NOEL VANSTONE
CAPTAIN KIRKE
MR. CLARE
PENDRIL (a Solicitor)
CAPTAIN WRAGGE (a moral Agriculturist)
SERVANT
POSTMAN
MAGDALEN VANSTONE
NORAH (her sister)
MISS GARTH (their Governess)
MADAME LECOMPTE
MRS. WRAGGE

NOEL VANSTONE.--Pale, light, short-curl wig, thin moustache. Act III.: Light pants, white vest, morning-gown with silk cord and tassel. Act IV.: Light sea-side suit, straw hat with blue ribbon, canvas shoes.

CAPTAIN WRAGGE.--Act II.: Seedy black suit, coat buttoned up to the throat, frayed collar and cuffs, black hat too often brushed, straggling moustache, semi-military air. Act IV.: Light summer dress, moustache trimmed, color on cheeks, ring and pin, watch and seals. Act V.: Black suit, very fine, ruffled bosom to shirt, jewelry.

CAPTAIN KIRKE.--Dark blue suit, of naval cut, with plain gilt buttons, cap with glazed peak, moustache and beard around face.

MR. CLARE.--Black suit.

PENDRIL.--A lawyer. Black suit, black gloves.

SERVANT.--In black, white tie, etc.

POSTMAN.--Dark blue uniform, faced with red.

MAGDALEN VANSTONE.-- Act I.--Hair rather plain, in full mourning, white collar and cuffs. Act II : Traveling dress, gray, mantle, reticule, gloves, parasol. Act III.: Made up after general appearance of MISS GARTH, old-fashioned dark alpaca dress, high bonnet, with thick black lace fall, dark gloves, reticule, false front of different colored hair to her own. Disguised voice throughout. Act IV. : White dress with trimming to suit, straw sea-side hat, parasol. Act V.: Gray dress, hair in fashion.

NORAH VANSTONE.--To resemble MAGDALEN. Act I.: Mourning. Act V.: Fashionable attire, hat, gloves, parasol, wedding-ring.

MISS GARTH.--(About forty). Dark dress, old-fashioned. Hair in old style, black lace mittens.

MADAME LECOMPTE.--Swiss-French accent. Act III.: House dress. Act IV.: Walking-dress, hat, parasol.

MRS. WRAGGE.--Act II.: Faded satin dress, cap, hair rather disordered, confused, dazzled manner. Act IV.: Light dress, bonnet with veil, sun-umbrella, large reticule.

SERVANT-GIRL for Act III.--House dress, cap and apron.

LADIES for promenaders.-- Act IV.: Handsome sea-side dresses, parasols.

Act I.--Scene: Parlor in Country House

Landscape on flat in distance; foreground, lawn and garden. Carpet down in room. Sideboards. Pictures on flat and side sets. Writing materials on round table, R.; statuette, books, portfolio on table up L.

Act II.--Lodgings. Mean Parlor, in 3d grooves.

Backing of wall to D. in F. Soiled curtains to window in F. Square of carpet in the centre of the room. Lighted candle on table. Low fire in fireplace. Bureau, looking-glass over it.

Act III.--Scene: Parlor.

Framed engraving on side sets. Carpet down. Large window R., cut out panes, with view of shrubbery in a garden. D. L. 3 E. is practicable. Trunks, valises, boxes up L.,in disorder.

Act IV.--Scene: Beach and Villas.

View on flat, calm sea. A few small sail in sight, foreground, beach, bathing-machines and grounded fishing-smacks. Houses R. and L. 1 E.'s, white, with green blinds, striped awnings to upper windows.

Act V.--Scene: Sitting-room in Lodging-house.

A few cheap engravings on flat, framed; curtains to windows. Carpet down. Stairs in upper entrance, up trap, guarded by railing.

R. means Right of Stage, facing the Audience; L. Left; C. Centre; R. C. Right of Centre; L. C. Left of Centre. D. F. Door in the Flat, or Scene running across the back of the Stage; C. D. F. Centre Door in the Flat; R. D. F. Right Door in the Flat; L. C. F. Left Door in the Flat; R. D. Right Door; L. D. Left Door; 1 E. First Entrance; 2 E. Second Entrance; U. E. Upper Entrance; 1, 2, or 3 G. First, Second, or Third Groove.

The reader is supposed to be upon the stage facing the audience.

MR. PENDRIL. Yes, madam, this is the will of our late friend, Mr. Andrew Vanstone. If I can prevail on you to read certain clauses in this document, you will make your own discovery of what I am come here to disclose--circumstances so painful that I hardly know how to communicate them. (slowly.)

MISS GARTH. And which affect the dead or living, sir?

PEN. Which affect the dead and living both, madam.

MISS G. (after pause). I will not make your hard duty, sir, more painful than I can help. Show me the place in the will, and let me know the worst.

PEN. You will begin here, madam, (he extends it towards her on the table, pointing out the place.)

MISS G. (endeavors to read, but fails, and at length pushes it back). I--I cannot follow you--I stop. Sir, end all this pain in a word. Does this will of Mr. Vanstone provide for his orphan daughters?

PEN. It did, madam, when he made it.

MISS G. When he made it! Does it now?

PEN. It does not, madam.

MISS G. (snatches the will from him, and throws it on the ground). Let it lie there, then, if it's useless. You mean well, sir; you wish to spare me; but you are only wasting time and strength; tell me the truth, Mr. Pendril, and tell it instantly.

PEN. I comply, madam, but you are so agitated. Let us wait a little, till you have recovered yourself. (he takes letters from his pocket.)

MISS G. (aside). Twelve years--twelve quiet, happy years have I lived under this roof, and their mother was my friend, I might almost say my sister.

PEN. Can you listen to me, now? Briefly, then, Mr. Andrew Vanstone began life in the army; he went to Canada with his regiment, leaving his father seriously estranged from his elder brother, Michael. Soon after his arrival in Canada, he met with a woman of great beauty, but utter want of principle, who soon succeeded in ensnaring this youth of twenty-one, and who led him to commit the fatal error of his life--he married her.

MISS G. Married her!

PEN. Even so. But hardly three months had elapsed, before he discovered her true character; when he found he could only part from her by making her a handsome allowance, and compelling her to promise she would never see his face again. Thus they separated--she to her friends in the South, he to his own country, to learn the news of his father's death, and also that he had become his heir, to the entire exclusion of his elder brother.

MISS G. Well, sir?

PEN. He at once honorably proposed to divide the property with Michael; but the latter accused him of being the cause of his father's unworthy conduct; and, refusing to retract his monstrous slander, the brothers parted, never to meet again; Michael's sole support arising from the small fortune of his wife.

MISS G. And then, sir?

PEN. And then, Andrew Vanstone, thrown on the world of London, with an impulsive nature, and great wealth, and cut off from domestic happiness by his fatal step in Canada, in sheer despair was drifted into the wildest dissipations, when he fortunately met her who was known in England as Mrs. Vanstone. She was the daughter of a London Merchant, whom he met at a city ball; she was unhappy in her home; she was refined and generous; her parents were coarse and repulsive. Andrew was the first man she had ever met who had the tastes and feelings of a gentleman, and she surrendered her heart to him at once; but he had too much honor to deceive her. He told her the entire truth; and then, loving him as she did, passionately, with no home ties to restrain her, she saw that she alone stood between him and his ruin, and she sacrificed herself to save him.

MISS G. And this was her sad secret?

PEN. Yes, madam; which I shall not stoop to defend by any false reasoning. I shall merely say, she fulfilled her aim; she saved the man she loved from utter worthlessness and ruin; she bestowed on him a home, which she blessed further with her two daughters; and when at length the news reached him of the death of his wife in America, he carried her to London, and there rendered her the justice which had been so long and sadly delayed.

MISS G. And which she lived to enjoy but a few months, following speedily to the tomb, the man for whom she had made this sacrifice; but you have still a mystery to explain, the present position of his children--these girls whom he loved so fondly?

PEN. True, madam.

MISS G. And whom you say his will no longer provides for.

PEN. Simply because, madam, it is the law of England that marriage sets aside the will of a single man, whilst it fails to legitimate all offspring born before it.

MISS G. What do I hear?

PEN. This cruelty of our legislation, our poor friend was apprised of, and, accordingly, was on the point of making a fresh will for his children's benefit, when the fatal accident occurred which swept him from existence.

MISS G. And his children are left dependent?

PEN. Yes, madam--dependent.

MISS G. On the mercy of some stranger?

PEN. On the mercy of their uncle.

MISS G. Not on Michael Vanstone?

PEN. Yes, madam, on Michael Vanstone, who is now the sole heir and successor of his brother.

SERV. A letter for you, Mr. Pendril, which has been forward from London.

[Exit SERVANT, C.

PEN. (he opens it)- As I expected; 'tis from their uncle, whom I wrote to a fortnight ago on the subject of the poor girls. He is living at Zurich, with his son Noel, who seems to be in bad health, and a Swiss housekeeper, one Madame Lecompte. The letter is a long one; excuse me, my dear madam a moment, whilst I ascertain what are its contents. (rises and goes off, R. D.)

MISS G. And at length the veil is lifted. I know the secret of her life; I can excuse, and I can grieve for it; but how can I reveal it--how convey it to her children, who have never dreampt of its humiliation--how make known to them their destitution--that the fatal accident which robbed them of a father has also left them penniless? How shall I tell them that----

MAGDALEN (comes down C, with rigid composure). There is no need, madam; they know it already!

MISS G. Magdalen! (rises to L. C.)

MAG. Mr. Vanstone's daughters have no name--are no one's children--according to the law which leaves them helpless on their uncle's mercy. (C.)

MISS G. You heard us, then?

MAG. At the window; but don't reproach me with those doubting eyes. What wrong have I done? My listening has saved you the task of a bitter revelation. You have suffered enough for us already. It is time we learned to suffer for ourselves.

MISS G. Magdalen, you frighten me.

MAG. Oh, no; do not think worse of me than I deserve. I can't cry, my heart is numbed.

MISS G. My poor child!

MAG. I see, then, I must comfort you. Ah, try not to grieve over what you have heard this morning. Does it matter, now, who we are, or what we keep or lose? What loss is there for us after the loss of our father and mother--of the unbounded love they gave us--the love that can never come again? (crosses to L., and returns to C.)

MISS G. But you have more sources of suffering. You have lost not only home and wealth, but----(crosses to R., returns to R. C.)

MAG. (after pause). Go on.

MISS G. The man you love--were to have married, had your father survived to give him the means of pursuing his fortunes in this country; but who now, unless your uncle pleases to step into your father's place, must give you up.

MAG. Must give me up--and seek his fortunes in another land.

MISS G. And this is known to Michael Vanstone. Mr. Pendril has written to him on this very point, and his answer is arrived. Our good friend received it but this moment, and----

PEN. And can now acquaint you with its contents.

MISS G. Well, sir?

PEN. And yet I hesitate. In all my sad experience of the worst side of human nature, I have never met with a man who was so utterly dead to mercy.

MISS G. Do you mean to say that he takes the whole of his brother's fortune, and makes no provision whatever for his brother's orphan children?

PEN. He merely offers them a sum of money to meet their immediate wants; but it is so disgracefully insufficient, that I am really ashamed to name it.

