Holmes_Millbank.txt topic ['13', '324', '378', '393']
CHAPTER I.
EXPECTING ROGER.
EVERY window and shutter at Millbank was closed.
Knots of crape were streaming from the bell-knobs,
and al 1 around the house there was that deep hush which
only the presence of death can inspire. Indoors there was a
kind of twilight gloom pervading the rooms, and the servants
spoke in whispers whenever they came near the chamber where
the old squire lay in his handsome coffin, waiting the arrival of
Roger, who had been in St. Louis when his father died, and
who was expected home on the night when our story opens.
Squire Irving had died suddenly in the act of writing to his
boy Roger, and when found by old Aleck, his hand was grasp
ing the pen, and his head was resting on the letter he would
never finish. " Heart disease " was the verdict of the inquest,
and then the electric wires carried the news of his decease to
Roger, and to the widow of the squire's eldest son, who lived
on Lexington avenue, New York, and who always called her
self Mrs. Walter Scott Irving, fancying that in some way the
united names of two so illustrious authors as Irving and Scott
shed a kind of literary halo upon one who bore them.
1*
10 EXPECTING ROGER.
Mrs. Walter Scott Irving had been breakfasting in her back
parlor when the news came to her of her father-in-law's sudden
death, and to say that she was both astonished and shocked, is
only to do her justice, but to insinuate that she was sorry, is quite
another thing. She was not sorry, though her smooth white
brow contracted into wrinkles, and she tried to speak very sad-
, ly and sorrowfully as she said to her son Frank, a boy of nine
or more,
" Frank, your grandfather is dead ; poor man, you'll never
see him again."
Frank was sorry. The happiest days of his life had been
spent at Millbank. He liked the house, and the handsome
grounds, with the grand old woods in the rear, and the river be
yond^ where in a little sheltered nook lay moored the boat he
called his own. He liked the spotted pony which he always
rode. He liked the freedom from restraint which he found in
the country, and he liked the old man who was so kind to
him, and who petted him sometimes when Roger was not by.
Roger had been absent on the occasion of Frank's last visit to
Millbank, and his grandfather had taken more than usual notice
of him, had asked him many questions as to what he meant
to be when he grew to manhood, and what he would do, sup
posing he should some day be worth a great deal of money.
Would he keep it, or would he spend it as fast and as foolishly
as his father had spent the portion allotted to him ?
" You'd keep it, wouldn't you, and put it at interest ? " his
mother had said, laying her hand upon his hair with a motion
which she meant should convey some suggestion or idea to his
mind.
But Frank had few ideas of his own. He never took hints
or suggestions, and boy-like he answered :
" I'd buy a lot of horses, -*nd Roger and me would set up a
circus out in the park."
It was an unlucky answer, for the love of fast horses had
been the ruin of Frank's father, but the mention of Roger went
far toward softening the old man. Frank had thought of
EXPECTING ROGER. II
Roger at once ; he would be generous with him, let what would
happen, and the frown which the mention of horses had brought
to the squire's face cleared away as he said :
" Hang your horses, boy ; keep clear of them as you would
shun the small-pox, but be fair and just with Roger ; poor
Roger, I doubt if I did right."
This speech had been followed by the squire's going hastily
out upon the terrace, where, with his hands behind him and his
head bent forward, he had walked for more than an hour, while
Mrs. Walter Scott peered anxiously at him from time to time,
and seemed a good deal disturbed. They had returned to the
city the next day, and Frank had noticed some changes in their
style of living. Another servant was added to thf ir establish
ment ; they had more dishes at dinner, while his mother wtnt
oftener to the opera and Stewart's. Now, his grandfather was
dead, and she sat there looking at him across the table as the
tears gathered in his eyes, and when he stammered out, ' ; We
shall never go to Millbank any more," she said soothingly to
him, " We may live there altogether. Would you like it ? "
He did not comprehend her clearly, but the thought that his
grandfather's death did not necessarily mean banishment from
Millbank helped to dry his eyes, and he began to whistle mer
rily at the prospect of going there at once, for they were to
start that very day on the three-o'clock train. " It was better
to be on the ground as soon as possible," Mrs. Walter Scott re
flected, and after a visit to her dressmaker, who promised that
the deepest of mourning suits should follow her, she started with
Frank for Millbank.
Mrs. Walter Scott Irving had never been a favorite at Mill-
bank since her husband had taken her there as a bride, and
she had given mortal offence to the two real heads of the house
hold, Aleck and Hester Floyd, by putting on all sorts of airs,
snubbing little Roger, and speaking of his mother as " that low
creature, whose disgraceful conduct could never be excused."
Hester Floyd, to whom this was said, could have forgiven the
airs ; indeed, she rather looked upon them as belonging by
12 EXPECTING ROGER.
right to one who was so fortunate as to marry into the Irving
family. Cut when it came to slighting little Roger for hig
mother's error, and to speaking of that mother as a "low crea
ture," Hester's hot blood was roused, and there commenced at
once a quiet, unspoken warfare, which had never ceased, be
tween herself and the offending Mrs. Walter Scott. Hester
was as much a part of Millbank as the stately old trees in
the park, a few of which she had helped Aleck to plant
when she was a girl of eighteen and he a boy of twenty. She
had lived at Millbank more than thirty years. She had come
there when the first Mrs. Irving was a bride. She had carried
Walter Scott to be christened. She had been his nurse, and
slapped him with her shoe a dozen times. She had been mar
ried to Aleck in her mistress's dining-room. She had seen the
old house torn down, and a much larger, handsomer one built
in its place ; and then, just after it was completed, she had fol
lowed her mistress to the grave, and shut up the many beauti
ful rooms which were no longer of any use. Two years passed,
and then her master electrified her one day with the news that
he was about bringing a second bride to Millbank, a girl younger
than his son Walter, and against whom Hester set herself fierce
ly as against an usurper of her rights. But when the sweet,
pale-faced Jessie Morton came, with her great, sad blue eyes,
and her curls of golden hair, Hester's resentment began to give
way, for she could not harbor malice toward a creature so love
ly, so gentle, and so sad withal : and after an interview in the
bed-chamber, when poor Jessie threw herself with a passionate
cry into Hester's arms, and sobbed piteously, " Be kind to me,
won't you ? Be my friend. I have none in all the world, or I
should not be here. I did not want to come," she became
her strongest ally, and proved that Jessie's confidence had not
been misplaced. There had come a dark, dark day for Mill-
bank since then, and Jessie's picture, painted in full dress, with
pearls on her beautiful neck and arms, and in her golden hair,
had been taken from the parlor-wall and banished to the gar
ret ; and Jessie's name was never spoken by the master, either
EXPECTING ROGER. 13
to his servants or his little boy Roger, who had a dash of gold
in his brown hair, and a look in his dark-blue eyes, like that
which Jessie's used to wear, when, in the long evenings before
his birth, she sat with folded hands gazing into the blazing fire,
as if trying to solve the dark mystery of her life, and know
why her lot had been cast there at Millbank with the old man,
whom she did not hate, but whom she could not love. There
was a night, too, which Hester never forgot, a night when,
with nervous agony depicted in every lineament, Jessie made
her swear that, come what might, she would never desert or
cease to love the boy Roger, sleeping so quietly in his little
crib. She was to care for him as if he were her own ; to con
sider his interest before that of any other, and bring him up
a good and noble man. That was what Jessie asked, and what
Hester swore to do ; and then followed swiftly terror and
darkness and disgrace, and close upon their footsteps came
retribution, and Jessie's golden head was lying far beneath the
sea off Hatteras's storm-beaten shore, and Jessie's name was
rarely heard. But Hester kept her vow, and since the dreadful
morning when Jessie did not answer to the breakfast call, and
Jessie's room was vacant, Roger had never wanted for a
mother's care. Hester had no children of her own, and she
took hini instead, petting and caring for, and scolding him as
he deserved, and through all, loving him with a brooding, cling
ing, unselfish love, which would stop at nothing which she
could make herself believe was right for her to do in his behalf.
And so, when the young bride looked coldly upon him and
spoke slightingly of his mother, Hester declared battle at once ;
and the hatchet had never been buried, for Mrs. Walter Scott,
in her frequent visits to Millbank, had only deepened Hester's
first impressions of her.
" A proud, stuck-up person, with no kind of reason for bein'
so except that she married one of the Irvingses," was what
Hester said of her, and this opinion was warmly seconded by
Aleck, who always thought just as Hester did.
Had she been Eve, and he her Adam, he would have eaten
14 EXPECTING ROGER.
the forbidden fruit without a question as to his right to do so,
just because she gave it to him, but, unlike Adam, he would
not have charged the fault to her ; he would have taken it upon
himself, as if the idea and the act had been his alone.
For Frank there was more toleration at Millbank. " lie was
not very bright," Hester said ; " but how could he be with such
a mother? Little pimpin,' spindlin', white-haired critter, then
wasn't half so much snap to him as there was to Roger."
In this condition of things it was hardly to be supposed that
Mrs. Walter Scott's reception at Millbank was very cordial,
when, on the evening after the squire's death, the village hack
deposited her at the door. Mrs. Walter Scott did not like a
depot hack, it brought her so much on a level with common
people ; and her first words to Hester were :
"Why wasn't the carriage sent for us? Weren't we ex
pected ? "
There was an added air of importance in her manner, and
she spoke like one whose right it was to command there ; and
Hester detected it at once. But in her manner there was, if
possible, less of deference than she had usually paid to the
great lady.
"Aleck had the neurology, and we didn't know jestly when
you'd come," was her reply, as she led the way to the chamber
which Mrs. Walter Scott had been accustomed to occupy dur
ing her visits to Millbank.
" I think I'll have a fire, the night is so chilly," the lady said,
with a shiver, as she glanced at the empty grate. " And, Hes
ter, you may send my tea after the fire is made. I have a head
ache, and am too tired to go down."
There was in all she said a tone and air which seemed to im
ply that she was now the mistress ; and, in truth, Mrs. Walter
Scott did so consider herself, or rather, as a kind of queen-regent
ivho, for as many years as must elapse ere Frank became of
age, would reign supreme at Millbank. And after the fire was
lighted in her room, and her cup of tea was brought to her,
with toast, and jelly, and cold chicken, she was thinking more
EXPECTING ROGER. 15
of the changes she would make in the old place, than of the
white, motionless figure which lay, just across the hall, in a
room much like her own. She had not seen this figure yet.
She did not wish to carry the image of death to her pillow, and
so she waited till morning, when, after breakfast was over, she
went with Hester to the darkened room, and with her handker
chief ostensibly pressed to her eyes, but really held to her nose,
she stood a moment by the dead, and sighed :
"Poor, dear old man! How sudden it was; and what a
lesson it should teach us all of the mutability of life, for in an
hour when we think not, death cometh upon us ! "
Mrs. Walter Scott felt that some such speech was due from
her, something which savored of piety, and which might pos
sibly do good to the angular, square-shouldered, flat-waisted
woman at her side, who understood what mutability meant
quite as well as she would have understood so much Hebrew.
But she knew the lady was " putting on ; " that, in her heart, she
was glad the "poor old man" was dead; and with a jerk she
drew the covering over the pinched white face, dropped the
curtain which had been raised to admit the light, and then
opened the door and stood waiting for the lady to pass out.
" I shall dismiss that woman the very first good opportunity.
She has been here too long to come quietly under a new ad
ministration," Mrs. Walter Scott thought, as she went slowly
down the stairs, and through the lower rooms, deciding, at a
glance, that this piece of furniture should be banished to the
garret, and that piece transferred to some more suitable place.
"The old man has lived here alone so long, that everything
bears the unmistakable stamp of a bachelor's hall ; but I shall
soon remedy that. I'll have a man from the city whose taste
I can trust," she said ; by which it will be seen that Mrs. Walter
Scott fully expected to reign triumphant at Millbank, without a
thought or consideration for Roger, the dead man's idol, who,
according to all natural laws, had a far better right there than
herself.
She had never fancied Roger, because she felt that through
1 6 EXPECTING ROGER.
Iiim her husband would lose a part of his father's fortune, and
as he grew older and she saw how superior he was to Frank,
she disliked him more and more, though she tried to conceal
her dislike from her husband, who, during his lifetime, evinced
almost as much affection for his young half-brother as for his
own son. Walter Scott Irving had been a spendthrift, and the
.fifl.y thousand dollars which his father gave him at his marriage
had melted away like dew in the morning sun, until he had
barely enough to subsist upon. Then ten thousand more had
been given him, with the understanding that this was all he
was ever to receive. The rest was for Roger, the father said ;
and Walter acquiesced, and admitted that it was right. He
had had his education with sixty thousand beside, and he could
not ask for more. A few weeks after this he died suddenly of
a prevailing fever, and then, softened by his son's death, the
old man added to the ten thousand and bought the house on
Lexington avenue, and deeded it to Mrs. Walter Scott herself.
