“What do you mean?” asked Magdalen, pushing her back.
Mrs. Lecount glided away politely to open the house door.
“I mean nothing now,” she said; “wait a little, and time may show. One last question, ma’am, before I bid you good-by. When your pupil was a little innocent child, did she ever amuse herself by building a house of cards?”
Magdalen impatiently answered by a gesture in the affirmative.
“Did you ever see her build up the house higher and higher,” proceeded Mrs. Lecount, “till it was quite a pagoda of cards? Did you ever see her open her little child’s 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 pretty little hand, and hold her innocent breath, and put one other card on the top, and lay the whole house, the instant afterward, a heap of ruins on the table? Ah, you have seen that. Give her, if you please, a friendly message from me. I venture to say she has built the house high enough already; and I recommend her to be careful before she puts on that other card.”
“She shall have your message,” said Magdalen, with Miss Garth’s bluntness, and Miss Garth’s emphatic nod of the head. “But I doubt her minding it. Her hand is rather steadier than you suppose, and I think she will put on the other card.”
“And bring the house down,” said Mrs. Lecount.
“And build it up again,” rejoined Magdalen. “I wish you good-morning.”
“Good-morning,” said Mrs. Lecount, opening the door. “One last word, Miss Garth. Do think of what I said in the back room! Do try the Golden Ointment for that sad affliction in your eyes!”
As Magdalen crossed the threshold of the door she was met by the postman ascending the house steps with a letter picked out from the bundle in his hand. “Noel Vanstone, Esquire?” she heard the man say, interrogatively, as she made her way down the front garden to the street.