MAG. Which offer is in that letter. Will you allow me, sir, to read it?

PEN. Do not, I beg of you; it is expressed so cruelly that------

MAG. I am sensible of your kindness in wishing to spare me pain, but I can bear it.

NORAH. Oh, Magdalen, why would you read it? You distress Mr. Pendril--you distress us all.

MAG. Something tells me I ought to read it. I know nothing yet, but that he has deprived us of our fortune. He must have some motives for so doing; it is but fair to him that we should know them. He has deliberately robbed us, and I think we have a right, if we desire it, to know the reason why.

CLARE (to PENDRIL). You have relieved your conscience, sir; give her the right she claims. It is her right, if she will have it. (PENDRIL extends the letter to MAGDALEN, who takes it, bows, and retires up. MR. CLARE and NORAH sink into seats beside table.)

CLARE (aside). What fools, to think that girl could be deterred from having her own way.

MISS G. (to PENDRIL). You may tell me, Mr. Pendril, at least, what are the contents of that letter.

PEN. Well, then, madam, he regards his brother's death as a providential interposition, which restores to him an inheritance which ought always to have been his. He considers that death also a punishment for his brother's conduct in imposing on society a woman who was not his wife; and, lastly, he regards his children as illegitimate, who must be content to earn their bread in the best way they can.

MISS G. Oh, infamous!

MAG. (having read the letter, comes down C., maintaining her composure). Mr. Pendril, may I ask if, in your letter to Mr. Vanstone, you stated all the circumstances of the position we have been left in?

PEN. All, and most minutely.

MAG. That my father had provided for us; and when his marriage made a second will in our favor necessary, that he was on the point of making it, when it pleased Heaven to remove him from the world?

PEN. Every item; and, in addition, that he had told me repeatedly he could never rest in his grave if he left you disinherited.

MAG. (returns the letter). Norah, (NORAH comes to her side and embraces her) if we should both of us grow old, and if you ever forget what we owe to Michael Vanstone, come to me and I will remind you!

CLARE (rises and takes MAGDALEN'S hand). What is this mask of yours hiding? Which of the extremes of human temperature does your courage start from, the dead cold or the white heat? (pauses) Not the cold extreme, whatever else it may be. (he resumes his seat.)

PEN. (folds up his papers). And now, ladies, my painful duty compels me to press for your reply. Do you accept Mr. Vanstone's offer, which Miss Magdalen is aware of, and----

MAG. (impetuously). Which is this--that the provision he makes for his brother's children, whom he robs of their inheritance, is the sum of one hundred pounds apiece.

NORAH. Then tell him, Mr. Pendril, that were I starving by the roadside, I would not touch one farthing of it.

MAG. And on my part, Mr. Pendril, tell him to think again before he throws me on the world with a bare one hundred pounds. I give him time to think.

PEN. You will allow me, ladies, to add, that all property belonging to you personally, such as dresses, jewelery, etc., are, of course, at your own disposal; and, though his instructions are that the estate and furniture shall be sold off without delay, I can undertake to say that your departure a week hence will be quite time enough.

MAG. If this is Mr. Michael Vanstone's house, sir, I am ready to leave it to-day.

NORAH. (embracing her). And I, Magdalen; and I!

PEN. But, of course, you have some friends, who will be only too happy to receive you.

MISS G. That is a question, Mr. Pendril, which it is my duty to answer. When they leave this house, they leave it with me; my home is their home, and my bread is their bread. Their parents trusted and loved me. For twelve happy years, they never let me remember that I was a governess, but only a companion and a friend; my memory of them is the memory of unvarying gentleness and goodness, and my life shall pay to their dear children the debt I owe to them, (embraces MAGDALEN and NORAH, C.)

CLARE. Miss Garth, you are a noble woman. I never envied a woman's feelings before, but I envy yours, I tell you that.

PEN. And I also, Mr. Clare; I also, be assured.

MISS G. And, fortunately, my sister's circumstances puts this act of justice in my power. She has a large house at Kensington, and under her roof, I am quite sure they will be as welcome as myself.

PEN. This is, at least, one gleam of sunshine; and, under its radiance, I take my leave.

CLARE. Miss Garth, will you and Miss Vanstone be kind enough to accompany Mr. Pendril to the gate? I have a word for Magdalen alone.

MISS G. With pleasure, sir. Come, Norah.

[Exit with NORAH and PENDRIL, C.

CLARE. How old are you?

MAG. I was eighteen last birthday, (approaches CLARE, resting her hand on the table.)

CLARE. You have shown extraordinary courage for a girl of eighteen. Have you got any of that courage left?

MAG. I know what you would say. I must give up Frank; but I can't--(impetuously)--I won't give him up; no, not if a thousand fathers ask me!

CLARE. I am only one father--and, what's more, I don't ask you.

MAG. You don't? (advances as if to embrace him.)

CLARE (puts her back). Hug Frank, not me. I haven't done with you yet. Sit down and compose yourself.

MAG. Well, sir? (sinks into a seat, R.)

CLARE. Are you ready? Then listen to me. I don't ask you to give up Frank; I only ask you to wait. Will you bid him go to China? You hesitate. I don't pretend to enter into your feelings, I only state plain truths. It is one truth that you can't marry till you have money to support you, it is another that I can't give it to you, and that Frank's only chance of getting it is by setting off for China. Will you send him there?

MAG. (after a pause). Have pity, sir, a little pity on me. I have lost father, mother, fortune, and now, am I to lose him? You don't like women, I know, but try to help me with a little pity. I don't say it's not for his interests he should go there, I only say it's hard, it's very hard on me.

CLARE. I don't deny your case is a hard one, and I don't want to make it harder; but it's not the less true that the fortune you were to have brought him has suddenly changed hands, and----

MAG. (impetuously). And may change hands again!

CLARE. What do you say?

MAG. Well, nothing, sir; only my own thoughts.

CLARE. Hear me out. I can read the thoughts of both of you better than you can yourselves. Let Frank remain here, and only give him time enough to hug, pester, cry, and plead to you, and the end will be, you'll marry him.

MAG. (rising proudly). You don't know me, sir; you don't know how I love, and how I can suffer for your son. He shall never marry me till I can be what my father said I should be--the making of his fortune. He shall go, sir, if my heart breaks in bidding him; he shall go to-morrow. But, if I promise this, may I not ask something in return?

CLARE. Anything in reason.

MAG. He is to be absent for five years. (pausing) Suppose, sir, there should be some change for the better in that interval?

CLARE. Some change?

MAG. Suppose I should be able to come to him--as my father promised I should come--with my hands full, and not as they are now, empty--will you consent that he comes back before the five years are out?

CLARE. I will; but still, I should like to know your meaning.

MAG. Leave that to time.

CLARE. You have some scheme in your head, I fancy, in regard to Michael Vanstone; but it's hopeless.

MAG. It may be so.

CLARE. You will never soften that obdurate man, whose selfishness is hardened by old age and hatred. You will only waste your time, my child, you will only appeal to him to find that----

SERVANT. A gentleman, Miss Magdalen, has just left this with kind inquiries.

MAG. (reading it). Captain Wragge.

[Exit SERVANT, C.

CLARE. Wragge! that fellow again!

MAG. Some distant connection, I think, of my mother's.

CLARE. Yes; who knew her secret, and made her bribe him with an annuity to keep it. A scamp of the first order, who has lived all his life on some imposture, and yet a fellow who is as full of talent as he is of necessities and vices.

MAG. (aside). Then he might be the man to aid me.

CLARE. And now we understand each other. You promise me that Frank shall set off for China to-morrow, and I promise you that if ever you are in a position to defend you both from beggary, that day he shall be summoned home. Good-bye, my child. Heaven bless you!

[Exit, C.

MAG. And I swear to both of you that he shall return, and speedily; that the wealth which has been torn from me, shall again come into my hands! (attitude of defiance, C. -- Music)

CAPTAIN WRAGGE. Now, I'm alone, let me see what is the substance of this handbill, which a traveler dropped at the station, and which I felt it my duty to pick up. (reads bill) "Fifty pounds reward." Come, that's a good beginning. "Left her home in London, on the morning of September the 23rd, a young lady"--Oho, a case of elopement, I suppose--"age, eighteen; dress," um, um; "personal appearance," um, um; "name on under-clothing, Magdalen Vanstone!" Why it can't be possible--and yet it is. "Supposed to have joined, or to be on her way to join, a theatrical company at York." At York? Why, then, she is here, "Information to be given to Pendril, Guilt and Guilt," um, um. Well, now, really, how very kind of her, to make up her mind to run away, and to run to this particular city, where she will enable me to pocket a sum which I am so particularly in need of. This is a family matter--a family matter; my connection with her mother's blood gives me the right to look on this poor girl in the light of a relation; yes, in the light of a sort of niece, and under that conviction I must consider this affair in all its bearings. Let me see, now, three courses are before me; the first is, to do nothing in this matter. Inadmissible for fifty reasons. The second is, to deserve the gratitude of my niece's friends according to terms of handbill. The third is, to warn my niece, and deserve her own gratitude instead. The second seems the safest course, and yet, the last might be the best. There's fifty pounds if I betray her; she might give me a hundred if I didn't. It's really a difficult question, and considering the relation that I stand in, that of the poor girl's sort of uncle, it's a struggle that's very painful. There is only one thing to be done, I must go to her--but where? Not at the theatre, it's not open yet; not at the Minster, that must be closed; not at the hotels, she'd never stop at those places; nor in the streets, she'd never stop there. No, unless she's at her lodgings, she's taking a walk on this fine autumnal evening in some quiet, retired locality. Then, where should she come but here? The walk on the walls, the quietest place in York, and the place of all others that every stranger goes to see, and--and--now I look before me, who is that I see approaching? By all that's lucky, 'tis herself.

MAGDALEN . The evening is drawing in, so it's time I should return, and----

WRAG. (advances and bows). I have the honor, I believe, to address Miss Magdalen Vanstone.

MAG. Sir?

WRAG. Deeply gratified, I'm sure; and for more reasons than one.

MAG. I--I think, sir, you're mistaken; you are a perfect stranger to me.

WRAG. Pardon me, Miss Vanstone, I am a species of relation; a connection of your lamented mother's, whom I'm sure you must have heard of. My name is Wragge.

MAG. I remember your name, certainly; but you will excuse me for leaving you, I have an engagement. (she tries to pass him, he interposes)

WRAG. Not that way, my dear Miss Vanstone, not that way, I entreat.

MAG. And why not, sir?

WRAG. Because that way leads to the theatre, and because this document refers to it. (gives her handbill.)

MAG. What do I see? Advertised! Put in print, as if I were a stray dog; and a price set on my recovery.

WRAG. A legal method, my dear Miss Vanstone; which I confess is not the most gallant, but----

MAG. And is this thing shown publicly; am I thus described all over York?

WRAG. Pray compose yourself; I believe we have been so lucky as to peruse the first copy that has been circulated.

MAG. And the last! (tears it up and scatters pieces.)

WRAG. Bravo, bravo! Here you remind me of your poor dear mother. The family spirit; we all possess it; we all inherit our hot blood from my maternal grandfather.

MAG. How did you come by it?

WRAG. My dear child, I have just told you. We all come by it from my maternal grandfather.