Since that time fortunate speculations had made Squire Irving
a richer man than he was before the first gift to his son, and
Mrs. Walter Scott had naturally thought it very hard that
Frank was not to share in this increase of wealth. But no
such thoughts were troubling her now, and her face wore a very
satisfied look of resignation and submission as she moved lan
guidly around the house and grounds in the morning, and then
in the afternoon dressed herself in her heavy, trailing silk, and
throwing around her graceful shoulders a scarlet shawl, went
down to receive the calls and condolences of the rector's wife
and Mrs. Colonel Johnson, who came in to see her. She did
not tell them she expected to be their neighbor a portion of the
year, and when they spoke of Roger, she looked very sorry, and
sighed : " Poor boy, it will be a great shock to him."
Then, when the ladies suggested that he would undoubtedly
have a great deal of property left to him, and wondered who
his guardian would be, she said " she did not know. Lawyer
Schofield, perhaps, as he had done the most of Squire Irving' s
business."
EXPECTING ROGER. 1 7
"But Lawyer Schofield is dead. He died three weeks ago,"
the ladies said; and Mrs. Walter Scott's cheek for a moraenl
turned pale as she expressed her surprise at the news, and won-
dered she had not heard of it.
Then the conversation drifted back to Roger, Avho was ex
pected the next night, and for whom the funeral was delayed.
" I always liked Roger," Mrs. Johnson said; "and I must say
I love'd his mother, in spite of her faults. She was a lovely
creature, and it seems a tiaousand pities that she should have
married so old a man as Squire Irving when she loved another
so much."
Mrs. Walter Scott said it was a pity, said she always dis
approved of unequal matches, said she had not the honor of
the lady's acquaintance, and then bowed her visitors out with
her loftiest air, and went back to the parlor, and wondered what
people would say when they knew what she did. She would
be very kind to Roger, she thought. Her standing in Belvidere
depended upon that, and he should have a home at Millbank
until he was of age, when, with the legacy left to him, he could
do very well for himself. She wished the servants did not
think quite so much of him as they did, especially Aleck and
Hester Floyd, who talked of nothing except that " Master
Roger was coming to-morrow." Her mourning was coming,
too ; and when the next day it came, she arrayed herself in the
heavy bombazine, with the white crape band at the throat and
wrists, which relieved the sombreness of her attire. She was
dressing for Roger, she said, thinking it better to evince some
interest in an event which was occupying so much of the ser
vants' thoughts.
The day was a damp, chilly one in mid-April, and so a fire
was kindled in Roger's room, and flowers were put there, and
the easy-chair from the hall library ; and Hester went in and
out and arranged and re-arranged the furniture, and then flitted
to the kitchen, where the pies and puddings which Roger loved
were baking, and where Jeruah, or " Ruey," as she was called,
was beating the eggs for Roger's favorite cake. He would be
1 8 EXPECTING ROGER.
there about nine o'clock, she knew, for she had received a tele
gram from Albany, saying, "Shall be home at nine. Meet me
at the depot without fail."
In a great flurry Hester read the dispatch, wondering why
she was to meet him without fail, and finally deciding that the
affectionate boy could not wait till he reached home before
pouring out his tears and grief on her motherly bosom.
" Poor child ! I presume he'll cry fit to bust when he sees
me," she said to Mrs. Walter Scott, who looked with a kind of
scorn upon the preparations for the supposed heir of Millbank.
The night set in with a driving rain, and the wind moaned
dismally as it swept past the house where the dead rested so
quietly, and where the living were so busy and excited. At
half-past eight the carriage came round, and Aleck in his water
proof coat held the umbrella over Hester's head as she walked
to the carriage, with one shawl wrapped around her and an
other on her arm. Why she took that second shawl she did
not then know, but afterward, in recounting the particulars of
that night's adventures, she said it was just a special Providence
and nothing else which put it into her head to take an extra
shawl, and that a big warm one. Half an hour passed, and
then above the storm Mrs. Walter Scott heard the whistle which
announced the arrival of the train. Then twenty minutes went
by, and Frank, who was watching by the window, screamed
out :
" They are coming, mother. I see the lights of the car
riage."
If it had not been raining, Mrs. Walter Scott would have
gone to the door, but the damp air was sure to take the curl
from her hair, and Mrs. Walter Scott thought a great deal of
the heavy ringlets which fell about her face by day and were
tightly rolled in papers at night. So she only went as far as
the parlor door, where she stood holding together the scarf she
had thrown around her shoulders. There seemed to be some
delay at the carriage, and the voices speaking together there
were low and excited.
ROGER'S STORY. 19
"No, Hester; she is mine. She shall go in the front way,"
Roger was heard to say ; and a moment after Hester Floyd
came hurriedly into the hall, holding something under her shawl
which looked to Mrs. Walter Scott like a package or roll of
cloth.
Following Hester was Frank, who, having no curls to spoil,
had rushed out in the rain to meet his little uncle, of whom he
had always been so fond.
" Oh, mother, mother ! " he exclaimed. "What do you think
Roger has brought home ? Something which he found in the
cars where a wicked woman left it. Oh, ain't it so funny, Ro
ger bringing a baby ? " and having thus thrown the bomb-shell
at his mother's feet, Frank darted after Hester, and poor Roger
was left alone to make his explanations to his dreaded sister-in-
law.
CHAPTER II.
ROGER'S STORY.
|ESTER'S advent into the kitchen was followed by a
great commotion, and Ruey forgot to pour any water
upon the tea designed for Roger, but set the pot upon
the hot stove, where it soon began to melt with the heat. But
neither Hester nor Ruey heeded it, so absorbed were they in
the little bundle which the former had laid upon the table, and
which showed unmistakable signs of life and vigorous babyhood
by kicking at the shawl which enveloped it, and thrusting out
two little fat, dimpled fists, which beat the air as the child began
to scream lustily and try to free itself from its wrappings.
" The Lord have mercy on us ! what have you got ? " Ruey
exclaimed, while Hester, with a pale face and compressed lip,
replied :
" A brat that some vile woman in the cars asked Roger to
20 ROGER'S STORY.
hold while she got out at a station. Of course she didn't ga
back, and so, fool-like, he brought it home, because it was
pretty, he said, and he felt so sorry for it. I always knew he
had a soft spot, but I didn't think it would show itself this
way."
It was the first time Hester had ever breathed a word of
complaint against the boy Roger, whose kindness of heart and
great fondness for children were proverbial ; and now, sorry that
she had done so, she tried to make amends by taking the strug
gling child from the table and freeing it from the shawl which
she had carried with her to the depot, never guessing the pur
pose to which it would be applied. It was a very pretty, fat-
faced baby, apparently nine or ten months old, and the hazel
eyes were bright as buttons, Ruey said, her heart warming at
once toward the little stranger, at whom Hester looked askance.
There was a heavy growth of dark brown hair upon the head,
with just enough curl in it to make it lie in rings about the fore
head and neck. The clothes, though soiled by travelling, were
neatly made, and showed marks of pains and care ; while about
the neck was a fine gold chain, to which was attached a tiny
locket, with the initials "L. G." engraved upon it. These
things came out one by one as Hester and Ruey together ex
amined the child, which did not evince the least fear of them,
but which, when Ruey stroked its cheek caressingly, looked up
in her face with a coaxing, cooing noise, and stretched its arms
toward her.
" Little darling," the motherly girl exclaimed, taking it at once
from Hester's lap and hugging it to her bosom. " I'm so glad
it is here, the house will be as merry again with a baby in it."
" Do you think Roger will keep it ? You must be crazy,"
Hester said sharply, when Frank, who had divided his time be
tween the parlor and kitchen, and who had just come from the
former, chimed in :
"Yes, he will, he told mother so. He said he always
wanted a sister, and he should keep her, and mother's rowin'
him for it"
ROGER'S STORY. 21
By this it will be seen that the child was the topic of conversa
tion in the parlor as well as kitchen, Mrs. Walter Scott asking
numberless questions, and Roger explaining as far as was pos
sible what was to himself a mystery. A young woman, carry
ing a baby in her arms, and looking very tired and frightened,
had come into the car at Cincinnati, he said, and asked to sit
with him. She was a pretty, dark-faced woman, with bright
black eyes, which .seemed to look right through one, and which
examined him very sharply. She did not talk much to him,
but appeared to be wrapped in thoughts which must have been
very amusing, as she would occasionally laugh quietly to her
self, and then relapse into an abstracted mood. Roger thought
now that she seemed a little strange, though at the time he had
no suspicions of her, and was very kind to the baby, whom
she asked him to hold. He was exceedingly fond of children,
especially little girls, and he took this one readily, and fed it
with candy, with which his pockets were always filled. In this
way they travelled until it began to grow dark and they stopped
at , a town fifty miles or more from Cincinnati. Here the
woman asked him to look after her baby a few moments
while she went into the next car, to see a friend.
" If she gets hungry, give her some milk," she added, taking
a bottle from the little basket which she had with her under the
seat.
Without the slightest hesitation Roger consented to play the
part of nurse to the little girl, who was sleeping at the time, and
whom the mother, if mother she were, had lain upon the unoc
cupied seat in front. Bending close to the round, flushed face,
the woman whispered something ; then, with a kiss upon the
lips, as if in benediction, she went out, and Roger saw her no
more. He did not notice whether she went into another car
or left the train entirely. He only knew that a half hour
passed and she did not return ; then another half hour went
by ; and some passengers claimed one of the seats occupied by
him and his charge. In lifting the child he woke her, but in
stead of crying, she rubbed her pretty eyes with her little fists,
22 ROGER'S STORY.
and then, with a smile, laid her head confidingly against his
bosom and was soon sleeping again. So long as she remained
quiet, Roger felt no special uneasiness about the mother's pro
tracted absence, which had now lengthened into nearly two
hours ; but when at last the child began to cry, and neither
candy, nor milk, nor pounding on the car window, nor his lead
^pencil, nor his jack-knife, nor watch had any effect upon her,
he began to grow very anxious, and to the woman in front who
asked rather sharply, " what was the matter, and what he was
doing with that child alone," he said,
" I am taking care of her while her mother sees a friend in
the next car. I wish she would come back. She's been gone
ever so long."
The cries were screams by this time, loud, passionate
screams, which indicated great strength of lungs, and roused up
the drowsy passengers, who began, some of them, to grumble,
while one suggested "pitching the brat out of the window."
With his face very red, and the perspiration starting out about
his mouth, Roger arose, and tried, by walking up and down the
aisle, to hush the little one into quiet. Once he thought of
going into the next car in quest of the missing mother, then,
thinking to himself that she surely would return ere long, he
abandoned the idea, and resumed his seat with the now quiet
child. And so another hour went by, and they were nearly a
hundred miles from the place where the woman had left him.
Had Roger been older, a suspicion of foul play would have
come to him long before this ; but, the soul of honor himself,
he believed in everybody else, and not a doubt crossed his
mind that anything was wrong until the woman who had first
spoken to him began to question him again, and ask if it was
his sister he was caring for so kindly. Then the story came
out, and Roger felt as if smothering, when the woman exclaimed,
"Why, boy, the child has been deserted. It is left on youi
hands. The mother will never come to claim it."
For an instant the car and everything in it turned dark tc
ROGER'S STORY. 23
poor Roger, who gasped, " You must be mistaken. She is in
the next car, sure. Hold the baby, and I'll find her."
There was a moment's hesitancy on the part of the woman,
a fear lest she, too, might be duped ; but another look at the
boy's frank, ingenuous face, reassured her. There was no evil
in those clear, blue eyes which met hers so imploringly, and she
took the child in her arms, while he went for the missing mother,
v/ent through the adjoining car and the next, peering anx
iously into every face, but not finding the one he sought. Then
he came back, and went through the rear car, but all in vain.
The dark-faced woman with the glittering eyes and strange
smile, was gone ! The baby was deserted and left on Roger's
hands. He understood it perfectly, and the understanding
seemed suddenly to add years of discretion and experience to
him. Slowly he went back to the waiting woman, and without
a word took the child from her, and letting his boyish face drop
over it, he whispered, " Your mother has abandoned you, little
one, but I will care for you."
He was adopting the poor forsaken child, was accepting
his awkward situation, and when that was done he reported his
success. There was an ejaculation of horror and surprise on
the woman's part; a quick rising up from her seat to "do
something," or "tell somebody" of the terrible thing which had
transpired before their very eyes. There was a great excite
ment now in the car, and the passengers crowded around the
boy, who told them all he knew, and then to their suggestions
as to ways and means of finding the unnatural parent, quietly
replied, " I shan't try to find her. She could not be what she
ought, and the baby is better without her."
