“Yes, ma’am. She is having her tea.”
“When she has done, say I want her up here. Wait a moment. You will find your money on the table—the money I owe you for last week. Can you find it? or would you like to have a candle?”
“It’s rather dark, ma’am.”
Magdalen lit a candle. “What notice must I give you,” she asked, as she put the candle on the table, “before I leave?”
“A week is the usual notice, ma’am. I hope you have no objection to make to the house?”
“None whatever. I only ask the question, because I may be obliged to leave these lodgings rather sooner than I anticipated. Is the money right?”
“Quite right, ma’am. Here is your receipt.”
“Thank you. Don’t forget to send Louisa to me as soon as she has done her tea.”
The landlady withdrew. As soon as she was alone again, Magdalen extinguished the candle, and drew an empty chair close to her own chair on the hearth. This done, she resumed her former place, and waited until Louisa appeared. There was doubt in her face as she sat looking mechanically into the fire. “A poor chance,” she thought to herself; “but, poor as it is, a chance that I must try.”
In ten minutes more, Louisa’s meek knock was softly audible outside. She was surprised, on entering the room, to find no other light in it than the light of the fire.