MAG. I mean that bill, sir?

WRAG. Oh, the bill! I found the bill, where we meet many strange things, at the station; and seeing it was intended for the City Walls, I thought I would first find if you were here.

MAG. As a means of earning the reward.

WRAG. Smart that, very smart; some men might take it seriously; but in the relation that I stand in to you, as a sort of--kind of--uncle--

MAG. You feel you have a double claim to it.

WRAG. Now, my dear young relative, consider. Have your friends any need to pay it? Can't you go back by the first train?

MAG. Never! Nothing should force me. If my mind had not been made up already, that vile handbill would decide me.

WRAG. Quite right--the family spirit. I should have done the same myself at your age--it runs in the blood. (clock strikes) What's that? Half-past seven. Pardon me, my dear Miss Vanstone, this seasonable abruptness; but if you carry out your resolution, you must choose your course in half an hour. You are young; allow me to say, you are inexperienced--you are in danger--you require some one to rely upon.

MAG. Suppose I choose to rely upon myself, sir.

WRAG. Then you will enter the city of course, and fall into one of the traps that have been set for you, either at the theatre, or at your lodgings.

MAG. I may not go to the theatre to-night; and at present I have no lodgings.

WRAG. No lodgings? Well, really, I respect independence of character. In a young and lovely relative, I more than respect, I admire it; but without being considered too intrusive, may I ask where you intend to sleep?

WAG. Are there no hotels?

WRAG. Excellent ones for families--excellent ones for single gentlemen; but the very worst ones in the world for handsome young ladies who present themselves without male escort, or even luggage.

MAG. My luggage is at the station. What is to prevent my sending for it?

WRAG. Nothing--and nothing to prevent your having back with it the lawyer's clerk, or the detective, who have been dispatched from London on your track.

MAG. Good Heavens!

WRAG. I merely point out that contingency for your serious consideration; and, on the strength of it, ask once more, where are you to sleep?

MAG. (after a pause, bitterly). I know not.

WRAG. Then I do; under my roof, of course, where Mrs. Wragge will be so charmed to see you.

MAG. Under your roof?

WRAG. Where so proper? The roof of your relative--of the man you must regard in the light of--a sort of uncle. So you must look on his wife as your aunt. Pray look upon her as your aunt. The house is close by; we are its only lodgers, and there is, luckily, a bed to let. So we should form a family party--a snug family party. Allow me to offer you my arm.

MAG. And yet, sir----

WRAG. You hesitate. Good gracious! is it possible, Miss Vanstone, you can have heard anything to my disadvantage?

MAG. Quite possible. I may have heard from other friends that--that--you are an impostor.

WRAG. Ha, ha! this horrid world--this age which feeds on slander. And yet, if it were the fact, without intending to be offensive--may I ask, my dear Miss Vanstone, if the position you now stand in is one that gives you a right to reject an imposter's services?

MAG. Well, no, you are quite right; besides, I have no name to endanger. I'm nobody's child, and nobody's child must sleep under somebody's roof.

WRAG. So, why not under mine?

MAG. I admit it. I accept your offer.

WRAG. Then if you will accompany me this way----

MAG. What must be, must be; 'tis too late to retreat, (she follows him off L.)

MRS. W. Here it is--here's the place at last. "How to cook an omelet." Yes, an omelet with herbs. He wants it for his breakfast tomorrow, and I must learn to do it some how. (reads) "Beat up two eggs with a little milk or water; salt, pepper, chives, or parsley, mince small." There--how am I to mince small when it's all mixed up and running? "Put a piece of butter, the size of your thumb, into the frying-pan"-- the size of your thumb--mine or anybody's. "Broil, but not brown." There, again, if it's not brown, what color must it be? "Pour in the omelet; allow it to set; raise it round the edge; when done, turn it over, and double it." Oh! the number of times I've turned it over and doubled it. "Keep it soft, put the dish on the pan, and turn it over." Which? turn over which, I want to know--the dish or the frying-pan?

CAPT. W. (shouting). Mrs. Wragge!

MRS. W. (jumping up). Yes, dear; tea?

CAPT. W. Miss Magdalen Vanstone, our fair relative; indeed, I may say our niece, whom I have met by a fortunate accident, and who will be our guest for the night--our guest.

MRS. W. Oh, indeed! Please, miss, will you sit down. I'm very sorry--no, I don't mean that--I mean I'm very glad.

CAPT. W. You're very glad, of course.

MRS. W. I'm very glad, of course!

CAPT. W. Mrs. Wragge is not deaf, my dear Miss Vanstone, she's only a little slow--constitutionally torpid, if I may use the expression. I am merely loud with her as a necessary stimulant to her ideas. Shout at her and her mind comes up to time; speak to her and she drifts miles away from you directly. (loudly) Mrs. Wragge.

MRS. W. Tea, dear?

CAPT. W. Put your cap straight. I beg ten thousand pardon; the sad truth is, I am a martyr to my own excessive sense of order. All untidiness, all want of system causes me the acutest irritation. My attention is distracted--my composure is upset Externally speaking, Mrs. Wragge is, to my infinite regret, the crookedest woman I ever met with. (shouting) More to the right!

MRS. W. There, dear! (business with cap.)

CAPT. W. Show Miss Vanstone her room--the land-lady's spare room on the third floor front, and offer her all articles connected with the toilet of which she may stand in need. She has no luggage with her; supply the deficiency, and then make tea.

MRS. W. Yes, dear!

CAPT. W. And, meanwhile, I will step out for a few delicacies to make our evening meal acceptable. For its seed-cake, and its crumpets, York is as illustrious as its Minister, (shouting) Mrs. Wragge, you're down at heel. (takes small basket from beside cupboard, and goes off D. in F.)

MRS. W. Oh, my poor head, it's buzzing again as bad as ever.

MAG. Buzzing? (takes a chair.)

MRS. W. Yes, miss; will you wait a bit if you please, before we go up-stairs; please wait till I'm a little better.

MAG. Shall I ask for help?

MRS. W. Help! bless you, no; I don't want help; I'm used to it. I've had the buzzing in my head off and on, how many years? Have ever you been at Darch's dining-rooms, in London?

MAG. No.

MRS. W. That's where the buzzing in my head first began. I was a waiter in them rooms, I was. The gentlemen all came together, were all hungry together, all gave their orders together. MAG. And trying to keep them all in your memory confused you. MRS. W. That's it. Boiled pork and greens, and peas-pudding, for No. 1; stewed beef and carrots, and gooseberry-tart, for No. 2; cut of mutton, and quick about it, well done, and plenty of fat, for No. 3; cod-fish and parsnips, two chops to follow, hot and hot, or I'll be the death of you, for No. 4; carrots and gooseberry-tart, peas-pudding and plenty of fat, pork and beef and mutton, and cut 'em all, and quick about it; stout for one, and ale for t'other; stale bread here, and new bread there; cheese for you, sir? and none for you, sir? Matilda--Tilda, Tilda, Tilda, fifty times over and over--oh, Lor', oh, Lor'! all buzzing in my poor head together like fifty thousand million bees.

MAG. Poor creature, I can understand your complaint now.

MRS. W. What nice white hands you've got, miss; I try to be a lady, I always keeps my gloves on, but I can't get my hands like yours. What a nice dress, too; I had one like it once, only mine was white instead of black; I had it when I married the captain.

MAG. And where did you meet with him?

MRS. W. Oh! at the dining-rooms. He used to come there, and was the hungriest and the loudest of the lot of them. I made more mistakes with him than with all the rest put together. He used to swear; oh! didn't he used to swear at me; when he left off swearing, he married me. There was others wanted me beside, bless you! I had my pick. When you have a trifle of money left you that you didn't expect, if that don't make a lady of you, what does, I want to know?

MAG. What, indeed!

MRS. W. Isn't a lady to have her pick; I had my trifle of money, and I had my pick, and I picked the captain. He was the smartest and shortest of 'em all. He took care of me and my money. I'm here, the money's gone, and now I'm waiting on him agin, mum. I shave and dress him every day; I do his hair, and cut his nails; he's awful particular about his nails, so he is about his trousers and his shoes, and his newspaper in the morning, and his breakfasts, and his lunches, and his dinners, and his teas.

CAPT. W. (shouts). Mrs. Wragge, down at heel again, and not gone up to the room.

MAG. That's my fault; pray don't blame her. Come, Mrs. Wragge, you'll show me.

MRS. W. Yes, dear. Oh, what a pretty hand you've got!

[Exit with MAGDALEN, D. in F.

CAPT. W. (puts down basket, taking out cake, etc.). Under my roof, a good first step. What must be my second, clearly to ascertain whether this girl has got any money. If she hasn't she'll go to ruin, and it is mere humanity in me to take the reward that's offered, and send her back to her friends. (takes seat at table) If she has money, she may have genius which only requires to be developed, and which of all men, I am most qualified to put to its right use. If she has a talent for the stage, and means to pay for her education, I have acted; I can train her, and my agreement shall be liberal. When her education is finished, half her salary for the first year, a third of her salary for the second, and half the sum she cleared by her first benefit in a London theatre.

MRS. WRAGGE Tea, dear, as you ordered. I've showed her to her room.

CAPT. W. Stand straight, then.

MRS. W. And Mrs. Juke's kettle was boiling, and she has given us some hot water.

CAPT. W. I'll empty the kettle over you if you don't pull up your shoe! Here's some seed cake, cut it up; the crumpets we'll defer till we see whether the outlay's justified, and cut some bread and butter; get an egg for her; that's right. Now do you sit at the back, and sit straight, do you hear? and as soon as my niece descends---- (they set table for tea, and take seats.)

MAGDALEN enters, D. in F., without mantle or bonnet.

MAGDALEN. l hope I've not detained you?

CAPT. W. Not an instant, my dear child; take that chair, I beg. (MAGDALEN sits at table. MRS. WRAGGE helps her to tea, etc. CAPT. WRAGGE to cake) How do you like your room? I hope Mrs. Wragge's been useful. You take milk and sugar--try local cake--honor the Yorkshire butter--test the freshness in addition of a new and neighboring egg. I offer my little all--a pauper's meal, my child, seasoned with a gentleman's welcome.

MRS. W. (in a reverie). Seasoned with salt, pepper, chives and parsley. (hangs her head.)

CAPT. W. (to her). Sit straight at the table--more to the left--more still. Really, this is very pleasant. I feel quite in the bosom of my family. Whilst you have been upstairs, my mind has not been idle. I have been considering your position with a view exclusively to your own benefit. If you decide on being guided by the light of my experience, that light is at your service. You may naturally say, I know but little of you, Captain, and that little not in your favor. Granted, on condition that I am allowed to tell you something more. False shame is foreign to my nature. You see my wife, my house, my bread, my butter, and my eggs. Exactly as they are, permit me to show myself.

MAG. Well, sir

CAPT. W. We'll come to facts. What am I? If you'll go back to our conversation on the walls of this interesting city, you'll remember you heard I was an impostor; in other words, a swindler. Now don't be shocked--don't be astonished. What is a swindler? Philologically, a word in two short syllables; essentially, a moral agriculturist, a philosopher, who cultivates the field of human sympathy. I am that moral agriculturist, that cultivating man. Narrow-minded mediocrity, envious of my success, calls me a swindler; but what of that? The same low tone of mind calls great writers, scribblers; great generals, butchers. It entirely depends on the point of view. Hear what I have to say for myself in the exercise of my profession. Shall I put it frankly?