"But what can you do with a baby," a chorus of voice?
asked; and Roger replied with the air of twenty-five rather
than fourteen, " I have money. I can see that she is taken
care of."
" The beginning of a very pretty little romance," one of the
younger ladies said, and then, as the conductor appeared, he
was pounced upon and the story told to him, and suggestions
24 ROGER'S STORY.
made that he should stop the train, or telegraph back, or do
something.
" What shall I stop the train for, and whom shall I telegraph
to?" he asked. "It is a plain case of desertion, and the
mother is miles and miles away from by this time. There
would be no such thing as tracing her. Such things are of fre
quent occurrence ; but I will make all necessary inquiries when
I go back to-morrow, and will see that the child is given to the
proper authorities, who will either get it a place, or put it in the
poor-house."
At the mention of the poor-house, Roger's eyes, usually so
mild in their expression, flashed defiantly upon the conductor.
While the crowd around him had been talking, a faint doubt as
to the practicability of his taking the child had crossed his
mind. His father was dead, he had his education to get, and
Millbank might perhaps be shut up, or let to strangers for sev-
euil years to come. And what then could be done with Baby.
These were his sober-second thoughts after his first indignant
burst at finding the child deserted, and had some respectable,
kind-looking woman then offered to take his charge from his
hands, he might have given it up. But from the poor-house
arrangement he recoiled in horror, remembering a sweet-faced,
blue-eyed little girl, with tangled hair and milk-white feet, whom
he had seen sitting on the door of the poor-house in Belvi-
dere. She had been found in a stable, and sent to the alms-
house. Nobody cared for her, nobody but Roger, who often
fed her with apples and candy, and wished there was something
better for her than life in that dark dreary house among the
hills. And it was to just such a life, if not a worse one, that the
cruel conductor would doom the Baby left in his care.
" If I can help it, Baby shall never go to the poor-house,"
Roger said ; and when a lady, who admired the spirit of the boy,
asked him, " Have you a mother?" he answered, " No, nor
father either, but I have Hester " and as if that settled it, he put
the child on the end of the seat farthest away from the crowd,
which gradually dispersed, while the conductor, after inquiring
ROGER'S STORY. 2$
Rigor's name and address, went about his business of collect
ing tickets, and left him to himself.
That he ever got comfortably from Cleveland to Belvidere
with his rather troublesome charge, was almost a miracle, and
he would not have done so but for the many friendly hands
stretched out to help him. As far as Buffalo, there were those
in the car who knew of the strange incident, and who watched,
and encouraged, and helped him, but after Buffalo was left be
hind he was wholly among strangers. Still, a boy travelling
with a baby could not fail to attract attention, and many
inquiries were made of him as to the whys and wherefores of
his singular position. He did not think it necessary to make
very lucid explanations. He said, " She is my sister ; not my
own, but my adopted sister, whom I am taking home ; " and he
blessed his good angel, which caused the child to sleep so much
of the time, as he thus avoided notice and remarks which were
distasteful to him. Occasionally, athought of what Hester might
say would make him a little uncomfortable. She was the only
one who could possibly object, the only one in fact who had
a right to object, for with the great shock of his father's death
Roger had been made to feel that he was now the rightful master
at Millbank. His prospective inheritance had been talked of
at once in the family of the clergyman, who had moved from
Belvidere to St. Louis, and with whom Roger was preparing for
college when the news of his loss came to him.
Mr. Morrison had said to him, " You are rich, my boy. You
are owner of Millbank, but do not let your wealth become a
snare. Do good with your money, and remember that a tenth,
at least, belongs by right to the Lord."
And amidst the keen pain which he felt at his father's death,
Roger had thought how much good he would do, and how he
would imitate his noble friend and teacher, Mr. Morrison, who,
from his scanty income, cheerfully gave more than a tenth, and
still never -lacked for food or raiment. That Baby was sent direct
from Heaven to test his principles, he made himself believe ;
and by the time the mountains of Massachusetts were reached
2
26 ROGER'S STORY.
he began to feel quite composed, except on the subject of Hes.
ter. She did trouble him a little, and he wished the first meet
ing with her was over. With careful forethought he telegraphed
for her to meet him, and then when he saw her he held the child
to her at once, and hastily told her a part of his story, and felt
his heart grow heavy as lead, when he saw how she shrank from
the little one as if there had been pollution in its touch.
" I reckon Mrs. Walter Scott will ride a high hoss when she
knows what you done," Hester said, when at last they were in
the carriage and driving toward home.
At the mention of Mrs. Walter Scott, Roger grew uneasy.
He had a dread of his stylish sister-in-law, with her lofty man*
ner and air of superiority, and he shrank nervously from what
she might say.
" O Hester ! " he exclaimed. " Is Helen at Millbank ; and
will she put on her biggest ways f "
" You needn't be afraid of Helen Brown. 'Tain't none of
her business if you bring a hundred young ones to Millbank,"
Hester said, and as she said it she came very near going over
to the enemy, and espousing the cause of the poor little waif in
her arms, out of sheer defiance to Mrs. Walter Scott, who was
sure to snub the stranger, as she had snubbed Roger before her.
Matters were in this state when the carriage finally stopped
at Millbank, and Hester insisted upon taking the child through
the kitchen door, as the way most befitting for it. But Roger
said no ; and so it was up the broad stone steps, and across the
wide piazza, and into the handsome hall, that Baby was carried
upon her first entrance to Millbank.
WHAT THEY DID AT MILLBANK. 2}
CHAPTER III.
WHAT THEY DID AT MILLBANK.
j|H ! Roger, this is a sorry coraing home," Mrs. Waltci
Scott had said when Roger first appeared in view; and
taking a step forward, she kissed him quite affection
ately, and even ran her white fingers through his moist hair in a
pitying kind of way.
She could afford to be gracious to the boy whom she had
wronged, but when Frank threw the bomb-shell at her feet with
regard to the mysterious bundle under Hester's shawl, she drew
back quickly, and demanded of her young brother-in-law what
it meant. She looked very grand, and tall, and white in her
mourning robes, and Roger quaked as he had never done before
in her presence, and half wished he had left the innocent baby
to the tender mercies of the conductor and the poor-house.
But this was only while he stood damp and uncomfortable in
the chilly hall, with the cold rain beating in upon him. The
moment he entered the warm parlor, where the fire was blazing
in the grate and the light from the wax candles shone upon the
familiar furniture, he felt a sense of comfort and reassurance
creeping over him, and unconscious to himself a feeling of the
master came with the sense of comfort, and made him less afraid
of the queenly-looking woman standing by the mantel, and
waiting for his story. He was at home, his own home,
where he had a right to keep a hundred deserted children if
he liked. This was what Hester had said in referring to Mrs.
Walter Scott, and it recurred to Roger now with a deeper mean
ing than he had given it at that time. He had 'a right, and Mrs.
Walter Scott, though she might properly suggest and advise,
could not take that right from him. And the story which he
told her was colored with this feeling of doing as he thought
best ; and shrewd Mrs. Walter Scott detected it at once, and
her large black eyes had in them a gleam of scorn not alto
28 WHAT THEY DID AT MILLBANK.
gether free from pity as she thought how mistaken he was, and
how the morrow would materially change his views with regard
to many things. She had not seen Roger in nearly a year and
a half, and in that time he had grown taller and stouter and
more manly than the boy of twelve, whom she remembered in
roundabouts. He wore roundabouts still, and his collar was
turned down and tied with a simple black ribbon, and he was
only fourteen ; but a well-grown boy for that age, with a curve
about his lip and a look in his eyes, which told that the man
within him was beginning to develop, and warned her that she
had a stronger foe to deal with than she had anticipated ; so
she restrained herself, and was very calm and lady-like and col
lected as she asked him what he proposed doing with the child
whom he had so unwisely brought to Millbank.
Roger had some vague idea of a nurse with a frilled cap, and
a nursery with toys scattered over the floor, and a crib with
lace curtains over it, and a baby-head making a dent in the
pillow, and a baby voice cooing him a welcome when he came
in, and a baby-cart, sent from New York, and a fancy blanket
with it. Indeed, this pleasant picture of something he had seen
in St. Louis, in one of the handsome houses where he occasion
ally visited, had more than once presented itself to his mind as
forming "a part of the future, but he would not for the world
have let Mrs. Walter Scott into that sanctuary. That cold,
proud-faced woman confronting him so calmly had nothing in
common with his ideals, and so he merely replied :
" She can be taken care of without much trouble. Hester
is not too old. She made me a capital nurse."
It was of no use to reason with him, and Mrs. Walter Scott
did not try. She merely said :
" It was a very foolish thing to do, and no one but you would
have done it. You will think better of it after a little, and get
the child off your hands. You were greatly shocked, of course,
at the dreadful news ? "
It was the very first allusion anybody had made to the cause
of Roger's being there. The baby had absorbed every one's
WHAT THEY DID AT MILLBANK. 2$
attention, and the dead man upstairs had been for a time for
gotten by all save Roger. He had through all been conscious
of a heavy load of pain, a feeling of loss ; and as he drove up
to the house he had looked sadly toward the windows of the
room where he had oftenest seen his father. He did not know
that he was there now ; he did not know where he was ; and
when Mrs. Walter Scott referred to him so abruptly, he an
swered with a quivering lip : " Where is father ? Did they lay
him in his own room ? "
" Yes, you'll find him looking Tr ery natural, almost as if he
were alive ; but I would not see him to-night. You are too tired.
You must be hungry, too. You have had no supper. What
can Hester be doing ? "
Mrs. Walter Scott was in a very kind mood now, and volun
teered to go herself to the kitchen to see why Roger's supper
was not forthcoming. But in this she was forestalled by Ruey,
who came to say that supper was waiting in the dining-room,
whither Roger went, followed -by his sister-in-law, who poured
his tea and spread him slices of bread and butter, with plent}
of raspberry jam. And Roger relished the bread and jam with
a boy's keen appetite, and thought it was nicer to be at Mill
bank than in the poor clergyman's box of a house at St. Louis,
and then, with a great sigh, thought of the white-haired old
man, who used to welcome him home and pat him so kindly
on his head and call him " Roger-boy." The white-haired man
was gone forever now, and with a growing sense of loneliness
and loss, Roger finished his supper and went to the kitchen,
where Baby lay sleeping upon the settee which Hester had
drawn to the fire, while Frank sat on a little stool, keeping
watch over her. He had indorsed the Baby from the first, and
when Hester gruffly bade him " keep out from under foot,"
he had meekly brought up the stool and seated himself de
murely between the settee and the oven door, where he was
entirely out of the way.
Hester still looked very much disturbed and aggrieved, and
when she met Roger on his way to the kitchen, she passed him
30 WHAT THEY DID AT MILLBANK.
without a word; but the Hester Floyd Arho, after a time, went
back to the kitchen, was in a very different mood from the one
who had met Roger a short time before. This change had
been wrought by a few words spoken to her by Mrs. Walter
Scott, who sat over the fire in the dining-room when Hestei
entered it, and who began to talk of the baby which " that
foolish boy had brought home."
" I should suppose he would have known better ; but then,
Mrs. Floyd, you must be aware of the fact that in some things
Roger is rather weak and a little like his mother, who proved
pretty effectually how vacillating she was, and how easily in-
lluenced."
Hester's straight, square back grew a trifle squarer and
straighter, and Baby's cause began to gain ground, for Hester
deemed it a religious duty to oppose whatever Mrs. Walter
Scott approved. So if the lady was for sending the Baby away
from Millbank, she was for keeping it there. Still she made
no comments, but busied herself with putting away the sugar
and cream and pot of jam, into which Roger had made such
inroads.
Seeing her auditor was not disposed to talk, Mrs. Walter
Scott continued :
" You have more influence with Roger than any one else,
and I trust you will use that influence in the right direction ; for
supposing everything were so arranged that he could keep the
child at Millbank, the trouble would fall on you, and it is too
much to ask of a woman of your age."
Hester was not sensitive on the point of age, but to have
Mrs. Walter Scott speak of her as if she were in her dotage was
more than she could bear, and she answered tartly,
" I am only fifty-two. I reckon I am not past bringin' up a
child. I ain't quite got softenin' of the brain, and if master
Roger has a mind to keep the poor forsaken critter, it ain't for
them who isn't his betters to go agin it. The owner of Mill-
bank can do as he has a mind, and Roger is the master now,
you know."
