"Don't be angry," said Mrs. Wragge. "I'm not settled in my mind about
the captain. He's a great writer, and he hasn't written. He's as quick
as lightning, and he hasn't come back. Here's Saturday, and no signs of
him. Has he run away, do you think? Has anything happened to him?"
"I should think not. Go downstairs; I'll come and speak to you about it
directly."
As soon as she was alone again, Magdalen rose from her chair, advanced
toward a cupboard in the room which locked, and paused for a moment,
with her hand on the key, in doubt. Mrs. Wragge's appearance had
disturbed the whole current of her thoughts. Mrs. Wragge's last
question, trifling as it was, had checked her on the verge of the
precipice--had roused the old vain hope in her once more of release by
accident.
"Why not?" she said. "Why may something not have happened to one of
them?"
She placed the laudanum in the cupboard, locked it, and put the key in
her packet. "Time enough still," she thought, "before Monday. I'll wait
till the captain comes back."
After some consultation downstairs, it was agreed that the servant
should sit up that night, in expectation of her master's return.
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