have been prepared for it by what had already passed
in her presence, but her nerves had been shaken by the earlier events of
the day; and she could only answer the question in the negative, after
an instant's preliminary pause to control herself. Her hesitation was
of too momentary a nature to attract the attention of any unsuspicious
person. But it lasted long enough to confirm Mrs. Lecount's private
convictions, and to encourage her to advance a little further.

"I only asked," she continued, steadily fixing her eyes on Magdalen,
steadily disregarding the efforts which Captain Wragge made to join
in the conversation, "because Miss Garth is a stranger to me, and I am
curious to find out what I can about her. The day before we left town,
Miss Bygrave, a person who presented herself under the name I have
mentioned paid us a visit under very extraordinary circumstances."

With a smooth, ingratiating manner, with a refinement of contempt
which was little less than devilish in its ingenious assumption of the
language of pity, she now boldly described Magdalen's appearance in
disguise in Magdalen's own presence. She slightingly referred to the
master and mistress of Combe-Raven as persons who had always annoyed the
elder and more respectable branch of the family; she mourned over the
children as following their parents' example, and attempting to take
a mercenary advantage of Mr. Noel Vanstone, under the protection of a
respectable person's character and a respectable person's name. Cleverly
including her master in the conversation, so as to prevent the
captain from effecting a diversion in that quarter; sparing no petty
aggravation; striking at every tender place which the tongue of a
spiteful woman can wound, she would, beyond all doubt, have carried her
point, and tortured Magdalen into openly betraying herself, if Captain
Wragge had not checked her in full career by a loud exclamation of
alarm, and a sudden clutch at Magdalen's wrist.

"Ten thousand pardons, my dear madam!" cried the captain. "I see in
my niece's face, I feel in my niece's pulse, that one of her violent
neuralgic attacks has come on again. My dear girl, why hesitate among
friends to confess that you are in pain? What mistimed politeness! Her
face shows she is suffering--doesn't it Mrs. Lecount? Darting pains,
Mr. Vanstone, darting pains on the left side of the head. Pull down
your veil, my dear, and lean on me. Our friends will excuse you; our
excelle