WHAT THEY DID AT MILLBANK. 3 1
With this speech Hester whisked out of the room, casting a
glance backward to see the effect of her parting shot on Mrs.
Walter Scott. Perhaps it was the reflection of the fire or her
scarlet shawl which cast such a glow on the lady's white cheek,
and perhaps it was Avhat Hester said ; but aside from the
rosy flush there was no change in her countenance, unless it
were an expression of benevolent pity for people who were so
deluded as Mrs. Floyd and Roger. " Wait till to-morrow and
you may change your opinion," trembled on Mrs. Walter Scott's
lips, but to say that would be to betray her knowledge of what
she meant should appear as great a surprise to herself as
to any one. So she wrapped her shawl more closely around
her, and leaned back languidly in her chair, while Hester went
up the back stairs to an old chest filled with linen, and redolent
with the faint perfume of sprigs of lavender and cedar, rose-
leaves and geraniums, which were scattered promiscuously
among the yellow garments. That chest was a sacred place
to Hester, for it held poor Jessie's linen, the dainty garments
trimmed with lace, and tucks and ruffles and puffs, which the
old Squire had bidden Hester put out of his sight, and which
she had folded away in the big old chest, watering them with
her tears, and kissing the tiny slippers which had been found
just where Jessie left them. The remainder of Jessie's ward
robe was in the bureau in the Squire's own room, the white
satin dress and pearls which she wore in the picture, the
expensive veil, the orange wreath which had crowned her golden
hair at the bridal, and many other costly things which the old
man had heaped upon his darling, were all there under lock and
key. But Hester kept the oaken chest, and under Jessie's
clothes were sundry baby garments which Hester had laid
away as mementos of the happy days when Roger was a
baby, and his beautiful mother the pride of Millbank and the
belle of Belvidere.
" If that child only stays one night, she must have a night
gown to sleep in," she said, as with a kind of awe she turned
32 WHAT THEY DID AT MILLBANK.
over the contents of the chest till she came to a pile of night
gowns which Roger had worn.
Selecting the plainest and coarsest of them all, she closed the
chest and went down stairs to the kitchen, where both the boys
were bending over the settee and talking to the Baby. There
was a softness in her manner now, something really motherly,
as she took the little one, and began to undress it, with Roger
and Frank looking curiously on.
" Dirty as the rot," was her comment, as she saw the marks
of car-dust and smoke cinders on the fat neck and arms and
hands. " She or"to have a bath, and she must, too. Here,
Ruey, bring me some warm water, and fetch the biggest foot-
tub, and a piece of castile soap, and a crash-towel, and you
boys, go out of here, both of you. I'll see that the youngster
is taken care of."
Roger knew from the tone of her voice that Baby was safe
with her, and he left the kitchen with his spirits so much light
ened that he began to hum a popular air he had heard in the
streets in St. Louis.
" Oh, Roger, singing with grandpa dead," Frank exclaimed ;
and then Roger remembered the white, stiffened form upstairs,
and thought himself a hardened wretch that he could for a
moment have so forgotten his loss as to sing a negro melody.
" I did not mean any disrespect to father," he said softly to
Frank, and without going back to the parlor, he stole up to his
own room, and kneeling by his bedside, said the familiar prayer
commencing with " Our Father," and then cried himself to
sleep with thinking of the dead father, who could never speak
to him again.
THE MORNING OF THE FUNERAL. 33
CHAPTER IV.
THE MORNING OF THE FUNERAL.
|F Frank Irving had been poor, instead of the grand
son of a wealthy man, he would have made a splendid
carpenter ; for all his tastes, which were not given to
horses, ran in the channel of a mechanic, and numerous were
the frames and boxes and stools which he had fashioned at
Millbank with the set of tools his grandfather had bought him.
The tools had been kept at Millbank, for Mrs. Walter Scott
would not have her house on Lexington Avenue "lumbered
up ; " and with the first dawn of the morning after Roger's
return, Frank was busy in devising what he intended as a cradle
for the baby. He had thought of it the night before, when he
saw it on the settee ; and, now, with the aid of a long, narrow
candle-box and a pair of rockers which he took from an old
chair, he^ succeeded in fashioning as uncouth a looking thing
as ever a baby was rocked in.
" It's because the sides are so rough," he said, surveying his
work with a rueful face. " I mean to paper it, and maybe the
darned thing will look better."
He knew where there were some bits of wall paper, and se
lecting the very gaudiest piece, with the largest pattern, he fit
ted it to the cradle, and then letting Ruey into his secret, coaxed
her to make some paste ar d help him put it on. The cradle
had this in its favor, that it would rock as well as a better one;
anil tolerably satisfied with his work, Frank took it to the
kitchen, where it was received with smothered bursts of laugh
ter from the servants, who nevertheless commended the boy's
ingenuity; and when the baby, nicely dressed in a cotton slip
which Roger used to wear, was brought from Hester's room
and lifted into her new place, she seemed, with her bright, flash
ing eyes, and restless, graceful motions, to cast a kind of halo
around the candle-box and make it beautiful just because she
34 THE MORNING OF THE FUNERAL.
was in it. Roger was delighted, and in his generous heart he
thought how many things he would do for Frank in return for
his kindness to the little child, crowing, and spattering its hands
in its dish of milk, and laughing aloud as the white drops fell on
Frank's face and hair. Baby evidently felt at home, and fresh
and neat in her clean dress, she looke.d even prettier than on
the previous night, and made a very pleasing picture in her
papered cradle, with the two boys on their knees paying her
homage, and feeling no jealousy of each other because of the
attentions the coquettish little creature lavished equally upon
them.
Our story leads us now away from the candle-box to the
dining-room, where the breakfast was served, and where Mrs.
Walter Scott presided in handsome morning-gown, with a be
coming little breakfast cap, which concealed the curl-papers
not to be taken out till later in the day, for fear of damage to
the glossy curls from the still damp, rainy weather. The lady
was very gracious to Roger, and remembering the penchant he
had manifested for raspberry jam, she asked for the jar and
gave him a larger dish of it than she did to Frank, and told
him he was looking quite rested, and then proceeded to speak
of the arrangements for the funeral, and asked if they met his
approbation. Roger would acquiesce in whatever she thought
proper, he said ; and he swallowed his coffee and jam hastily to
force down the lumps which rose in his throat every time he
remembered what was to be that afternoon. The undertakers
came in to see that all was right while he was at breakfast, and
after they were gone Roger went to the darkened chamber for
a first look at his dead father.
Hester was with him. She was very nervous this morning,
and hardly seemed capable of anything except keeping close to
Roger. She knew she would not be in the way, even in the
presence of the dea d ; and so she followed him, and uncovered
the white face, and cried herself a little when she saw how pas
sionately Roger wept, and tried to soothe him, and told him
THE MORNING OF THE FUNERAL. 35
how much his father had talked of him the last few weeks, and
how he had died in the very act of writing to him.
" The pen was in his hand, right over the words, ' My deaf
Roger,' Aleck said, for he found him, you know ; and on the
table lay another letter, a soiled, worn letter, which had been
wet with with sea-water "
Hester was speaking with a great effort now, and Roger was
looking curiously at her.
" Whose letter was it ? " he asked ; and Hester replied :
" It was his, your father's ; and it came from her your
mother."
With a low, suppressed scream, Roger bounded to Hester's
side, and, grasping her shoulder, said, vehemently :
" From mother, Hester, from mother I Is she alive, as I
have sometimes dreamed ? Is she ? Tell me, Hester ! "
The boy was greatly excited, and his eyes were like burning
coals as he eagerly questioned Hester, who answered, sadly :
" No, my poor boy ! Your mother is dead, and the letter was
written years ago, just before the boat went down. Your father
must have had it all the while, though I never knew it till
well, not till some little while ago, when Mrs. Walter Scott was
here the last time. I overheard him telling her about it, and
when I found that yellow, stained paper on the table, I knew
in a minute it was the letter, and I kept it for you, with the
one your father had begun to write. Shall I fetch 'em now, or
will you wait till the funeral is over ? I guess you better wait."
This Roger could not do. He knew but little of his moth
er's unfortunate life. He could not remember her, and all his
ideas of her had been formed from the beautiful picture in the
garret, and what Hester had told him of her. Once, when a
boy of eleven, he had asked his father what it was about his
mother, and why her picture was hidden away in the garret, and
his father had answered, sternly :
" I do not wish to talk about her, my son. She may not
have been as wicked as I at first supposed, but she disgraced
you, and did me a great wrong."
36 THE MORNING OF THE FUNERAL.
And that was all Roger could gather from his father ; while
Hester and Aleck were nearly as reticent with regard to the
dark shadow which had fallen on Millbank and its proud owner
When, therefore, there was an opportunity of hearing directly
from the mysterious mother herself, it was not natural for Rogei
to wait, even if a dozen funerals had been in progress, and he
demanded that Hester should bring him the letters at once.
" Bring them into this room. I would rather read mother's
letter here," he said, and Hester departed to do his bidding.
She was not absent long, and when she returned she gave
into Roger's hands a fresh sheet of note-paper, which had nevei
been folded, together with a soiled, stained letter, which looked
as if some parts of it might have come in contact with the sea.
" Nobody knows 1 found this one but Aleck, and, perhaps,
you better say nothing about it," Hester suggested, as she passed
him poor Jessie's letter, and then turned to leave the room.
Roger bolted the door after her, for he would not be dis
turbed while he read these messages from the dead, one from
the erring woman who for years had slept far down in the ocean
depths, and the other from the man who lay there in his coffin.
He took his father's first, but that was a mere nothing. It
only read :
' ' MILLBANK, April .
"Mv DEAR BOY For many days I have had a presenti
ment that I had not much longer to live, and, as death begins
to stare me in the face, my thoughts turn toward you, my deat
Roger "
Here came a great blot, as if the ink had dropped from the
pen or the pen had dropped from the hand ; the writing ceased,
and that was all there was for the boy from his father. But
it showed that he had been last in the thoughts of the dead
man, and his tears fell fast upon his father's farewell words.
Then, reverently, carefully, gently, as if it were some sea-
wrecked spectre he was handling, he took the other letter, ex-
perie;icii a kind of chilly sensation as he opened it, and In-
THE MORNING OF THE FUNERAL. 37
haled the musty odor pervading it. The letter was mailed in
New York, and the superscription was not like the delicate
writing inside. It was a man's chirography, a bold, dashing
hand, and for a moment Roger sat studying the explicit di
rection :
"WILLIAM H. IRVING, ESQ.,
" 'Millbank)
" BELVIDERE,
" CONN."
Whose writing was it, and how came the letter to be mailed
in New York, if, as Hester had said, it had been written on
board the ill-fated " Sea-Gull " ? Roger asked himself th^ ques
tion, as he lingered over the unread letter, till, remembering
that the inside was the place to look for an explanation, he
turned to the first page and began to read. It was dated on
board the " Sea-Gull," off Cape Hatteras, and began as follows :
"Mv HUSBAND : It would be mockery for me to put the
word dear before your honored name. You would not believe
I meant it, I, who have sinned against you so deeply, and
wounded your pride so sorely. But, oh, if you knew all which
led me to what I am, I know you would pity me, even if you
condemned, for you were always kind, too kind by far to a
Avicked girl like me. But, husband, I am not as bad as you
imagine. T have left you, I know, and left my darling boy, and
he is here with me, but by no consent of mine. I tried to
escape from him. I am not going to Europe. I am on my way
to Charleston, where Lucy lives, and when I get there I shall
mail this letter to you. Every word I write will be the truth,
and you must believe it, and teach Roger to believe it, too ; for
I have not sinned as you suppose, and Roger need not blush
for his mother, except that she deserted him "
" Thank Heaven ! " dropped from Roger's quivering lips, as
the suspected evil which, as he grew older, he began to fear and
shrink from, was thus swept away.
He had no doubts, no misgivings now, and his tears fell like
38 THE MORNING OF THE FUNERAL.
rain upon poor Jessie's letter, which he kissed again and again,
just as he would have kissed the dear face of the writer had il
been there beside him.
" Mother, mother !" he sobbed, " I believe you ; oh, mother^
if you could have lived ! "
Then he went back to the letter, the whole of which it is not
our design to give at present. It embraced the history of Jes
sie's life from the days of her early girlhood up to that night
when she left her husband's home, and closed with the words :
" I do not ask you to take me back. I know that can never
be ; but I want you to think as kindly of me as you can, and
when you feel that you have fully forgiven me, show this lettei
to Roger, if he is old enough to understand it. Tell him to for
give me, and give him this lock of his mother's hair. Heaven
bless and keep my little boy, and grant that he may be a com
fort to you and grow up a good and noble man."
