nsation under the disaster--in other
words, the discovery that the Trust actually existed, and that George
Bartram's marriage within a given time was one of the objects contained
in it--was a compensation which could only be estimated at its true
value by placing it under the light of Mr. Loscombe's experience. Every
motive of which she was conscious was a motive which urged her to leave
the house secretly while the chance was at her disposal. She looked out
into the passage, and called softly to old Mazey to come back.

"I accept your offer thankfully, Mr. Mazey," she said. "You don't know
what hard measure you dealt out to me when you took that letter from my
hand. But you did your duty, and I can be grateful to you for sparing me
this morning, hard as you were upon me last night. I am not such a bad
girl as you think me--I am not, indeed."

Old Mazey dismissed the subject with another dreary wave of his hand.

"Let it be," said the veteran; "let it be! It makes no difference, my
girl, to such an old rascal as I am. If you were fifty times worse than
you are, I should let you go all the same. Put on your bonnet and shawl,
and come along. I'm a disgrace to myself and a warning to others--that's
what I am. No luggage, mind! Leave all your rattle-traps behind you: to
be overhauled, if necessary, at his honor the admiral's discretion. I
can be hard enough on your boxes, you young Jezebel, if I can't be hard
on you."

With these words, old Mazey led the way out of the room. "The less I see
of her the better--especially about the waist," he said to himself, as
he hobbled downstairs with the help of the banisters.

The cart was standing in the back yard when they reached the lower
regions of the house, and Dawkes (otherwise the farm-bailiff's man) was
fastening the last buckle of the horse's harness. The hoar-frost of
the morning was still white in the shade. The sparkling points of it
glistened brightly on the shaggy coats of Brutus and Cassius, as they
idled about the yard, waiting, with steaming mouths and slowly wagging
tails, to see the cart drive off. Old Mazey went out alone and used his
influence with Dawkes, who, staring in stolid amazement, put a leather
cushion on the cart-seat for his fellow-traveler. Shivering in the sharp
morning air, Magdalen waited, while the preliminaries of departure were
in progress, conscious of nothing but a giddy bewilderment of thought,
and a helpless suspension of feeling. The eve