MAG. Yes; and I'll tell you frankly what I think of it. (MRS. WRAGGE retires from table with her book, and sits by fireplace, R. U. E, reading it.)

MRS. W. (aside). "Mince small"--that's a teazer, isn't it?

CAPT. W. (to MRS. WRAGGE). Down at the heel again--the right shoe; pull it up. (to MAGDALEN) Now observe. Here am I, a needy object. I will merely ask, then, whether it isn't the duty of the Christian community to assist the needy? If you say no, you simply shock me, and there's an end of the discussion. If you say yes, then I beg to ask why am I to blame for making a Christian community do its duty? You may say, "Is the man who has saved money bound to spend it on him who hasn't?" Of course he is; and why? Because he has got the money, to be sure. All the world over, the man who has not got the thing obtains it from him who has, and mostly on a plea that's a false one. I say, then, to the rich, "What, your pockets full, and you refuse to fill mine that are empty? Sordid wretch! do you think I'll allow you thus to violate the sacred obligations of charity? No--a thousand times I say it--no!"

MRS. W. (rocking her seat). A lump of butter as big as my thumb.

CAPT. W. Sit straight. These are my principles as a moral agriculturist. Am I to blame if the field of human sympathy can't be cultivated in another way? Consult my brother agriculturists. Do they set their crops for the mere asking? No; they must circumvent arid nature, exactly as I circumvent sordid man. They must plough and sow, and top dress, and surface drain, and deep-drain. Why am I, then, to be checked in the vaster occupation of deep-draining mankind?

MRS. W. (repeating). "Turn it over and double it, as soon as it's in the pan."

CAPT. W. Crooked again! Will you never learn a correct attitude?

MAG. Well, sir; and having thus ploughed and sowed, is your Yorkshire crop a rich one?

CAPT. W. It ought to be--it would be--but that after years of successful efforts, the penalties of celebrity are beginning to attach to me. Pausing at this city, on my way from the north, I consult my books, and find the unfortunate initials marking this city, T. W. K.--too well known.

MAG. You consult your books--what books?

CAPT. W. You shall see them: truly delighted with the opportunity of proving that I withhold nothing from you. (rises and goes to bureau, from which he takes memorandum books, with which he returns.)

MRS. W. (aside). I've got it now: put the frying-pan on the dish, and tumble them both over! (puts her hands together and turns them.)

MAG. (aside). This is surely the man I need for the fulfillment of my scheme; a man well used to working in the dark, with endless resources of boldness and cunning; who would hesitate at no mean employment, so to put money in his pocket. Two necessities are plainly before me: that of knowing more of my cousin Noel, and that of throwing him off his guard, by concealing myself during the inquiry. I cannot achieve my end without the aid of another; and is there any aid within my reach but that of this impostor?

CAPT. W. Here is my commercial library. Day-book, ledger-book, book of districts, book of letters. In appearance my system looks complicated; in reality, it is simplicity itself. I merely avoid the errors of inferior practitioners; that is to say, I never plead for myself, and I never apply to rich people. People, with small means have sometimes generous impulses, rich people never. My lord with forty thousand a year; Sir John with property in half a dozen counties; these are the men who never forgive the beggar that extracts from them a sovereign. Who are the people that lose sixpences and shillings? Servants and small clerks, to whom they are of consequence. Did you ever hear of Rothschild or of Baring dropping a fourpenny-piece down a gutter-hole? Fourpence in Rothschild's pocket is safer than in that of the woman who is now crying stale shrimps in the Skeldergate.

MAG. Well, sir?

CAPT. W. Well; here, in book No. 1, are all my districts mapped out, with the prevalent public feeling to appeal to in each--military district, clerical district, agricultural district, etc. Here, in No. 2, are all the cases that I plead. Family of an officer who fell at Waterloo. Wife of a poor curate stricken down by nervous debility. Widow of a grazier in difficulties, gored to death by a mad bull. Here, in No. 3, are the people who have heard of the officer's family, the curate's wife, and the grazier's widow, and here the people who haven't. The people who have said Yes, and the people who have said No. The people to try again: the people who want a fresh excitement; the people who are doubtful; the people to beware of. Here, in No. 5, are my adopted handwritings of public character; my testimonials to my own worth and integrity; my heartrending statements of the officer's family, the curate's wife, etc., stained with tears, blotted with emotion. Here, in No. 6, are my own personal subscriptions to local charities; paid in remunerative neighborhoods, on the principle of throwing a sprat to catch a herring, and----

MAG. And such being the evidence of your talents and resources----

WRAG. You can judge of the assistance I can render you if you intend to adopt the stage.

MAG. But I do not intent to adopt it

WRAG. You don't?

MAG. I do not. I have merely led my friends to think so as a screen to my real purpose. I have left home with but one object; to carry out, in secret, a scheme for the recovery of my rights, for the regaining of that property which I was robbed of by my uncle.

WRAG. Michael Vanstone?

MAG. Who is dead.

WRAG. Dead?

MAG. Lately, at Brighton; leaving the fortune which should have been mine and my sister's to his son Noel, an invalid.

WRAG. Bless my soul, here's a discovery.

MAG. If I want your aid at all, it is to assist me in this scheme. It is to help me, in the first place, to gain access to my cousin; to enable me to see him, I know his feelings towards his father's victims; to learn also the character and influence of this housekeeper he has got

WRAG. Well, my dear young friend?

MAG. He is gone to London, and is now living at a secluded house at Lambeth, which I intend to enter in disguise, assuming the name of my governess, Miss Garth. To effect this purpose I left home, pretending I was going on the stage; but now shall return to town in secret, and take a lodging near his own. But to do this, I require a companion, and, as a female would be best, may I have your wife?

WRAG. My wife? (looks at MRS. W., who suddenly starts on seeing she it watched.)

MAG. Whilst you stay here to await the result, and give me your personal aid in the next step I may require to take.

WRAG. With pleasure, my dear Miss Vanstone; with the utmost possible pleasure. I heartily sympathise in your noble object, and as I cannot doubt, of course, that you are provided with funds to carry it out----

MAG. With sufficient at least, from the sale of my jewels, to repay you for your assistance. You are in want of money at this moment; will this note meet your necessities? (takes bill from her pocket-book.)

WRAG. Twenty pounds!--abundantly, my dear child.

MAG. We will discuss, then, to-morrow, the entire extent of your repayment, as well as all other points in respect to this arrangement. It is agreed that your wife accompanies me, on my return, by an early train.

WRAG. If you can put up with her incumbrance, will thank you for the honor. Mrs. Wragge! Why she's asleep! Mrs. Wragge!

MRS. W. (starts from her seat, repeating). Turn it over, and double it, and--Yes, dear, did you call?

WRAG. Why, ain't you ashamed to fall asleep on the first occasion our dear niece does us the honor of a visit?

MAG. Oh, don't blame her. I'm tired out myself. If she will oblige me with a candle, I'll retire.

WRAG. And she'll conduct you to your room, of course. Mrs. Wragge, a candle, and show our dear niece to her room; and the next time you forget yourself, fall asleep straight, ma'am, if you please. Good night, my dear Miss Vanstone, good night, and refreshing sleep to you!

MAG. Good night, sir.

MRS. W. I really beg your pardon, miss. I thought I was busy cooking. (lights a candle and goes out D. in F., followed by MAGDALEN.)

WRAG. (flourishes bill). Twenty pounds, as a commencement, and the prospect of hundreds, if she succeeds! A noble girl, upon my word; a very noble and deserving girl!

SERVANT. If you please, take a seat, mum; I'll tell Mrs. Lecompte you are here.

[Exit, C., and off, L.

MAG (lifts up her veil, showing her further disguise of false hair, etc.). So far, then, I have succeeded; I am under his roof, and am about to see his housekeeper--this woman whom I am told exercises so great an influence over him. In this disguise I have little fear of being known, or even suspected; no one would detect me now, not even those who know me best. These rooms are poorly furnished, they confirm the report that he is a miser; and what have we here (approaches the aquarium and recoils.)

Good heavens!

MADAME LECOMPTE. Don't be alarmed; my pets hurt nobody.

MAG. (turns, dropping her veil, and speaking in a feigned voice). Madame Lecompte?

MAD. L. I have the pleasure of addressing the lady who called here this morning--Miss Garth.

MAG. The same.

MAD. L. Accept my excuses for the state of these rooms. We only came for a few days, and leave to-morrow for the sea side, for Aldborough on the coast of Norfolk; so we didn't think it worth while to put them in order. Will you take a seat, and oblige me by mentioning the object of your visit (places a chair for MAGDALEN, L. C., then takes one herself, R.)

MAG. Certainly. I am suffering, as you may perceive, from an affection of the eyes; I must beg your permission, therefore, to wear my veil down, and to sit away from the light.

MAD, L. Oh, you can't bear the light; I'm really very sorry.

MAG. My errand is as follows: I lived many years as governess in the family of the late Mr. Andrew Vanstone, and I am come here in the interest of his two orphan daughters.

MAD. L. Ahem. I am surprised you can go out of doors without using a green shade.

MAG. I find a shade over my eyes keeps them too hot at this time of the year. May I ask if you heard what I have just said on the subject of my errand?

MAD. L. May I, on my part, inquire how that errand can possibly concern me?

MAG. Certainly. I come to you because Mr. Vanstone's intentions towards the young ladies were made known in a letter from yourself.

MAD. L. Pray pardon me, I remember; but you are mistaken in supposing I am of any importance; I am merely the mouthpiece of Mr. Noel Vanstone, the pen he holds, if you will excuse the expression--nothing more. He is an invalid; he has his good days and his bad. It was a bad day when that answer was sent to, shall I say, Miss Vanstone. It was one of his bad days, and I had to write it, simply as his secretary, for want of a better.

MAG. I perceive.

MAD. L. If you wish to speak to Mr. Vanstone on this subject, I will mention your name to him. He is alone, and very luckily this is one of his good days. I have the influence of an old servant, and I will use that influence with pleasure.

MAG. If you would be so good, and I am not taking an undue advantage of your kindness.

MAD. L On the contrary, you are laying me under an obligation; you are permitting me, in my limited way, to assist the performance of a benevolent action, (she goes off, C.)

MAG. (raises her veil). Smooth speaker--hypocrite--do you think I cannot penetrate you? (turns to the aquarium) I wonder whose blood is the coldest--yours, you little monster, or your owner's? I wonder which is the slimiest--her heart or your back? You hateful wretch, do you know what your mistress is? She is a devil.

MAD. L. Mr. Vanstone will see you in a few minutes. He was just leaving his room. I must caution you, however, upon one point. You must be careful not to depress his spirits, or to agitate him in any way. His heart has been a cause of serious anxiety to those about him. There is no positive disease. It is only a chronic feebleness, a want of vital power.

MAG. I regret to hear it, really.

MAD. L. His medical advisers say it will go on well enough, if we don't give it too much to do; so you will be kind enough to be cautious, and to keep a guard on your conversation.

MAG. (aside). Oh! the craft of that.