The lock of hair, which was enclosed in a separate bit of
paper, had dropped upon the carpet, where Roger found it, his
heart swelling in his throat as he opened the paper and held
upon his finger the coil of golden hair. It was very long, and
curled still with a persistency which Mrs. Walter Scott, with all
her papers, could never hope to attain ; but the softness and
brightness were gone, and it clung to Roger's finger, a streaked,
faded tress, but inexpressibly dear to him for the sake of her
who sued so piteously for his own and his father's forgiveness.
"When you feel that you have fully forgiven me, show this
letter to Roger, if he is old enough to understand it."
Roger read this sentence over again, and drew therefrom this
inference. The letter had never been shown to him, therefore
the writer had not been forgiven by the dead man, whose face,
even in the coffin, wore the stern, inflexible look which Roger
always remembered to have seen upon it. 'Squire Irving had
been very reserved, and very unforgiving too. He could not
easily forget an injury to himself, and that he had not forgiven
Jessie's sin was proved by the fact that he had never given
the letter to his son, who, for a moment, felt himself growing
THE MORNING OF THE FUNERAL. 39
hard and indignant toward one who could hold out against the
sweet, piteous pleadings in that letter from poor, unfortunate
Jessie.
" But I forgive you, mother ; I believe you innocent. ]
bless and revere your memory, my poor, poor, lost mother ! "
Roger sobbed, as he kissed the faded curl and kissed the sea-
stained letter.
He knew now how it came to be mailed in New York,
and shuddered as he read again the postscript, written by a
stranger, who said that a few hours after Jessie's letter was fin
ished, a fire had broken out and spread so rapidly that all com
munication with the life-boats was cut off, and escape seemed
impossible ; that in the moment of peril Jessie had come to him
with the letter, which she asked him to take, and if he escaped
alive, to send to Millbank with the news of her death. She
also wished him to add that, so far as he was concerned, what
she had written was true ; which he accordingly did, as he could
" not do otherwise than obey the commands of one so lovely as
Mrs. Irving."
"Curse him; curse that man!" Roger said, between his
teeth, as he read the unfeeling lines ; and then, in fancy, he saw
the dreadful scene : the burning ship, the fearful agony of the
doomed passengers, while amid it all his mother's golden hair,
and white, beautiful face appeared, as she stood before hor be
trayer, and charged him to send her dying message to Millbank
if he escaped and she did not.
It was an hour from the time Roger entered the room before
he went out, and in that hour he seemed to himbelf to have
grown older by years than he was before he knew so much of
his mother and had read her benediction.
" She was pure and good, let others believe as they may, and
I will honor her memory and try to be what I know she would
like to have me," he said to Hester when he met her alone,
and she asked him what he had learned of his mother.
Hester had read the letter when she found it. It was not in
ner nature to refrain, and she, too had fully exonerated Jessie
40 THE MORNING O* THE FUNERAL.
and cursed the man who had followed her, even to her hus
band's side, with his alluring words. But she would rather thai
Roger should not know of the liberty she had taken, and so
she said nothing of having read the letter first, especially as
he did not offer to show it to her. There was a clause in what
the bad man had written which might be construed into a doubt
of some portions of Jessie's story, and Roger understood it;
and, while it only deepened his hatred of the man, instead of
shaking his confidence in his mother, he resolved that no eye
but his own should ever see the whole of that letter. But he
showed Hester the curl of hair, and asked if it was like his
mother's ; and then, drawing her into the library, questioned
her minutely with regard to the past. And Hester told him all
she thought best of his mother's life at Millbank ; of the scene
in the bridal chamber, when she wept so piteously and said, " I
did not want to come here ; " of the deep sadness in her
beautiful face, which nothing could efface ; of her utter indif
ference to the homage paid her by the people of Belvidere, or
the costly presents heaped upon her by her husband.
" She was always kind and attentive to him," Hester said ;
"but she kept out of his way as much as possible, and I've
seen her shiver and turn white about the mouth if he just laid
his hand on her in a kind of lovin' way, you know, as old men
will have toward their young wives. When she was expectin'
you, it was a study to see her sittin' for hours and hours in her
own room, lookin' straight into the fire, with her hands clinched
in her lap, and her eyes so sad and cryin' like "
" Didn't mother want me born ? " Roger asked with quiver
ing lips ; and Hester answered,
"At first I don't think she did. She was a young girlish
thing ; but, after you came, all that passed, and she just lived
for you till that unlucky trip to Saratoga, when she was never
Jike herself again."
11 You were with her, Hester. Did you see him ? "
" I was there only a few days, and you was took sick. The
air or something didn't agree with you, and I fetched you home.
TKb FUNERAL. 41
Your father was more anxious for me to do that than she was.
No, I didn't see him to know him. Your mother drew a crowd
around her and he might have been in it, but I never seen him.
There was a call for Roger, and, hiding his mother's letter h:
a private drawer of the writing-desk, he went out to meet tha
gentlemen who were to take charge of his father's funeral.
CHAPTER V.
THE FUNERAL.
HERE was to be quite a display, for the 'Squire had
lived in Belvidere for forty years. He was the
wealthiest man in the place, the one who gave the
most to every benevolent object and approved of every public
improvement. He had bought the organ and bell for the
church in the little village ; he had built the parsonage at his
own expense, and half of the new town-house. He owned the
large manufactory on the river, and the shoe-shop on the hill ;
and the workmen, who had ever found him a kind, considerate
master, were going to follow him to the grave together with the
other citizens of the town. The weather, however, was unpro-
pitious, for the rain kept steadily falling, and by noon was driv
ing in sheets across the river and down the winding valley.
Mrs. Walter Scott's hair, though kept in papers until the early
dinner, at which some of the village magnates were present,
came out of curl, and she was compelled to loop it back from
her face, which style added to rather than detracted from her
beauty. But she did not think so, and she was not feeling very
amiable when she went down to dinner and met young Mr.
Schofield, the old lawyer's son, who had stepped into his father's
business ^and had been frequently to Millbank. Marriage was
not a thing which Mrs. Walter Scott contemplated. She liked
42 THE FUNERAl
her freedom too well, but she always liked to make a good
impression, to look her very best, to be admired by gentle-
men, if they were gentlemen whose admiration was worth the
having. And young Schofield was worth her while to cultivate,
and in spite of her straightened hair he thought her very hand
some, and stylish, and grand, and made himself very agreeable
at the table and in the parlor after the dinner was over. Ho
knew more of the Squire's affairs than any one in Belvidere.
He was at Millbank only the day before the Squire died, and
had an appointment to come again on the very evening of his
death.
" He was going to change his will ; add a codicil or some
thing," he said, and Mrs. Walter Scott looked up uneasily as
she replied,
" He left a will, then ? Do you know anything of it ? "
" No, madam. And if I did, I could not honorably reveal
my knowledge," the lawyer answered, a little stiffly; while Mrs.
Walter Scott, indignant at herself for her want of discretion, bit
her lip and tapped her foot impatiently upon the carpet.
It was time now for the people to assemble, and as the bell,
which the squire had given to the parish, sent- forth its sum
mons, the villagers came crowding up the avenue and soon
filled the lower portion of the house, their damp, steaming gar
ments making Mrs. Walter Scott very faint, and sending her
often to her smelling-salts, which were her unfailing remedy for
the sickening perfumes which she fancied were found only
among the common people like those filling the rooms at Mill-
bank, the "factory bugs" who smelt of wool, and the " shop
hands" who carried so strong an odor of leather wherever they
went. Mrs. Walter Scott did not like shoemakers nor factory
nands, and she sat very stiff and dignified, and looked at them
contemptuously from behind her long veil as they crowded into
the hall and drawing-room, and managed, some of them, to
gain access to the kitchen where the baby was. Her story
had flown like lightning through the town, and the people had
discussed it, from Mrs. Johnson and her set down to Hester' t
THE FUNERAL. 43
married niece, who kept the little public-house by the toll-gate,
and who had seen the child herself.
" It was just like Roger Irving to bring it home," the people
all agreed, just as they agreed that it would be absurd for him to
keep it.
That he would not do so they were sure, and the fear that it
might be sent away before they had a look at it brought many
a woman to the funeral that rainy, disagreeable day. Baby was
Ruey's charge for that afternoon, and in a fresh white dress
which Hester had brought from the chesl, she sat in her candle-
box, surrounded by as heterogeneous a mass of playthings as
were ever conjured up to amuse a child. There was a silver-
spoon, and a tin cup, and a tea-canister, and a feather duster,
and Frank's ball, and Roger's tooth-brush, and some false hair
which Hester used to wear as puffs and which amused the baby
more than all the other articles combined. She seemed to have
a fancy for tearing hair, and shook and pulled the faded wig in
high glee, and won many a kiss and hug and compliment from
the curious women who gathered round her.
" She was a bright, playful darling," they said, as they left
her and went back to the parlors where the funeral services
were being read over the cold, stiff form of Millbank's late pro
prietor.
Roger's face was very pale, and his eyes were fixed upon the
carpet, where he saw continually one of two pictures his
mother standing on the "Sea-Gull's" deck, or sitting before the
fire; as Hester had said she sat, with her eyes always upon one
point, the cheerful blaze curling up the chimney's mouth.
" I'll find that man sometime. I'll make him tell why he left
that doubt to torture me," he was thinking, just as the closing
hymn was sung and the services were ended.
Mrs. Walter Scott did not think it advisable to go to the grave,
and so Hester and Aleck went in the carriage with Roger and
Frank, the only relatives in all the long procession which wcund
down the avenue and through the lower part of the town to
where the tall Irving monument showed plainly in the Belvi-
44 THE FUNERAL.
dere cemetery. The Squire's first wife was there in the yard ;
her name was on the marble, " Adeline, beloved wife of
William H. Irving;" and Walter Scott's name was there, too,
though he was sleeping in Greenwood ; but Jessie's name had
not been added to the list, and Roger noticed it, and wondered
he had never been struck by the omission as he was now, and
to himself he said : " I can't bring you up from your ocean bed,
dear mother, and put you here where you belong, but I can do
you justice otherwise, and I will."
Slowly the long procession made the circuit of the cemetery
and passed out into the street, where, with the dead behind
them, the horses were put to greater speed, and those of the late
Squire Irving drew up ere long before the door of Millbank.
The rain was over and the April sun was breaking through the
clouds, while patches of clear blue sky were spreading over the
heavens. It bade fair to be a fine warm afternoon, and the win
dows and doors of Millbank were often to let out the atmos
phere of death and to let in the cheerful sunshine. Friendly
hands had been busy to make the house attractive to the mourn
ers when they returned from the grave. There were bright
flowers in the vases on the mantel and tables, the furniture was
put back in its place, the drapery removed from the mirrors, and
the wind blew softly through the lace curtains into the hand
some rooms. And Mrs. Walter Scott, wrapped in her scarlet
shawl, knew she looked a very queen as she trailed her long
skirts slowly over the carpets, and thought with a feeling of in
tense satisfaction how pleasant it was at Millbank now, and how
doubly pleasant it would be later in the season when her changes
and improvements were completed. She should not fill the
house with company that summer, she thought. It would not
look well so soon after the Squire's death, but she would have
Mrs. Chesterfield there with her sister Grace, and possibly Cap
tain Stanhope, Grace's betrothed. That would make quite a
gay party, and excite sufficiently the envy and admiration of the
villagers. Mrs. Walter Scott was never happy unless she was
envied or admired, and as she seemed on the high road to both
THE EVENING AFTER THE FUNERAL. 45
these conditions, she felt very amiable, and kind, and sweet-
tempered as she stood in the door waiting to receive Roger and
Frank when they returned from the burial.
CHAPTER VI.
THE EVENING AFTER THE FUNERAL.
JOUNG SCHOFIELD had been asked by Mrs. Walter
Scott to return to Millbank after the services at the
grave were over. She haft her own ideas with regard
to the proper way of managing the will matter, and the sooner
the truth was known the sooner would all parties understand
the ground they stood on. She knew her ground. She had no
fears for herself. The will, Squire Irving's last will and testa
ment, was lying in his private drawer in the writing desk,
where she had seen it every day since she had been at Millbank ;
but she had not read it, for the envelope was sealed, and having
a most unbounded respect for law and justice, and fancying that
to break the seal would neither be just nor lawful, she had con
tented herself with merely taking the package in her hand, and
assuring herself that it was safe against the moment when it
was wanted. It had struck her that it was a little yellow and
time-worn, but she had no suspicion that anything was wrong.
