lved his pecuniary
problem at last. The blank space in the advertisement was filled up, and
Mrs. Lecount's acknowledgment of the captain's anonymous warning was now
on its way to insertion in the _Times_.

THE END OF THE THIRD SCENE.

BETWEEN THE SCENES.

PROGRESS OF THE STORY THROUGH THE POST.

I.

_Extract from the Advertising Columns of "The Times."_

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

II.

_From Captain Wragge to Magdalen._

"Birmingham, July 2d, 1847.

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

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

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

"How is my unfortunate wife? I am afraid you find it quite impossible
to keep her up at heel, or to mold her personal appearance in