MAD. L. Talking of medical men, have you ever tried the golden ointment for the sad affliction in your eyes? I have heard it is an excellent remedy.

MAG. (sharply). It has not succeeded with me. Before I see Mr. Vanstone, may I inquire----

MAD. L. I beg pardon; if your question refers to these poor girls--the Miss Vanstones, I mean, of course--you must excuse me if I can't discuss it, except in my master's presence, so we'll talk of something else. Have you noticed my glass tank? I have every reason to believe it a perfect novelty in England.

MAG. Yes, madam, I have looked at it.

MAD. L. But take no interest in it--quite natural. I took none in it I myself till I was married. My dear husband formed my tastes and elevated me to himself. You have heard of the late Professor Lecompte, the eminent Swiss naturalist? I am his widow. He permitted me to assist him in his pursuits, and I have had only one interest since his death--an interest in science. Eminent in many things, the Professor was great in reptiles. He left me his subjects and his tank. There is his tank. All the subjects died, but this quiet little fellow, this nice little toad. Are you surprised at my liking him? Very possibly; but the professor lived long enough to elevate me above the common prejudices. Properly understood, the reptile creation is very beautiful; properly dissected, it is instructive to the last degree.

VANSTONE. Madame Lecompte!

MAD. L. (turning). Oh, here's my master. Mr. Vanstone, this is Miss Garth. (MAGDALEN rises and bows.)

VANS. Take a seat, Miss Garth. I am Mr. Noel Vanstone. You wished to see me--here I am. (MAGDALEN resumes her seat.)

MAD. L. May I be permitted to retire, sir?

VANS. Certainly not. Stay here, and keep us company. Madame Lecompte has my fullest confidence; whatever you may say to me you say to her. She is a domestic treasure; there is not another house in England has such a treasure as Madame Lecompte. (MADAME LECOMPTE takes seat.)

MAG. And now, sir, if you will permit me----

VANS. Stop a moment, let me move this candlestick--don't suppose it's a common one--it's a Peruvian candlestick, madam. There are only three of that pattern in the world: one is in the possession of the Peruvian President, one is locked up in the Vatican, one is on my table; it cost ten pounds--it's worth fifty. One of my father's bargains, madam. All these are my father's bargains. There's not another house in England has such curiosities as these. Mrs. Lecompte is one of his bargains--ain't you, my good Lecompte? My father was a remarkable man, madam. I've got on his dressing-gown--no such linen as this made now-a-days; you can't get it for love or money. Would you like to feel the texture? Perhaps you're no judge of texture; perhaps you'd prefer talking of these two pupils of yours you've come about.

MAG. Well, I should, sir.

VANS. There are two of them, I think. Are they fine girls--plump, fresh, full-blown English beauties?

MAG. Sir!

MAD. L. (rising). Excuse me, sir; but I really must beg to retire if you speak of the poor things in that way. Consider their position, sir; consider, too, Miss Garth.

VANS. You good creature, you excellent Lecompte! You see, madam, how she pities them. I don't go so far as that myself, but I can make allowances for them. I am a large-minded man, I can make allowances for them and you. (he takes the strawberry-plate in his lap, and eats carelessly.)

MAD. L. Now, really, sir, you don't intend it, but you shock Miss Garth, you do really; she's not accustomed to you as I am; consider Miss Garth, as a favor to me.

MAG. You are very good, madam; but I make no claim to be treated with consideration. I am a governess, and I don't expect it. I have only one favor to ask--I beg Mr. Noel Vanstone, for his own sake, to hear what I have to say to him.

MAD. L. You understand, sir; it appears that Miss Garth has some serious warning to give you. She says you are to hear her for your own sake.

VANS. For my sake! (puts plate on table, and draws back.)

MAG. (aside). One discovery--he is a coward!

VANS. What do you mean, ma'am? what do you mean by telling me I am to listen for my own sake. If you come here to intimidate me, you come to the wrong man. My strength of character was universally allowed at Zurich, was it not, Lecompte?

MAD. L. Universally, sir; but, perhaps, we have misinterpreted Miss Garth's meaning.

MAG. On the contrary, madam, you have exactly expressed my meaning; my object in coming here is to warn Mr. Noel Vanstone against the course which he is now taking.

MAD L. Oh don't, madam! If you want to help these poor girls, don't talk in that way; soften his resolution by entreaties, don't strengthen it by threats.

VANS. You hear, madam; you hear the honest testimony of a person who has known me from childhood. Take care, Miss Garth, take care. (takes the plate and resumes eating.)

MAG. I have no wish to offend you, I am only anxious to state the truth. You are not acquainted with the characters of those whose fortunes have fallen in to your possession. I have known them from childhood, and I come to give you the benefit of my experience--in their interest, and in yours. You have nothing to dread from the elder of the two, she patiently accepts the hard lot which you and your father before you have forced on her. The younger sister's conduct is the very opposite of this; she has already declined to submit to your father's decision, and she now refuses to be silenced by Madame Lecompte's letter. Take my word for it, sir, she is capable of giving you serious trouble if you persist in making her your enemy.

VANS. (puts plate on table again). Serious trouble! If--if you mean writing letters, ma'am, she has given me trouble enough already. She has written once to me, and twice to my father, and one of her letters to my father was a threatening letter, wasn't it, Lecompte?

MAD. L. She expressed her feelings, poor child, and I thought it hard to send the letter back. What I said at the time, was, why not let her express her feelings? What are a few threatening words in her position, poor creature? they are words, and nothing more.

MAG. (abruptly). I advise you not to be too sure of that; I know her better than you do. You have referred, sir, to my pupil's letters; we will not speak of those she sent your father, we will refer only to that she sent you. Is there anything unbecoming in that letter? Is there anything said in it that's false? Is it not true that these two sisters have been cruelly deprived of the provision which their father made for them, by his dying before he could make a second will for their protection. Can you deny that?

VANS. I don't attempt to deny it, madam; go on, Miss Garth, go on. (plate and strawberry business as before.)

MAG. Is it not true that the law, which has taken the money from these sisters, because their father made no second will, has given it to you, whose father made no will at all? Surely this is hard on these poor girls!

VANS. (eating). Oh, very hard! It strikes you so, doesn't it, Lecompte?

MAD. L. Harrowing! I can characterize it, Miss Garth, by no other word than that--harrowing. But I think you have something more to say about your pupil's letter?

MAG. I have only one more question to put: my pupil's letter addressed a proposal to Mr. Vanstone, and I beg him to inform me why he has refused to consider it?

VANS. My good lady, are you really in earnest? Do you know what that proposal was?

MAG Yes, sir; it was one that asks of your sense of justice, what death alone prevented at the hands of her father. In plainer words, it reminds you that one-half his fortune was to have been theirs; and that half it asks you to give them, and to keep the rest yourself. That is her proposal!

VANS. And you further ask me why I have not considered it. For the simplest reasons, madam, because I'm not a fool.

MAD L. Don't put it in that way, sir; be serious, pray be serious!

VANS. But I can't be serious, Lecompte. My father took a high moral view of this matter; I have lived long enough on the Continent to do nothing of the sort. My course in this business is as plain as two and two make four. I have got the money, and I should be an idiot--a born idiot--if I parted with it; that's my point of view. I don't stand on my dignity; I don't meet you with the law, though it is all on my own side. I don't blame you for coming here to try and alter my resolution; I don't blame the two girls for wanting to dip their fingers into my purse. All I say is, I am not fool enough to open it. Pas si bête, as we used to say at Zurich; pas si bête! (returns plate to table.)

MAG. Am I to understand those as your last words?

VANS. Precisely, madam.

MAG. You have got their father's money, and you refuse to part with a single farthing of it?

VANS. Most accurately stated.

MAD. L. No, no, sir! now I must be allowed to speak. Let me suggest a compromise; you must do justice to yourself, sir; you follow your honored father's example, you feel it due to his memory to act as he has acted before you. Well, he made a proposal, and you will make that proposal again; you will give a hundred pounds apiece to them. If you do that, you'll do enough; yes, Miss Garth, if he gives a hundred pounds to each of these unfortunate girls----

MAG. (starts from her chair, and replies in her own voice). He will repent the insult to the last hour of his life.

MAD. L. (aside). As I suspected, 'tis the girl herself.

MAG. (recovering herself). You may mean well, Madame Lecompte, but you are doing harm instead of good. My pupils will accept of no such compromise as you propose.

MAD. L. What more can I do? my nerves are so shaken by this sad scene--I must have a glass of water, or I shall faint. I must retire, sir, for a moment; but don't go yet, Miss Garth. Give us time to think, and set this matter right, if we can; give us time to think, (she goes off, C., but appears directly after, listening.)

VANS. No, no, don't go, Lecompte, don't go, I--I pray. Miss Garth, remember, I don't deny the case is a hard one. You say you have no wish to offend me, and I'm sure I've no wish to offend you. May I offer you some strawberries? I assure you I'm naturally a gallant man, and I feel for these poor sisters, especially the younger one, who was going to be married. Touch me on the subject of the tender passion, and you touch me in a weak place. Nothing would please me better than to hear that young Miss Vanstone's lover had come back, and if a loan of money would be likely to bring him, and the security offered me were good----

MAG. Stop, sir. You are entirely wrong in the estimate you've taken of that girl--entirely wrong in thinking that her marriage would alter her convictions, though I don't deny she clings to it, and to the hope of rescuing her sister from dependence. I know her, Mr. Vanstone. She is now a nameless, homeless, friendless wretch; the law that takes care of you, casts her like carrion to the winds. It is your law, not hers; she only knows it as the instrument of a vile oppression, an insufferable wrong--the sense of that wrong haunts her like a possession of the devil--the resolve to right that wrong burns in her like fire! If that miserable girl were married, and rich with millions to-morrow, do you think she would move an inch, a single inch from her purpose? I tell you she would resist to the last breath in her body--I tell you she would shrink from no means which a desperate woman can employ to force that closed hand of yours to open, or die in the attempt!

VANS. (shouting). Madame Lecompte!

MAD. L. Good heavens, sir! What's happened? You are very pale, you are agitated. Oh, Miss Garth, have you forgotten the caution which I gave you when you entered?

VANS. (loudly). Miss Garth has forgotten everything. She has threatened me, absolutely threatened me, and in the most outrageous manner. I forbid you to pity either of these two girls another moment, especially the younger, who is the most desperate wretch I ever heard of. If she can't get my money by fair means, she means to do it by foul. Miss Garth has told me so to my face--to my face, ma'am--to my face!

MAD. L. Compose yourself, sir, pray compose yourself, and leave me to speak to Miss Garth. I regret to find, madam, you have so much forgotten the important caution I gave you. You have agitated Mr. Noel, and have compromised the interests you came here to plead; the language you have used is merely that which your pupil used in her letter, and how can a lady of your years and experience seriously repeat such nonsense? This girl boasts and threatens she will do this and do that. You have her confidence, and pray tell me, in plain words, what is it she can do? (music to end.)

MAG. Her own acts, madam, will best enlighten you, and answer your question when the time comes. My errand is done. I leave Mr. Noel Vanstone with two alternatives to choose from; to share Mr. Andrew Vanstone's fortune with Mr. Andrew Vanstone's daughters, or to persist in his present refusal, and face the consequences. I wish you good morning. (up C.)