To-day, however, while the people were at the grave, she had
been slightly startled, for when for a second time she tried the
drawer of the writing-desk, she found it locked and the key
gone ! Had there been foul play ? and who had locked the
door ? she asked herself, while, for a moment, the cold perspir
ation stood under her hair. Then thinking it probable that
Roger, who was noted for thoughtfulness, might have turned
and taken the key to his father's private drawer as a precaution
against any curious ones who might be at the funeral, she dis-
4f THE EVENING AFTER THE FUNERAL.
missed her fears and waited calmly for the denouement, a3
another individual was doing, Hester Floyd, who knew
about the sealed package just as Mrs. Walter Scott did, and who
had been deterred from opening it for the same reason which
had actuated that lady, and who had also seen and handled it
each day since the squire's death.
Hester, too, knew that the drawer was locked, and that gave
her a feeling of security, while on her way to and from the
grave, where her mind was running far more upon the after-clap,
as she termed it, than upon the solemn service for the dead.
Hester was very nervous, and an extra amount of green tea was
put in the steeper for her benefit, and she could have shaken
the unimpressible Aleck for seeming so composed and uncon
cerned when he stood, as she said, "right over a dreadful,
gapin' vertex."
And Aleck was unconcerned. Whatever he had lent his aid
to had been planned by his better half, in whom he had un
bounded confidence. If she stood over " a gapin' vertex," she
had the ability to skirt round it or across it, and take him safely
with her. So Aleck had no fears, and ate a hearty supper and
drank his mug of beer and smoked his pipe in quiet, and heard,
without the. least perturbation, the summons for the servants to
assemble in the library and hear their master's last will and
testament. This was Mrs. Walter Scott's idea, and when tea
was over she had said to young Schofield :
"You told me father left a will. Perhaps it would be well
enough for you to read it to us before you go. I will have the
servants in, as they are probably remembered in it."
Her manner was very deferential toward young Schofield and
implied confidence in his abilities, and flattered by attention from
so great a lady he expressed himself as at her service for any
thing. So when the daylight was gone and the wax candles
were lighted in the library, Mrs. Walter Scott repaired thither
with Frank, whom she had brought from his post by the candle-
box. It was natural that he should be present as well as Roger,
and she arranged the two boys, one on each side of her, and
THE EVENING AFTER THE FUNERAL. 47
motioned tne servants to seats across the room, and Lawyer
Schofield to the arm-chair near the centre of the room. She
was making it very formal and ceremonious, and Englishy, and
Roger wondered what it was all for, while Frank fidgeted and
longed for the candle-box, where the baby lay asleep.
"I am told Squire Irving left a will," Mrs. Walter Scott said,
when her auditors were assembled, " and I thought best for Mr.
Schofield to read it. Do you know where it is ? " and she ad
dressed herself to the lawyer, who replied, " I am sure I do not,
unless in his private drawer where he kept his important
papers."
Roger flushed a little then, for it was into that private drawer
that he had put his mother's letter, and the key was in his pocket.
Mrs. Walter Scott noticed the flush, but was not quite prepared
to see Roger arise at once, unlock the drawer, and take from
it a package, which was not the will, but which, nevertheless,
excited her curiosity.
" Lawyer Schofield can examine the papers," Roger said,
resuming his seat, while the young man went to the drawer and
took out the sealed envelope which both Mrs. Walter Scott
and Hester had had in their hands so many times within the*
last few days.
"WILLIAM H. IRVING'S LAST WILL AND TESTAMENT."
There was no doubt about its being the genuine article, and
the lawyer waited a moment before opening it. There was
perfect silence in the room, except for the clock on the mantle,
which ticked so loudly and made Hester so nervous that she
almost screamed aloud. The candles sputtered a little, and ran
up long, black wicks, and the fire on the hearth cast weird
shadows on the wall, and the silence was growing oppressive,
when Frank, who could endure no longer, pulled his mother's
skirts, and exclaimed, " Mother, mother, what is he going to do,
and why don't he do it ? I want the darned thing over so 1
can go out."
That broke the spell, and Lawyer Schofield began to read
48 THE EVENING AFTER THE FUNERAL.
Squire living's last will and testament. It was dated five years
before, at a time when the Squire lay on his sick bed, from
which he never expected to rise, and not long after his purchase
of the house on Lexington Avenue for Mrs. Walter Scott.
There was mention made of his deceased son having received
his entire portion, but the sum of four hundred dollars was an
nually to be paid for Frank's education until he was of age,
when he was to receive from the estate five thousand dollars to
" set himself up in business, provided that business had nothing
to do with horses."
The old man's aversion to the rock on which his son had
split was manifest even in his will, but no one paid any heed
to it then. They were listening too eagerly to the reading of
the document, which, after remembering Frank, and leaving a
legacy to the church in Belvidere, and another to an orphan
asylum in New York, and another to his servants, with the ex
ception of Aleck and Hester, gave the whole of the Irving
possessions, both real and personal, to the boy Roger, who was
as far as possible from realizing that he was the richest heir for
miles and miles around. He was feeling sorry that Frank had
not fared better, and wondering why Aleck and Hester had
not been remembered. They were witnesses of the will, and
there was no mistaking Hester's straight up and down letters,
or Aleck's back-hand.
Mrs. Walter Scott was confounded, utterly, totally con
founded, and for a moment deprived of her powers of speech.
That she had not listened to the Squire's last will and testa
ment, that there was foul play somewhere, she fully believed,
and she scanned the faces of those present to find the guilty
one. But for the fact that Aleck and Hester were not remem
bered in this will, she might have suspected them ; but the omis
sion of their names was in their favor, while the stolid, almost
stupid look of Aleck's face, was another proof of his innocence.
Hester, too, though slightly restless, Appeared as usual. No
body showed guilt but Roger, whose face had turned very red.
and was very red still as he sat fidgeting in his chair and looking
THE EVENING AFTER THE FUNERAL. 49
hard at Frank. The locked drawer and the package taken
from it, recurred now to the lady's mind, and made her sure
that Roger had the real will in his pocket ; and, in a choking
voice, she said to the lawyer, as he was about to congratulate
the boy on his brilliant fortune : " Stop, please, Mr. Schofield ;
I think yes, I know there was another will a later one
in which matters were reversed and and Frank was
the heir."
Her words rang through the room, and, for an instant, those
who heard them sat as if stunned. Roger's face was white now,
instead of red, but he didn't look as startled as might have been
expected. He did not realize that if what his sister said was
true, he was almost a beggar ; he only thought how much
better it was for Frank, toward whom he meant to be so gen
erous ; and he looked kindly at the little white-haired boy who
had, in a certain sense, come up as his rival. Mrs. Walter
Scott had risen from her chair and locked the door ; then, go
ing to the table where the laAvyer was sitting, she stood leaning
upon it, and gazing fixedly at Roger. The lawyer, greatly
surprised at the turn matters were taking, said to her a little
sarcastically : "I fancied, from something you said, that you
did not know there was a will at all. Why do you think there
was a later one? Did you ever see it, and why should Squire
Irving do injustice to his only son?"
Mrs. Walter Scott detected in the lawyer's tone that he had
forsaken her, and it added to her excitement, making her so
far forget her character as a lady, that her voice was raised to
an unnatural pitch, and shook with anger as she replied, " I
never saw it, but I know there was one, and that your father
drew it. It was made some months ago, when I was visiting at
Millbank. I went to Boston for a few days, and when I came
back, Squire Irving told me what he had done."
"Who witnessed the will?" the lawyer asked.
"That I do not know. I only know there was one, and that
Frank was the heir."
" A most unnatural thing to cut off his own son for a grand-
S
50 THE EVENING AFTER THE FUNERAL.
child whose father had already received his portion," young
Schofield said ; and, still more exasperated, Mrs. Walter Scott
replied, " I do not know that Roger was cut off. I only know
that Frank was to have Millbank, with its appurtenances, and
I'll search this room until I find the stolen paper. What was
that you took from the drawer, boy ? "
Roger was awake now to the situation. He understood that
Mrs. Walter Scott believed his father had deprived him of
Millbank, the beautiful home he loved so much, and he under
stood another fact, which, if possible, cut deeper than disin
heritance. She suspected him of stealing the will. The Irving
blood in the boy was roused. His eyes were not like Jessie's
now, but flashed indignantly as he, too, rose to his feet, and,
confronting the angry woman, demanded what she meant.
" Show me that paper in your pocket, and tell me why that
drawer was locked this morning, and why you had the key,"
she said ; and Roger replied, " You tried the drawer then, it
seems, and found it locked. Tell me, please, what business
you had with my father's private drawer and papers ? "
" I had the right of a daughter, an older sister, whose busi
ness it was to see that matters were kept straight until some
head was appointed," Mrs. Walter Scott said, and then she
asked again for the package which Roger had taken from the
drawer.
There was a moment's hesitancy on Roger's part; then,
remembering that she could not compel him to let her read his
mother's farewell message, he took the sea-stained letter from
his pocket and said :
" It was from my mother. She wrote it on the " Sea-Gull,"
just before it took fire. It was found on the table where father
sat writing to me when he died. I believe he was going to
send it to me. At all events it is mine now, and I shall keep
it. Hester gave it to me this morning, and I put it in the pri
vate drawer and took the key with me. I knew nothing of this
will, or any other will, except that father always talked as if I
would have Millbank, and told me of some improvements it
THE EVENING AFTER THE FUNERAL. 51
would be well to make in the factory and shoe-shop in the
course of a few years, should he not live so long. Are you
satisfied with my explanation ! "
He was looking at the lawyer, who replied :
" I believe you, boy, just as I believe that Squire Irving de
stroyed his second will, if he ever made one, which, without
any disrespect intended to the lady, I doubt, though she may
have excellent reasons for believing otherwise. It would have
been a most unnatural thing for a father to cast off with a leg
acy his only son, and knowing Squire Irving as I did, I cannot
think he would do it."
The lawyer had forsaken the lady's cause entirely, and
wholly forgetting herself in her wrath she burst out with
"As to the sonship there may be a question of doubt, and if
such doubt ever crept into Squire Irving' s mind he was not a
man to rest quietly, or to leave his money to a stranger."
Roger had not the most remote idea what the woman meant,
and the lawyer only a vague one ; but Hester knew, and she
sprang up like a tiger from the chair where she had hitherto
sat a quiet spectator of what was transpiring.
" You woman," she cried, facing Mrs. Walter Scott, with a
fiery gleam in her gray eyes, " if I could have my way, I'd turn
you out of doors, bag and baggage. If there was a doubt, who
hatched it up but you, you sly, insinuatin' critter. I overheard
you myself working upon the weak old man, and hintin' things
you orto blush to speak of. There was no mention made of a
will then, but I know now that was what you was up to, and if
he was persuaded to the 'bominable piece of work which this
gentleman, who knows law more than I do, don't believe, and
then destroyed it, as he was likely to do when he came to
himself, and you, with your snaky ways, was in New York, it
has served you right, and makes me think more and more that
the universal religion is true. Not that I've anything special
agin' Fiank, whose wust blood he got from you, but that Roger
should be slighted by his own father is too great a dose to
swaller, and I for one shan't stay any longer in the same room
$2 THE EVENING AFTER THE FUNERAL.
with you ; so hand me the key to the door which you locked
when you thought Roger had the will in his pocket. Maybe
you'd like to search the hull co -boodle of us. You are wel
come to, I'm sure."
Mrs. Walter Scott was a good deal taken aback with thi?
tirade. She had heard some truths from which she shrank, and,
glad to be rid of Hester on any terms, she mechanically held
out the key to the door.
But here the lawyer interposed, and said :
" Excuse me, one moment, please. Mrs. Floyd, do you re
member signing this will which I have read in your hearing ? "
" Perfectly ; " and Hester snapped her words off with an em
phasis. " The master was sick and afraid he might die, and he
sent for your father, who was alone with him a spell, and then
he called me and my old man in, and said we was to be wit
nesses to his will, and we was, Aleck and me."
"It was strange father did not remember you, who had lived
with him so long," Roger suggested, his generosity and sense
of justice overmastering all other emotions.
" If he had they could not have been witnesses," the lawyer
said, while Hester rejoined :
" It ain't strange at all ; for only six weeks before, he had
given us two thousand dollars to buy the tavern stand down by
the toll-gate, where we've set my niece Martha up in business,
who keeps as good a house as there is in Belvidere ; so you see
that's explained, and he gave us good wages always, and kept
raisin', too, till now we have jintly more than some ministers /
with our vittles into the bargain."
