the light.

"No," answered Mrs. Lecount, with another
little cough, rather harsher than the first. "The
name of Miss Garth is not familiar to me."

"In that case," pursued Magdalen, "I shall
best explain the object that causes me to
intrude on you, by mentioning who I am. I
lived for many years, as governess, in the
family of the late Mr. Andrew Vanstone, of
Combe-Raven; and I come here in the interest
of his orphan daughters."

Mrs.Lecount's hands, which had been smoothly
sliding one over the other, up to this time,
suddenly stopped; and Mrs. Lecount's lips self-
forgetfully shutting up, owned they were too thin
at the very outset of the interview.

"I am surprised you can bear the light out of
doors, without a green shade," she quietly
remarked; leaving the false Miss Garth's
announcement of herself as completely unnoticed
as if she had not spoken at all.

"I find a shade over my eyes keeps them too
hot at this time of the year," rejoined Magdalen,
steadily matching the housekeeper's composure.
"May I ask whether you heard what I said just
now on the subject of my errand in this house?"

"May I inquire, on my side, ma'am, in what
way that errand can possibly concern me?"
retorted Mrs. Lecount.

"Certainly," said Magdalen. "I come to you,
because Mr. Noel Vanstone's intentions towards
the two young ladies, were made known to them
in the form of a letter from yourself."

That plain answer had its effect. It warned
Mrs. Lecount that the strange lady was better
informed than she had at first suspected, and
that it might hardly be wise, under the
circumstances, to dismiss her unheard.

"Pray pardon me," said the housekeeper, "I
scarcely understood before; I perfectly understand
now. You are mistaken, ma'am, in supposing
that I am of any importance, or that I exercise
any influence, in this painful matter. I am the
mouthpiece of Mr. Noel Vanstone; the pen he
holds, if you will excuse the expression—nothing
more. He is an invalid; and like other invalids,
he has his bad days, and his good. It was his bad
day, when that answer was written to the young
person——, shall I call her Miss Vanstone? I
will, with pleasure, poor girl; for who am I to
make distinctions, and what is it to me whether
her parents were married or not? As I was
saying, it was one of Mr. Noel Vanstone's bad
days, when that answer was sent, and therefore
I had to write it; simply as his secretary, for
want of a better. If you wish to speak on the
subject of these young ladies——, shall I call
them young ladies, as you did just now?
no, poor things, I will call them the Miss
Vanstones.—If you wish to speak on the subject of
these Miss Vanstones, I will mention your
name, and your object in favouring me with this
call, to Mr. Noel Vanstone. He is alone in the
parlour, and this is one of his good days. I have
the influence of an old servant over him; and I
will use that influence with pleasure in your
behalf. Shall I go at once?" asked Mrs. Lecount,
rising with the friendliest anxiety to make herself
useful.

"If you please," said Magdalen, with grateful
alacrity; "and if I am not taking any undue
advantage of your kindness."

"On the contrary," rejoined Mrs. Lecount,
"you are laying me under an obligation—you are
permitting me, in my very limited way, to assist
the performance of a benevolent action." She
bowed, smiled, and glided out of the room.

Left by herself Magdalen allowed the anger
which she had suppressed in Mrs. Lecount's
presence to break free from her. For want of a
nobler object of attack, it took the direction of the
toad. The sight of the hideous little reptile
sitting placid on his rock throne, with his bright
eyes staring impenetrably into vacancy, irritated
every nerve in her body. She looked at the
creature with a shrinking intensity of hatred;
she whispered at it maliciously through her set
teeth. "I wonder whose blood runs coldest,"
she said, "yours, you little monster, or Mrs.
Lecount's? I wonder which is the slimiest, her
heart or your back? You hateful wretch, do
you know what your mistress is? Your mistress
is a devil!"

The speckled skin under the toad's mouth
mysteriously wrinkled itself, then slowly
expanded again, as if he had swallowed the words
just addressed to him. Magdalen started back
in disgust from the first perceptible movement
in the creature's body, trifling as it was, and
returned to her chair. She had not seated herself
again a moment too soon. The door opened
noiselessly, and Mrs. Lecount appeared once
more.