MAD. L. (detains her, aside to her). You are a bold woman, madam, and a clever one; but don't be too bold, don't be too clever. You are risking more than you think for; one last word: when your pupil was a little innocent child, did she ever amuse herself by building a house of cards?

MAG. (aside to her). She may have done so.

MAD. L. (same). Did you ever see her build up the house higher and higher, till it was quite a pagoda of cards, and open her little eyes wide and look at it, and feel so proud of what she had done already, that she wanted to do more? Did you ever see her steady her little hand, and hold her innocent breath, and put one card on the top, and lay the whole house an instant afterwards a heap of ruins on the table? Give her, if you please, a friendly message. She has built the house high enough already, and I recommend her to be more careful before she puts on the other card.

MAG. (same). She shall have your message, but I doubt her minding it. Her hand is steadier than you suppose, and I think she will put on the other card.

MAD. L. (same). And bring the house down.

MAG. And build it up again! (aloud) I wish you a good morning.

[Exit, L. 3. E. D.

VANS. (falls back in chair, R. C). Madame Lecompte! (MADAME L. leans over him.)

CAPT. W. Nobody out yet, and the day so splendid; neither Mr. Vanstone nor his housekeeper--that charming Madame Lecompte! that she-dragon, who thinks she is guarding her Thespian bachelor so safely. To-day may teach her differently--(walks about) to-day may show her the sort of antagonist she possesses in the person of Mr. Bygrave. Bygrave, ha, ha! that name begins to be as natural to me as if I had never had another, and yet I have owned it only a month, only the one month that we have been at Aldborough. Mr. and Mrs. Bygrave, and their niece, Miss Bygrave, who arrived at North Shingles cottage just one fortnight after Mr. Vanstone had taken up his abode at Sea View, opposite. That name is one of the skins that I keep by me ready to jump into. The designation of individuals who have retired from this mortal scene, and with whose families and circumstances I have made myself acquainted. Some I have tried on, some remain to try; this of the departed Mr. Bygrave fits me without a wrinkle. Miss Vanstone slipped with great ease into that of the late Miss Bygrave; and when we had pushed Mrs. Wragge almost headforemost into Mrs. B.'s, the transformation was complete; our only chance of betrayal is by that simpleton, my wife, whom I have instructed in her new relationship almost a dozen times a day, and yet----

MRS. WRAGGE. Oh, please, dear, Miss Vanstone wishes to know----

CAPT. W. Vanstone!

MRS. W. Oh, no dear--no--I meant----

CAPT. W. Why, this is infamous; don't know her name yet, after all I have told you! Do you know your own?

MRS. W. Yes, dear; Matilda!

CAPT. W. Nothing of the sort. How dare you tell me your name's Matilda? Your name's Julia. Who am I?

MRS. W. I--I don't know, dear!

CAPT. W. You don't know?

MRS. W. Well, dear--I----

CAPT. W. Stand straight. Don't know the skin I am in; nor the skin you are in yourself; don't know that you are dead and buried in London, and that you have risen like a phoenix from the ashes of Mrs. Wragge? This is perfectly disgraceful! (crosses to R., and returns.)

MRS. W. Well, dear, I'm very sorry--but----

CAPT. W. Sit down; more to the right, more still. (MRS. WRAGGE takes seat, R.) Didn't I tell you that my brother, Mr. John Bygrave, was in the mahogany and logwood trade at Belize, Honduras, where he died and was buried on the south-west side of the local cemetery, and has a neat monument of native wood, carved by a self-taught negro artist; and that nineteen months afterwards his wife died at Cheltenham, died of apoplexy at a boarding-house, in consequence of her corpulence, being supposed to be the most corpulent woman in all England, and that her daughter, who is the image of her in everything but corpulence, has been under our care ever since?

MRS. W. Ye--yes, dear.

CAPT. W. Then don't let me hear you say, "You don't know who we are," again. Now look at me; more to the left, more still. Who am? Mr. Bygrave, Christian name, Thomas. Who are you? Mrs. Bygrave Christian name, Julia. Who is the young lady who is with us? That young lady is Miss Bygrave, Christian name, Susan. I am her clever uncle, Tom, and you are her addle-headed aunt, Julia. Say it all over to me in an instant, say it like the catechism.

MRS. W. Oh, my poor head! The buzzing's come again.

CAPT. W. Sit straight, will you, and say it?

MAGDALEN. Don't distress her, she'll learn it all in time. She'll go into the house and think it over.

MRS. W. Oh, the buzzing. [Exit, R. house.MAGDALEN takes seat, L.

CAPT. W. Precautions, my dear Miss Vanstone, proper precautions with that woman, or----

KIRKE (aside). It is herself. I am again so fortunate as to see her, to see her if but for an instant; and if, also, for the last time---- (MAGDALEN, seeing KIRKE, rises indignantly. KIRKE bows respectfully and goes off L. H.)

MAG. Who is that man that follows me so impertinently--that a second time has presumed to stare at me in that manner?

CAPT. W. My dear Miss Vanstone, you really must be a little tolerant when you afford him so much excuse. A person of your appearance is not seen ordinarily at Aldborough. I inquired who was this person when he followed and stared at you before, and I find he is a son of Neptune, a rough and simple, but worthy sailor, the captain of an East Indiaman, on a visit here to his brother-in-law, the rector. Sailors, you know, are just like children; if they see anything grand or beautiful they stare at it as a matter of course, without any notion of giving offence. (MAGDALEN resumes her seat.)

MAG. The people here are boors. (pausing) Do you find me changed?

CAPT. W. Changed?

MAG. I have lost all care for myself. There are things I would have died rather than do at one time; things it would have turned we cold to think of.

CAPT. W. Very true, but----

CAPT. W. I don't care now whether I do such things or not. I am nothing to myself; no more to myself than that tuft of grass I see before me. I suppose I have lost something. What is it, heart--conscience? I don't know, do you? What nonsense I am talking. Who cares what I have lost--it's gone, and there's an end of it. (hangs her head.)

CAPT. W. (aside). The blow has gone deeper than I thought; she can't get over her desertion by her lover, that young Clare.

MAG. How soft that turf looks, how soft and friendly--that wouldn't cast me off! Mother Earth! the only mother I have left.

CAPT. W. Ahem! Am I to infer, then, from this language that you want courage for your task ?

MAG. Want courage! when I care for nothing?

CAPT. W. Exactly, so I fancied; and as the case in respect of Mr. Vanstone is, that he is in possession of your property, as his father was before him, and is just as resolved to keep it----

MAG. He is.

CAPT. W. Whilst you are just as helpless to get it by persuasion, just as helpless to get it by law, and yet are just as resolved to get it by some means or other.

MAG. But not for the money's sake, remember that; for the sake of the right, sir, of the right.

CAPT. W. Precisely, for the right; and as, after due consideration, you have seen there is no other way to realize your aim, you have made up your mind to----

MAG. (hangs her head). To marry him.

CAPT. W. To marry him! he having evinced his admiration for you the very first moment you met, having joined us in our daily ramble, and having paid you such attention as justifies your thinking he is on the point of making a proposal.

MAG. Even so.

CAPT. W. The. only obstacle to your wishes, and the growth of his attachment, being his housekeeper, Madame Lecompte, whose attention I have made it my business to engage during our walks, and which I have been enabled to accomplish, owing to my discovery of her weak point--her taste for science, which she owes to her deceased husband, the Swiss professor; which taste I have contrived to consult, by purchasing that far-famed pocket manual of knowledge, Joyce's Scientific Dialogues, with whose contents I have managed to inflate my new skin as much as possible.

MAG. Yes, yes; I admit all your important services.

CAPT. W. Which services you have agreed to reward with the sum of £200, on the morning of your marriage, after which we are to part, never to meet again.

MAG. That is our agreement.

CAPT. W. Well, and what's the prospect of its success? You expect to be able to bring Mr. Vanstone to propose to you this morning?

MAG. (hanging her head again). I do.

CAPT. W. But that is of little use, unless he is enabled to fulfill his offer; and that can never be done so long as that she-dragon is beside him, who, it strikes me, at times, half suspects your identity, though you do look so different from the person who called on her at Lambeth. You must see, therefore, it is indispensable we should get this woman away; and that little preliminary, I fancy, I have prepared for.

MAG. Indeed!

CAPT. W. She has a brother at Geneva, who is tolerably wealthy, who has been ill, and whom she hopes will leave her all his money. Mr. Vanstone has shown me one of his letters to her, of which I have taken a fac-simile, in order to be able to copy the hand; and on the strength of that advantage, ten days ago, I wrote a letter to her from her brother, informing her that he was much worse, and begging her to come to him immediately; and this letter I sent to Paris to a friend, who will post it at Geneva, and which letter I confidently expect she will receive in another day.

MAG. And this will remove her?

CAPT. W. No fear of that, for her avarice is as strong as her jealousy. She'll start for Switzerland at once, and leave the field conveniently open, for Mr. Noel Vanstone and his cousin to marry in her absence, and start on their bridal tour.

MAG. Marriage, marriage--and with him!

CAPT. W. For heaven's sake be cautious! for here your adorer comes!

VANS. Ah, good morning to you, Miss Bygrave, and you, too, my dear sir. I trust I see you both well to-day. This is one of my good days, and I hope it is also one of yours.

CAPT. W. Well, I fear it is not one of my niece's. She seems very dull to-day. Hasn't bathed--hasn't had her walk.

VAN. Well, I'm extremely sorry, (aside) Can it be that I am the cause of it--that she is thinking of our talk of yesterday--of the avowal that I made?

CAPT. W. So I have advised her, poor darling, not to exert herself to-day, but to go and lie down.

VAN. Now, might I be allowed to advise, I should say a walk, of all things, is the remedy for her temporary sadness; and, if she would honor me so much as to permit me to partake it----

CAPT. W. Well, Susan, what do you say, love?

MAG. I shall be very happy, if Mr. Vanstone wishes it (she rises from her seat and takes his arm.)

VANS. (aside). She consents, she understands me. In another hour she is mine, (he leads her off, R. U. E., MADAME LECOMPTE looks after them.)

MAD. L. (aside). He is fascinated with that girl, much as he denies it to me, and calls it a mere flirtation--protests he is only trifling with her. It is he will be the victim, fool as he is--I know it.

CAPT. W. (aside). She suspects, and if her thoughts are not diverted from them, perhaps will suspect so much, my trap for her will fail. Ahem! Good morning, my dear madam; what a magnificent sea to-day!

MAD. L. (aside). And this man, too, smooth-spoken as he is, I fear him as much as her.

CAPT. W. Splendid sea, indeed! Come, Madame Lecompte, we really must be sociable. Where there is only one walk in the place, and on it we must meet daily, we must meet as good friends, and why not? Are we formal people? Nothing of the sort. You, on your side, possess the continental facility of manner. I match you on mine with the blunt cordiality of an old-fashioned Englishman. The result is a mutual interest in making our sea-side stay agreeable. Pardon my flow of spirits, the iodine in the sea air, madam; purely the effect of the iodine.

MAD. L. Oh, indeed, sir. (aside) They're gone down the beach.

CAPT. W. Your husband, Madame Lecompte, would have appreciated that remark; eminent as he was in science, his extensive knowledge must have taught him how much mere physical influence has to do with the state of the mind.