Hester was exonerating her late master from any neglect of
herself and Aleck, and in so doing she made the lawyer forget
to ask if she had ever heard of a second will made by Squire
Irving. The old lawyer Schofield would have done so, but
the son was young and inexperienced, and not given to sus
pecting everybody. Besides that, he liked Roger. He knew
it was right that he should be the heir, and believed he
vras, and that Mrs. Walter Scott was altogether mistaken in
THE EVENING AFTER THE FUNERAL. 53
her ideas. Still he suggested that there could be no harm in
searching among the squire's papers. And Mrs. Walter Scott
did search, assisted by Roger, who told her of a secret drawer
in the writing desk and opened it himself for her inspection,
finding nothing there but a time-worn letter and a few faded
flowers, lilies of the valley, which must have been worn in
Jessie's hair, for there was a golden thread twisted in among
the faded blossoms. That secret drawer was the sepulchre of
all the love and romance of the old squire's later marriage,
and it seemed to both Mrs. Walter Scott and Roger like a
grave which they had sacrilegiously invaded. So they closed
it reverently, with its withered blossoms and mementos of a
past which never ought to have been. But afterward, Roger
went back to the secret drawer, and took therefrom the flow
ers, and the letter written by Jessie to her aged suitor a few
weeks before her marriage. These, with the letter written on
the sea, were sacred to him, and he put them away where no
curious eyes could find them. There had been a few words of
consultation between Roger and Lawyer Schofield, and then,
with a hint that he was always at Roger's service, the lawyer
had taken his leave, remarking to Mrs. Walter Scott, as he did
so :
" I thought you would find yourself mistaken ; still you
might investigate a little further."
He meant to be polite, but there was a tinge of sarcasm in
his tone, which the lady recognized, and inwardly resented.
She had fallen in his opinion, and she knew it, and carried her
self loftily until he said to Roger,
" I had an appointment to meet your father in his library the
very evening he died. He wished to make a change in his
will, and I think, perhaps, he intended doing better by the
young boy, Frank. At least, that is possible, and you may
deem it advisable to act as if you knew that was his intention,
/ou have an immense amount of money at your command, foi
your father was the richest man in the county."
Frank had long ago gone back to the kitchen and the baby.
54 THE EVENING AFTER THE FUNERAL.
He had no special interest in what they were talking about,
nor was it needful that he should have. He was safe with
Roger, who, to the lawyer's suggestion, replied :
" I shall do Frank justice, as I am sure he would have done
me, had the tables been reversed."
The lawyer bowed himself out, and Roger was alone with his
sister-in-law, who looked so white, and injured, and disap
pointed, that he felt, to say the least, very uncomfortable in
her presence. He had not liked her manner at all, and had
caught glimpses of a far worse disposition than he had thought
she possessed, while he was morally certain that she was ready
and willing to trample on all his rights, and even cast him
aloof from his home if she could. Still, he would rather be on
friendly terms with her, for Frank's sake, if for no other, and
so he went up to her, and said :
" I know you are disappointed if you really believed father
had left the most of his money to Frank."
"I don't believe. I know; and there has been foul play
somewhere. He told me he had made another will, here in
this very room."
" Helen," Roger said, calling her, as he seldom did, by her
Christian name, and having in his voice more of sorrow than
anger " Helen, why did father wish to serve me so, when he
was always so kind ? What reason did he give ? "
Roger's eyes were full of tears, and there was a grieved look
in his face as he waited his sister's answer. Squire Irving had
given her no reason for the unjust act. She had given the
reason to him, making him for a time almost a madman, but
she could not give that reason to the boy, although she had in
a moment of passion hinted at it, and drawn down Plester's ven
geance on her head. If he had not understood her then, she
would not wound him now by the cruel suspicion. Thus rea
soned the better nature of the woman, while her mean, grasp
ing spirit suggested that in case the will was not found, it would
be better to stand well in Roger's good opinion. So she
replied, very blandly and smoothly :
MILLBANK AFTER THE FUNERAL. 5.5
" After your father had given my husband his portion, he
grew much richer than he had ever been before, and I suppose
he thought it was only fair that Frank should have what would
have come to his father if the estate had been equally divided.
I never supposed you were cut off entirely ; that would have
been unnatural."
Roger was not satisfied with this explanation, for sharing
equally with Frank, and being cut off with only a legacy, were
widely different things, and her words at one time had implied
that the latter was the case. He did not, however, wish to
provoke her to another outburst ; and so, with a few words to
the effect that Frank should not suffer at his hands, he bade his
sister good-night, and repaired to his own room. He had
passed through a great deal, and was too tired and excited to
care even for the baby that night ; and, when Hester knocked
at his door, he answered that he could not see her, she must
wait until to-morrow. So Hester went away, saying to her
self:
" He's a right to be let alone, if he wants to be, for he is
now the master of Millbank."
CHAPTER VII.
MILLBANK AFTER THE DAY OF THE FUNERAL.
RS. WALTER SCOTT could not easily give up her
belief in a later will, and after everything about the
house was quiet, and the tired inmates asleep, she
went from one vacant room to another, her slippered feet
treading lightly and giving back no sound to betray her to any
listening ear, as she glided through the lower rooms, and then
ascended to the garret, where was a barrel of old receipts and
letters, and papers of no earthly use whatever. These she ex-
$6 MILLBANK AFTER THE FUNERAL.
amined minutely, but in vain. The missing document was not
there, and she turned to Jessie's picture, and was just bending
down for a look at that, when a suddea noise startled her, and,
turning round, she saw a head, surmounted by a broad-frilled
cap, appearing up the stairway. It was Hester's head, and
Hester herself came into full view, with a short night-gown on,
and her feet encased in a pair of Aleck's felt slippers, which,
being a deal too big, clicked with every step, and made the
noise Mrs. Walter Scott first heard.
" Oh, you're at it, be you ! " Hester said, putting her tallow
candle down on the floor. " I thought I heard somethin'
snoopin' round, and got up to see what 'twas. I guess I'll
hunt too, if you like, for I'm afraid you might set the house
afire."
" Thank you ; I'm through with my search for to-night," was
Mrs. Walter Scotf s lofty answer, as she swept down the garret
stairs past Hester Floyd and into her own room.
There was a bitter hatred existing between these two women
now, and had the will been found, Hester's tenure at Millbank
would have hung upon a very slender thread. But the will
was not found, neither that night nor the next day, when
Mrs. Walter Scott searched openly and thoroughly with Roger
as her aid, for which Hester called him a fool, and Frank, who
was beginning to get an inkling of matters, a " spooney."
Mrs. Walter Scott was outgeneralled, and the second day after
the funeral she took her departure and went back to Lexington
Avenue, where her first act was to dismiss the extra servant
she had hired when Millbank seemed in her grasp, while her
second was to countermand her orders for so much mourning.
If Squire Irving had left her nothing, she, of course, had
nothing to expend in crape and bombazine, and when she next
appeared on Broadway, there were pretty green strings on her
straw hat, and a handsome thread-lace veil in place of the long
crape which had covered her face at the funeral. Mrs. Walter
Scott had dropped back into her place in New York, and for a
little time our story has -no more to do with her ladyship, but
MILLBANK AFTER THE FUNERAL. $?
keeps us at Millbank, where Roger, with Col. Johnson as his
guardian, reigned the triumphant heir.
As was natural, the baby was the first object considered aftei
the excitement of Mrs. Walter Scott's departure had subsided.
What should be done with it ? Col. Johnson asked Roger this
question in Hester's presence, and Roger answered at once, " I
shall keep her and educate her as if she were my sister. If
Hester feels that the care will be too much for her, I will get a
nurse till the child is older."
" Yes ; and then I'll have both nuss and baby to 'tend to,"
Hester exclaimed. " If it must stay, I'll see to it myself, with
Ruey's help. I can't have a nuss under foot, doin' nothin'."
This was not exactly what Roger wanted. He had not yet
lost sight of that picture of the French nurse in a cap, to whom
Hester did not bear the slightest resemblance ; but he saw that
Hester's plan was better than his, and quietly gave up the
French nurse and the pleasant nursery, but he ordered the crib,
and the baby-wagon and the bright blanket with it, and then
he said to Hester, " Baby must have a name," adding that
once, when the woman in the cars was hushing it, she had
called it something which sounded like Magdalen. "That you
know was mother's second name," he said. " So suppose we
call her 'Jessie Magdalen;'" but against that Hester arrayed
herself so fiercely that he gave up " Jessie," but insisted upon
" Magdalen," and added to it his own middle name, " Lennox."
There was a doubt in his mind as to whether she had ever
been baptized, and thinkirg it better to be baptized twice
than not at all, he determined to have the ceremony per
formed, and Mrs. Col. Johnson consented to stand as sponsor
for the child, whom Hester carried to the church, performing
well her part as nurse, and receiving back into her arms the
little Magdalen Lennox, who had crowed, and laughed, and
put her fat hand to her head, to wipe off the drops of water
which fell upon her as she was "received into Christ's flock
arid signed with His sign " upon her brow.
During the entire summer Roger remained at Millbank^
58 MILLBANK AFTER THE FUNERAL.
where he made a few changes, both in the grounds and in th
house, which began to wear a more modern look than during
the old squire's life. Some of the shrubbery was rooted up,
and a few of the oldest 'trees cut down, so that the sunshine
could find freer access to the rooms, which had rarely been used
since Jessie went away, but which Roger opened to the warmth
and sunlight of summer. On the wall, in the library, Jessie's
picture was hung. It had been retouched and brightened up
in Springfield, and- the beautiful face always seemed to smile a
welcome on Roger whenever he came where it was. On the
monument in the graveyard Jessie's name was cut. beneath her
husband's, and every Saturday Roger carried a bouquet of
llowers from the Millbank garden, and laid it on the grassy
mound, in memory, not so much of his father, as of the young
mother whose grave was in the sea. Thither he sometimes
brought little Magdalen, who could walk quite easily now, and
it was not an uncommon sight, on pleasant summer days, to
see the boy seated under the evergreens which overshadowed
his father's grave, while toddling among the gray head-stones
of the dead, or playing in the gravel-walks, was Magdalen, with
her blanket pinned about her neck, and her white sun-bonnet
tied beneath her chin. Thus the summer passed, and in the
autumn Roger went away to Andover, where he was to finish
preparing for college, instead of returning to his old tutor in
St. Louis. After his departure, the front rooms above and
below were closed, and Magdalen, who took more kindly to
the parlors than to the kitchen, was taught that such things
were only for her when Master Roger was at home ; and if, by
chance, she stole through an open door into the forbidden
rooms, she was brought back at once to her corner in the
kitchen. Not roughly though, for Hester Floyd was always
kind to the child, first, for Roger's sake, and then for the
affection she herself began to feel for the little one, whose
beauty, and bright, pretty ways everybody praised.
. And now, while the doors and shutters of Millbank are
closed, and only the rear portion of the building is open, we
THE STRANGER IN BELVIDERE. $9
pass, without comment, over a period of eleven years, and
open the story again, on a bright day in summer, when the sky
was as blue and the air as bland as was the air and sky of
Italy, where Roger Irving was travelling.
CHAPTER VIII.
THE STRANGER IN BELVIDERE.
j|URING the eleven years since her disappointment,
Mrs. Walter Scott had never once been to Millbank.
She had seen the house several times from the car
window as she was whirled by on her way to Boston, and she
managed to keep a kind of oversight of all that -was transpiring
there, but she never crossed the threshold, and had said she
never would. Frank, on the contrary, was a frequent visitor
there. He bore no malice to its inmates on account of the
missing will. Roger had been very generous with him, allowing
him more than the four hundred a year, and assisting him out of
many a " deuced scrape," as Frank termed the debts he was
constantly incurring, with no ostensible way of liquidating them
except through his Uncle. Roger. He called him uncle fre
quently for fun, and Roger always laughed good-humoredly
upon his fair-haired nephew, whom he liked in spite of his
many faults.
Frank was now at Yale ; but he was no student, and would
have left college the very first year but for Roger, who had
more influence over him than any other living person. Frank
believed in Roger, and listened to him as he would listen to no
one else, and when at last, with his college diploma and his
profession as a lawyer, won, Roger went for two or three years'
travel in the old world, Frank felt as if his anchorage was
swept away and he was left to float wherever the tide and his
60 THE STRANGER IN BELVIDERE.
own vacillating disposition might take him. The most of his
vacations were spent at Millbank, where he hunted in the
grand, old woods, with Magdalen trudging obediently at his side
\n the capacity of game carrier, or fished in the creek or river,
with Magdalen to carry the worms and put them on his hook.
Frank- was lazy, terribly, fearfully lazy, and whatever ser
vice another would render him, he was ready to receive. So
Magdalen, whose hands and feet never seemed to tire, minis
tered willingly to the city-bred young man, who teased her
about her dark face and pulled her wavy hair, and laughed at
her clothes with the Hester stamp upon them, and called her
a little Gypsy, petting her one moment, and then in a moody
tit sending her away " to wait somewhere within call," until he
wanted her. And Magdalen, who never dreamed of rebelling
from the slavery in which he held her when at Millbank, looked
forward with eager delight to his coming, and cried when he
went away.