MAD. L. No doubt of it, Mr. Bygrave; and pardon me if for an instant I seemed a little inattentive. It is long, long ago since I have heard myself addressed in the language of science; my dear husband made me his companion; my dear husband improved my mind, and I feel grateful you should recall his memory, and also his example.

CAPT. W. (aside). Joyce, ahem! (aloud) Believe me, my dear madam, the gratification is mutual. Every moment on this delightful coast something or other occurs to prompt such observations. Now those vessels passing yonder, they suggest, of course, the theory of flotation. May I ask, Madame Lecompte, whether you have ever considered that theory?

MAD. L. I cannot say I have, (she takes a seat, L. H.)

CAPT. W. And yet, my dear madam, how much of life and property depends upon it; how much of England's wealth, how much of England's greatness. Pray observe, now, how heavily some of those vessels are laden; and yet, madam, should they be loaded one-thirtieth part more than they ought to be, what is the result? They pass Aldborough in safety, they enter the Thames in safety, they get on in fresh water, perhaps, as far as Greenwich, and then, madam, down they go.

MAD. L. Is it possible?

CAPT. W. Yes, madam, as a matter of scientific certainty. We will start, if you please, with a first principle. All bodies that float, displace as much fluid as is equal in weight to themselves. Good, we have got our first principle! What do we deduce from that? Manifestly this, that in order to keep a vessel afloat, it is necessary ship and cargo should be of less weight than the weight of the water. (she looks round) Pray follow me here, madam--the weight of water equal in bulk to that part of the vessel which it is intended to immerse. Now, madam, salt water is specifically thirty times heavier than fresh, and a vessel in the German Ocean will not sink so deep as in the Thames, consequently you see, when we load our ship for the London market----

MAD. L. (aside). Why, where can they have gone to?

CAPT. W. I say, when we load for the London market, we have hydrostatically three alternatives before us, either we load one-thirtieth part less than we can safely carry at sea, or we take one-thirtieth part out when we arrive at the mouth of the river; or we do neither the one or the other, and, as I have already had the honor of remarking, on reaching Greenwich, down we go.

MAD. L. (rises and looks off, R. U. E., aside). This delay is most surprising, I----

CAPT. W. Ah, I see; you are struck with the change of the wind. Very extraordinary, really. Nor'-nor'-west this morning; now due nor', veering slightly to nor'-east; ten to one, this afternoon, will veer round to the south, (following her up C.) Is there anything, my dear madam, more remarkable than the variableness of the wind in England? Is there any phenomenon more bewildering to the scientific inquirer? You will tell me that its principal cause is the electric fluid which abounds in the air; you will remind me of the experiment of that illustrious philosopher, who measured the velocity of a great storm by a small flight of feathers. I grant all of your propositions.

MAD. L. I beg your pardon, you kindly attribute to me knowledge which I don't at all possess; my dear husband might have replied to you; as for myself, I can only thank you for your very agreeable and instructive conversation, and as I fear Mr. Vanstone is rather exceeding his extent of walk----

CAPT. W. Bless my soul, the post.

MAD. L. The post?

CAPT. W. I think that is the old fellow, yonder, that carries round the letters. I am anxiously expecting one from a dear sister of mine in Scotland.

MAD. L. And I am not less anxious, for I have a brother at Geneva, who is far from being well; and as he has not written to me for the last fortnight, I----

CAPT. W. It's the man, madam, and here he is coming; he has a letter for one of us, it's quite clear, and if I dared trust my fluttering pulse, I----

Who for, my good man--speak!

POSTMAN. Madame Lecompte., [Goes to her, gives it. Exit, L. U. E.

CAPT. W. For you, madam. I leave you to peruse it. (he turns away, up stage.)

MAD. L. From my brother! (tears it open, reads a few lines, and screams) Good heavens!

CAPT. W. (coming down). My dear madam!

MAD. L. He's very ill--he thinks he's dying; he implores me to come to him instantly.

CAPT. W. Bless my soul! I'm very sorry.

MAD. L. My sight fails me. Will you oblige me, sir, by calling Mr. Vanstone?

CAPT. W. Certainly, my dear madam; certainly, (he goes to R. U. E., and waves his hat) Mr. Vanstone, Mr. Vanstone! He is coming, my dear madam.

MAD. L. Thank you, indeed. I must go in-doors. I feel so faint I can scarcely stand. Oh! If I should be too late! (totters into house; he following and commiserating, then turning and rubbing his hands.)

CAPT. W. That letter was a masterpiece--not merely a mechanical triumph, an exact rendering of the hand--but the man's mind, his style, ideas. Yes, that constitutes my triumph; that's a something to be proud of!

VANS. You called to me, Mr. Bygrave.

CAPT. W. For Madame Lecompte, sir. She has bad news--a letter from her brother, who it seems is very ill.

VANS. Then I must leave you, Miss Bygrave, for an instant, an instant only; but I go the proudest and happiest of men. (after kissing her hand, he enters L. house.)

CAPT. W. From which words I am to infer that he has proposed to you, and been accepted?

MAG. He has. (on seat R.)

CAPT. W. And would only be too happy if he could marry you to-morrow. Let him restrain his impatience for a week, and perhaps it can be managed.

MAG. In a week?

CAPT. W. Perhaps less, if he's active. As soon as this woman starts for Switzerland, he has simply to start for London, buy a license and a ring.

MAG. Oh wretchedness!

CAPT. W. So! I think both of us are to be congratulated--you on the fascinations which have hooked this trout so easily, and I on the tact and firmness that saved the sport from interruption.

VANS. (eagerly to CAPT. W.). Mr. Bygrave, was ever anything so fortunate! Her brother's dying, and she is resolved to start for Switzerland to-day.

CAPT. W. And you, Mr. Vanstone, for London the day after; when, having arranged all the preliminaries, by the time your worthy housekeeper has reached her brother's side, you and your young bride will have reached Scotland on your wedding tour.

VANS. Oh, rapture! Dear Miss Bygrave! (he approaches MAGDALEN ardently.)

VOICE OF MAD. L. (off L. 1. E. ). Mr. Vanstone!

VANS. I'm coming, my good Lecompte. (he goes into house, MAGDALEN'S head falls on the back of the chair.)

CAPT. W. I think I shall touch my two hundred pounds. (stands rubbing his hands.)

CAPTAIN KIRKE. And she married this Mr. Vanstone?

WRAG. Yes, my dear sir, she married him about a week after you left Aldborough, and married him as I have told you.

CAPT. K. To regain the properly which herself and sister had virtually been robbed of?

WRAG. Precisely so.

CAPT. K. When, on one occasion, during her absence to visit her sister in London, her husband fell again into the hands of his old housekeeper, who induced him to revoke the will which he had made entirely in her favor, and leave everything at his death to his cousin, Mr. George Bartram.

WAG. Exactly so again.

CAPT. K Shortly after which he died, and Mrs. Vanstone found herself reduced to utter destitution.

WRAG. Such was the wind up, sir, of this most melancholy story.

CAPT. K. (aside). She has withheld nothing from me, then--she has told all, without reserve.

WRAG. The consequence of her misfortune being that she was led to hide herself from her friends, and taken refuge in this poor lodging, where, illness overtaking her, and her money being gone, she was actually in danger of being carried to a hospital; when, most fortunately, you happened to pass her door, and recognizing, saved her from that miserable catastrophe.

CAPT. K. Well, well!

WRAG. Prompted, of course, by the circumstance that your respective fathers were old friends and brother officers in Canada--though I must be allowed to add that the sympathy you showed-----

CAPT. K. Add nothing, sir, I beg; what I have done for Miss Vanstone has been abundantly repaid by her convalescence, and my also having the happiness of aiding in restoring her to her friends. Her sister, as you are aware, is coming here to-day to remove her to her own home.

WRAG. And, of course, you are also aware, sir, who that sister is become?

CAPT. K. No; I only know that Miss Norah Vanstone----

WRAG. Within the past few weeks has changed her name to that of Mrs. Bartram.

CAPT. K. Is it possible?

WRAG. It's the fact, sir. Mr. Bartram met her at some friend's house during the time we were all at Aldborough, and would have proposed to her at once, only that his uncle, the admiral, was then living, who wanted him to marry some one else. As soon, however, as he was his own master, he followed his own wishes, and----

CAPT. K. And her end is gained, then, after all--the wealth and right for which she struggled is now become her sister's.

WRAG. Her sister's, if not her own.

CAPT. K. (aside). She will be rich herself, then--will have a home and friends, and I must make up my mind to say farewell to her forever.

MRS. W. Oh, if you please, Captain Kirke----

WRAG. Stand straight

MRS. W. Yes, dear.

WRAG. Shoe down again.

MRS. W. Yes, dear. If you please, sir, Mrs. Vanstone is very sorry to keep you waiting, but will see you in a minute.

CAPT. K. Tell her I beg she will not hurry herself. Now I remember I've a call to make close by, and will be back in half an hour. (aside) Yes, a turn in the open air will give me courage for this parting.

[Exit, D. in F.

MAG. Is he gone?

WRAG. Only for a moment, my dear child; a little engagement to attend to, and will be back again directly.

MAG. (takes chair by table, R.--aside). He will return, of course; he would never depart without seeing me.

WRAG. And now, my dear child, let your old friend tell you how delighted he is to see you so far restored to health. I am really delighted, honestly delighted, to see you again, and getting well. Ah, I have often thought of you, have often missed you, have often said to myself--well, no matter what--clear the stage and drop the curtain on the past. You are beginning to look yourself again, and I--be equally candid--tell me if I do not look the very picture of a prosperous man?

MAG. You do, indeed.

WRAG. And the reason--you're naturally anxious to know it--you're a woman and a friend. My dear girl, since we've parted, I've slightly modified my pursuits. I've shifted from moral agriculture to medical. Formerly I preyed on public sympathy, now I prey on the public stomach. Incredible as it may appear, I am at last a man with an income; the founders of my fortune are three in number--their names are aloes, scammony and gamboge. In plainer words, I am now living on a pill.

MAG. A pill?

WRAG. A pill. I made a little money by my friendly connection with you. I made a little more by the death of Mrs. Wragge's aunt. Sit straight, madam, I desire you. I invested all my money in advertisements, getting my drugs and boxes on credit, and the result is, here I am, a grand financial fact, with a balance at my banker's, a servant in livery, and a gig--solvent, flourishing, popular, and all upon a pill.

MAG. I can't say you surprise me.

WRAG. No, no. I merely sustain my character; advertisement is the thing, my child, advertisement is the thing. There is not a form of appeal possible which I am not making to the world at this moment. Hire the last new novel, there I am inside the boards of the book. Send for the last new song, open the leaves, and I drop out of it. Take a 'bus, I fly into the windows in red. Buy a box of tooth powder, I wrap it up for you in blue. Seat yourself at the theatre, I flutter down on you in yellow. Let me quote a few of my titles from my last week's issue. Proverbial title: A pill in time saves nine. Familiar title: Excuse me, how's your poor stomach? Patriotic title: What are the three characteristics of an Englishman? His hearth, his home, his pill.

MAG. And all this, you say, succeeds?

WRAG. Succeeds! Look at my shop--an advertisement itself. Behind one counter are four-and-twenty young men in white aprons, making up the pill; behind another are four-and-twenty in white cravats, making up the boxes; at the bottom are three elderly accountants, posting my financial transactions; over the door are my name and portrait in colossal proportions, with my motto: "Down with the Doctors." Mrs. Wragge contributes her quota to this prodigious enterprise of mine.

MAG. Mrs. Wragge?

MRS. W. Yes, dear, I----

WRAG. Silence, and sit straight. She is the celebrated woman whom I have cured with my extraordinary medicine of every complaint under the sun. Her picture is engraven on the wrapper with the following inscription: "Before she took the pill, you might have blown her away with a feather; look at her now!" Such, my dear child, is the history of my connection with British medicine--such the cause of my rise to fortune and popularity--and also the happy reason of my being conducted to your door. Repairing to Aldborough to establish an agency, I met with a letter from Captain Kirke, to the hotel keeper at that place, offering a reward to discover your friends, and being one of them, I trust I made a point to come to town and present myself forthwith.

MAG. It was very kind of you, and I thank you, deeply thank you, since it was by your means my dear Norah came to comfort me.

WRAG. Who comes to-day to take you home with her to her pleasant retreat in the Isle of Wight.

MAG. Yes; and 'tis near the time she promised to be here.

VOICE OF NORAH (off at back). My sister is in her room, you say?

MAG. Ah, she is there! Norah, dear, come in! (NORAH enters D. in F., and crossing to MAGDALEN, embraces her eagerly.)

NORAH. Dearest Magdalen! and how do you feel to-day?

MAG. Is it necessary to ask me? Do you not see I am almost well?

NORAH Friends of yours?

WRAG. Yes, Mrs. Bartram, old friends and sincere ones; allow me also to add, I am an old friend of your family, and connection, in fact, of your ever dear lamented mother--Captain Horatio Wragge,--you must have heard her speak of me--and Mrs. Wragge, allow me to present her. Stand straight, madam, I desire you; more to the right--more still.

MRS. W. Yes, dear.

WRAG. You may have heard of me also in connection with my well-known pill, to be had in neat boxes, name upon the wrapper, price thirteen-pence-halfpenny, Government stamp included, accompanied by portrait of a patient, who you might have blown away with a feather before she took the pill, and whom you are now simply requested to look at in the form before you. Stand straight, madam, I command you. Good morning to you, madam; good morning, my dear Mrs. Vanstone. I trust the Isle of Wight will completely effect your cure. If not, pray remember as a last resource--you can always command my pill. Good morning.

[Exit with MRS. WRAGGE, D. in F.

NORAH. And now, dearest, we are alone, tell me of him of whom I most wish to hear, and of whom as yet you have said so little--this stranger who has preserved you; whom accident brought to your door as you were about to be carried from it insensible, and who at once took upon himself the charge of every expense till your recovery.

MAG. Yes, dear.

NORAH. And, as your recovery was proceeding, who crowned this kindness by instituting inquiries about your friends, which, after months of separation, brought me again, darling, to your side.

MAG. I can only repeat, that our dear father and his own were brother officers, and----

NORAH. And is a mere paternal intimacy to account for all this kindness? Where had this person known you?

MAG. He had seen me when I was at Aldborough.

NORAH. But that's a year ago, and you have told me he has only recently returned from a voyage to China. To have remembered you so well, and to have shown you all this sympathy? Ah, Magdalen, there is but one explanation of this man's conduct--he loves you.

MAG. (drooping her head). Norah!

NORAH. I should have judged so by even the minor attentions he has paid you. He was not content to provide you with a doctor and a nurse, he takes apartments in the house in order that he may be near you; he passes hours by your side when you are able to sit up; he brings you books and fruit and pictures?

MAG. I--I own it.

NORAH. And has all this devotion had no effect? Ah, dearest, your letter betrayed something more than the state of his feelings, they exhibited an undisguised admiration of this man.

MAG. And is it to wondered at? Ah, Norah, if you but knew him--a man so unlike all the men I had ever met; so true an instance of a sailor; so simple and yet so intelligent; so child-like in his tastes and feelings, and yet so manful in his sense of duty. At first it was with mere curiosity that I used to listen to his history, which, out of respect to him, I asked him to relate--the detail of his strange adventures in all parts of the world; his escape from mutiny and shipwreck, and all the terrors of the deep, made doubly vivid by the simple and earnest way in which he told them. I could not help looking at his hand and thinking, that hand that has rescued the drowning, and seized men mad with mutiny, to force them back to duty, now can shift the pillows of the sick so tenderly she hardly knows they have been moved, and mix her lemonade, and peel her fruit, more delicately and neatly than she could do it for herself.

NORAH. Well, love?

MAG. But if curiosity was the first feeling, it soon gave place to a worthier one. This entire unconsciousness in all his details of his own heroism throughout his dangers, the artless modesty, with which he described act after act in his life of dauntless endurance and devoted courage, without an idea that they were anything more than the plainest acts of duty, to which he was bound by the pursuit he followed, raised him to a place in my estimation, man had never held till then? Ah, Norah, it did more, his life became a mirror to me, in which I saw, and shrunk whilst seeing, the selfish littleness of my own.

NORAH. You loved him, Magdalen?

MAG. Such was my punishment, I loved him, only to feel how wholly unworthy I was of him.

NORAH. Nay!

MAG. I said--did he know my history, were he told my story in return, would he not shrink from its sad selfishness, almost as much as I do now myself?

NORAH. And what did you then?

MAG. I saw there was but one course; but one repayment I could offer him for the worthier feelings he had aroused, and that was to tell him everything. It might cost me his respect; but at least it would ensure my own.

NORAH. And you did so?

MAG. Yes! I told him that before we parted. He had a claim, the strongest claim of any one, to know how I came in this house, unknown to all my friends, and how it was I had fallen so low, and as I could not tell him that without the entire story of my life----

NORAH. He wished to hear it?

MAG. No, no! ever generous, he refused; he wished to know nothing which would pain me to tell; but I besought him to hear me; I even begged him to give me courage for the task. I said, "You have always done your duty; help me now to imitate you, to be worthy of your kindness and do mine. Do not encourage me," I cried, "in any miserable weakness, any false shame, any unjust reserve; help me rather to tell the truth, force me to tell it, and for my own sake, if I may not for yours."

NORAH. Well; and he consented?

MAG. Yes; kindly suggesting that I should do so on paper, which I eagerly consented to, for then I could be sure of myself, sure of concealing nothing. I requesting only one favor, that he would not write in return; that he would tell me with his own lips what he thought, and tell me here, under this roof, where he discovered, and where he preserved me.

NORAH. And he agreed to this?

MAG. Yes; and that he would call on me to-day; some time to-day; before I said farewell to him in your presence.

NORAH. And he has not arrived?

MAG. He has been here, and will return in a few minutes.

NORAH. Then I must not delay my own disclosure; I revealed to you, darling, everything that had occurred to me in my last letter.

MAG. Everything?

NORAH. My strange meeting with Mr. Bartram, our attachment--opposed by the wishes of his uncle; at length his uncle's death; our marriage, and our happiness.

MAG. And my condemnation. You, whose courage under calamity had been the courage of resignation; who had patiently accepted your hard lot; who from the first to last had meditated no vengeance, and had stooped to no deceit; you had reached the end which all my dissimulation and all my daring had failed to achieve. Openly and honorably, with love on both sides, you had married him who inherited the prize for which I struggled--our dear father's legacy--the wealth unjustly taken from us, but which Heaven would not permit me unjustly to regain.

NORAH. Say not unjustly, and reserve your opinion till you have heard all I have to say. You had reason to believe when Mr. Noel Vanstone revoked the will he made in your favor, and left all his property to my future husband, he accompanied his bequest with certain conditions--such as my husband's marriage within six months of Mr. Vanstone's death--which conditions converted the bequest into the nature of a trust, a trust which he secretly deposited in the hands of Admiral Bartram.

MAG. It was so.

NORAH. And your suspicions were well founded; such a trust was executed, and deposited with my husband's uncle, and on the recent investigation of his papers, consequent on his decease, the document was found!

MAG. Was found! (NORAH produces paper, MAGDALEN seizes and reads it eagerly.)

NORAH. Read it, and you will see that you were not destined by fate to be the victim your husband intended. Mr. Bartram failed to fulfill the condition on which he inherited your husband's property--he was not married within the term assigned--and the result is, that the wealth transferred to him reverts to its proper owner.

MAG. To me, Norah?

NORAH. To you! You are its sole claimant, and my husband bids me tell you that no one rejoices at your good fortune more sincerely than himself.

MAG. And all this I owe to this small piece of paper?

NORAH. You do.

MAG. This document, which repays me for my long struggle, and which accomplishes my scheme--and now--does so no longer. (she tears it up)

NORAH. Oh, Magdalen! what have you done?

MAG. I have parted with my past life, I will owe nothing to it but the memory of its errors and its miseries. All the thoughts and all the hopes belonging to it are put away from me forever.

NORAH. My own dear sister!

MAG. I can seen the truth at last; from the ashes of dead passions, from the grave of buried hopes, I can see it rise in the light of its own immortal life.

NORAH. And rise to be the source of every possible reward----

VOICE OF KIRKE (at back). Mrs. Bartram, you say, is with her?

NORAH. Next to that of your own peace, the love of a good man. He is here, Magdalen, to tell you, you are now dearer to him than ever. Let me not delay the arrival of a happiness which has been so abundantly deserved.

[Exit, L. D.

KIRKE. Have I driven your sister from the room? (music to end.)

MAG. Oh, no! she only left me, because----

KIRKE. She knows I have something to say, which would be best told to you, alone?

MAG. Exactly.

KIRKE. Well, shall I say it at once? I have read your letter, Magdalen; read it quietly and calmly, and shall tell you what I think of it?

MAG. Not yet; not just yet--I--I shall be stronger in an instant--and--till I am--tell me where you have been; to the city, I presume, to your employers about your ship?

KIRKE. You are right. I have been to them.

MAG. Do they want you to sail again?

KIRKE. They do.

MAG. And to sail at once?

KIRKE. At once.

MAG. And have you decided?

KIRKE. No; I am still doubting--doubting whether I should say yes or no.

MAG. Oh, be frank with me. Let me know all; In a word, were you doubting for my sake?

KIRKE. Yes, Magdalen, take my confession in return for yours. For your sake, for yours only.

MAG. I am pardoned, then?

KIRKE. Pardoned! do l look as if I had condemned?

MAG. Dearest and best of men! (throws herself on his bosom.)

KIRKE. Let my heart answer you Magdalen--that heart on which you rest

MAG. And yet, do I deserve my happiness? Oh, I know how the poor, narrow people would reply, who have never felt, and never suffered; how they would forget all my provocation, and only remember my offence; how they would fasten on my sin, and pass all my sufferings by; but you are not one of them. Tell me if you have even the shadow of a misgiving left. Tell me if you doubt that the one dear object of my life is to live worthy of you! I asked you to wait and see me--I asked you--if there was any hard truth to be told--to tell it here--with your own lips--tell it--my love--my husband--tell it now!

KIRKE. In this way--in this only. (he kisses her fondly.)