Rogp-- she held in the utmost veneration and esteem, regard
ing him as something more than mortal. She had never car
ried the game-bag for him, or put worms upon his hook, for he
neither fished nor hunted ; but she used to ride with him on
horseback, biting her lips and winking hard to keep down her
tears and conquer her fear of the spirited animal he bade her
ride. She would have walked straight into the crater of
Vesuvius if Roger had told her to, and at his command she
tried to overcome her mortal terror of horses, to sit and ride,
and carry her reins and whip as he taught her, until at last she
grew accustomed to the big black horse, and Roger's com
mendations of her skill in managing it were a sufficient recom
pense for weary hours of riding through the lanes, and mead
ows, and woods of Millbank.
So, too, when Roger gave her a Latin grammar and bade
her learn its pages, she set herself at once to the task, studying
day and night, and growing feverish and thin, and nervous,
until Hester interfered, and said " a child of ten was no more
TH STRANGER IN BELVIDERE. 6 1
fit to study Latin than she was to build a ship, and Roger
must let her alone till she was older if he did not want to kill
her."
Then Roger, who in his love for books had forgotten thai
children did not all possess his tastes or powers of endurance,
put the grammar away and took Magdalen with him to New
York to a scientific lecture, of which she did not understand a
word, and during which she went fast asleep with her head on
his shoulder, and her queer little straw bonnet dreadfully
jammed and hanging down her back. Roger tied on her
bonnet when the lecture was over, and tried to straighten the
pinch in front, and never suspected that it was at all different
from the other bonnets arour,J him. The next night he took
her to Niblo's, where she nearly went crazy with delight; and
for weeks after, her little room at Millbank was the scene of
many a pantomime, as she tried to reproduce for Bessie's
benefit the wonderful things she had seen.
That was nearly two years before the summer day of which
we write. She had fished and hunted with Frank since then,
and told him of Niblo's as of a place he had never seen, and
said good-by to Roger, who was going off to Europe, and who
had enjoined upon her sundry things she was to do during his
absence, one of which was always to carry the Saturday's
bouquet to his father's grave. This practice Roger had kept
up ever since his father died, taking the flowers himself when
he was at home, and leaving orders for Hester to see that they
were sent when he was away. Magdalen, who had frequently
been with him to the grave-yard, knew that the Jessie whose
name was on the marble was buried in the sea, for Roger had
told her of the burning ship, and the beautiful woman who
went down with it. And with her shrewd perceptions, Magda
len had guessed that the flowers offered weekly to the dead
were more for the mother, who was not there, than for the
father, who was. And after Roger went away she adopted the
plan of taking with her two bouquets, one large and beautiful
62 THE STRANGER IN BELVIDERE.
for Jessie, and a smaller one for the old squire, whose picture
on the library-wall she did not altogether fancy.
A visit to the cemetery was always one of the duties of Sat
tirday, and toward the middle of the afternoon, on a bright
day in July, Magdalen started as usual with her basket of
flowers on her arm. She liked going to that little yard where
the shadows from the evergreens fell so softly upon the grass,
and the white rose-bush which Roger had planted was climb
ing up the tall monument and shedding its sweet perfume on
the air. There was an iron chair in the yard, where Magdalen
sat down, and divesting herself of her shoes and stockings,
cooled her bare feet on the grass and hummed snatches of
songs learned from Frank, who affected to play the guitar and
accompany it with his voice. And while she is sitting there
we will give a pen-and-ink photograph of her as she was at
twelve years of age. A straight, lithe little figure, with head
set so erect upon her shoulders that it leaned back rather than
forward. A full, round face, with features very regular, except
the nose, which had a slight inclination upward, and which
Frank teasingly called "a turn-up." Masses of dark hair,
which neither curled nor lay straight upon the well-shaped head,
but rippled in soft waves all over it, and was kept short in the
neck by Hester, who " didn't believe much in hair," and who
often deplored Magdalen's " heavy mop," until the child was
old enough to attend to it herself. A clear, brown complexion,
with a rich, healthful tint on cheek and lip, and a fairer, lighter
coloring upon the low, wide forehead ; dark, hazel eyes, which,
under strong excitement, would grow black as night and flash
forth fiery gleams, but which ordinarily were soft and mild
and bright, as the stars to which Frank likened them. The
eyes were the strongest point in Magdalen's face, and made
her very handsome in spite of the outlandish dress in which
Hester always arrayed her, and the rather awkward manner in
which she carried her hands and elbows. Hester ignored
fashions. If Magdalen was only clean and neat, that was all
she thought necessary, and she put the child in clothes old
THE STRANGER IN BEL VIDE RE. 63
enough fur herself, and Frank often ridiculed the queer-look
ing dresses buttoned up before, and far too long for a girl of
Magdalen's age.
Except for Frank's *~asing remarks, Magdalen would have
cared very little for her personal appearance, and as he was in
New Haven now she was having a nice time alone in the
cemetery, with her shoes and stockings off to cool her feet, and
her bonnet off to cool her head, round which her short, damp
hair was curling more than usual. She was thinking of Jessie,
and wondering how she happened to be on the ocean, and
where she was going, and she did not at first see the stranger
coming down the walk in the direction of the yard where
she was sitting. He was apparently between fifty and sixty,
for his hair was very gray, and there were deep cut lines about
his eyes and mouth ; but he was very fine-looking still, and a
man to be noticed and commented upon among a thou
sand.
He was coming directly to Squire Irving' s lot, where he
stood a moment with his hand upon the iron fence before
Magdalen saw him. With a blush and a start she sprang up,
and tried, by bending her knees, to make her dress cover hei
bare feet, which, nevertheless, were plainly visible, as she
modestly answered the stranger's questions.
" Good afternoon, Miss," he said, touching his hat to her
as politely as if she had been a princess, instead of a barefoot
girl. "You have chosen a novel, but very pleasant place for
an afternoon reverie. Whose yard is this, and whose little
girl are you ? "
" I am Mr. Roger's little girl, and this is Squire Irving' s lot.
That's his monument," Magdalen replied; and at the sound of
her voice and the lifting up of her eyes the stranger looked
curiously at her.
" What is your name, and what are you doing here ? " he
asked her next; and she replied, "I came with flowers for the
grave. I bring them every Saturday, and my name is Mag
dalen."
64 THE STRANGER IN BEL VIDERE.
This time the stranger started, and without waiting to go
round to the gate, sprang over the iron fence and came te
Magdalen's side.
" Magdalen whom ? " he asked. " Magdalen Rogers ? "
"No, sir. Magdalen Lennox. I haven't any father nor
mother, and I live up at Millbank. You can just see it
through the trees. Squire Irving used to live there, but since
he died it belongs to Mr. Roger, and he has gone to Europe,
and told me to bring flowers every Saturday to the graves.
That's his father," she continued, pointing to the squire's
name, "and that," pointing to Jessie's name, "is his mother;
only she is not here, you know. She died on the sea."
If the stranger had not been interested before, he was now,
and he went close to the stone where Jessie's name was cut,
and stood there for a moment without saying a word to the
little girl at his side. His back was toward her, and she could
not see his face until he turned to her again, and said,
"And you live there at Millbank, where where Mrs. Irv
ing did. You certainly could not have been there when she
died."
Magdalen colored scarlet, and stood staring at him witli
those bright, restless, eager eyes, which so puzzled and per
plexed him. She had heard from Hester some cf the paticu-
lars of her early life, while from her young girl friends she had
heard a great deal more which distressed and worried her, and
sent her at last to Roger for an explanation. And Roger,
thinking it was best to do so, had told her the whole truth, and
given into her keeping the locket which she had worn
about her neck, and the dress in which she came to Millbank.
She was old enough to understand in part her true position,
and she was very sensitive with regard to her early history.
That there was something wrong about both her parents, she
knew; but still there was a warm, tender spot in her heart
for her mother, who, Roger had said, bent over her with
a kiss and a few whispered words of affection, ere abandon
ing her in the cars. Magdalen could sometimes feel that kiss
THE STRANGER IN BELVIDERE. 6$
upon her cheek and see the restless, burning eyes which Roger
described so minutely. There was a look like them in her own
eyes, and she was glad of it, and glad her hair was dark and
glossy, as Roger said her mother's was. She was proud to look
like her mother ; though she was not proud of her mother, and
she never mentioned her to any one save Roger, or alluded to
the time when she had been deserted. So when the stranger's
words seemed to ask how long she had been at Millbank, she
hesitated, and at last replied :
" Of course I was not born when Mrs. Irving died. I'm
only twelve years old. I was a poor little girl, with nobody to
care for me, and Mr. Roger took me to live with him. He is
not very old, though. He is only twenty-six ; and his nephew
Frank is twenty-one in August."
The stranger smiled upon the quaint, old-fashioned little girl,
whose eyes, fastened so curiously upon him, made him slightly
uneasy.
" Magdalen," he said at last, but more as if speaking to him
self and repeating a name which had once been familiar to him.
" What, sir ? " was Magdalen's reply, which recalled him back
to the present.
He must say something to her, and so he asked :
" Who gave you the name of Magdalen ? It is a very pretty
name."
There was a suavity and winning graciousness in his manner,
which, young as she was, Magdalen felt, and it inclined her to
be more familiar and communicative than she would otherwise
have been to a stranger.
"It was her second name," she said, touching the word
Jessie on the marble. "And Mr. Roger gave it to me when I
'went to live with him."
"Then you were named for Mrs. Irving?" and the stranger
involuntarily drew a step nearer to the little girl, on whose hair
his hand rested for a moment. " Do they talk much of her at
Millbank ? "
"No; nobody but Mr. Roger, when he is at home. Her
66 THE STRANGER IN BELVIDERE.
picture is in the library, and I think it is so lovely, with the
pearls on her neck and arms, and the flowers in her hair. She
must have been beautiful."
"Yes, very beautiful," fell mechanically from the stranger's
lips ; and Magdalen asked, in some surprise : " Did you know
her, sir?"
"I judge from your description," was the reply; and then he
asked " if the flowers were for Mrs. Irving."
'' The large bouquet is. I always make a difference, because
I think Mr. Roger loved her best," Magdalen said.
Just then there came across the fields the sound of the village
clock striking the hour of five, and Magdalen started, exclaim
ing, "I must go now; Hester will be looking for me."
The stranger saw her anxious glance at her stockings and
shoes, and thoughtfully turned his back while she gathered them
up and thrust them into her basket.
"You'd better put them on," he said, when he saw the
disposition she had made of them. " The gravel stones will
hurt your feet, and there may be thistles, too."
He seemed very kind indeed, and walked to another en
closure, while Magdalen put on her stockings and shoes and
then arose to go. She thought he would accompany her as far
as the highway, sure, and began to feel a little elated at the
prospect of being seen in company with so fine a gentleman by
old Bettie, the gate-keeper, and her granddaughter Lottie.
But he was in no hurry to leave the spot.
" This is a very pretty cemetery ; I believe I will walk about
a little," he said, as he saw that the girl seemed to be waiting
for him.
Magdalen knew this was intended as a dismissal, and walked
rapidly away. Pausing at the stile over which she passed into
the street, she looked back and saw the stranger, not walking
about the grounds, but standing by the monument and appar
ently leaning his head upon it. Had she passed that place an
hour later, she would have missed from its cup of water the
largest bouquet, the one she had brought for Mrs. Irving, and
A STIR AT MILLS ANK. 6j
would have missed, too, the half-open rose which hung very
near Jessie's name. But she would have charged the theft to
the children by the gate, who sometimes did rob the grave of
flowers, and not to the splendid-looking man with the big gold
chain, who had spoken so kindly to her, and of whom her head
was full as she went back to Millbank, where she was met by
Hester with an open letter in her hand, bearing a foreign post
mark.
CHAPTER IX.
A STIR AT MILLBANK.
HE letter was from Roger, and in her eagerness to
hear from him, Magdalen forgot the stranger who had
asked so many questions.
Roger was in Dresden, and very well ; but his letter did not
relate so much to himself and his journeyings as to matters
at home. Frank, who had visited Millbank in April, had writ
ten to Roger a not very satisfactory account of Hester's man
agement of Magdalen.
" The girl is growing up a perfect Hottentot, with no more
manners or style than Dame Floyd herself; and it seems a
pity, when she is so bright and capable and handsome, and
might with proper training make a splendid woman. But
what can you expect of her, brought up by that superan
nuated Hester, who keeps her in the most outlandish clothes
I ever saw, and lets her go barefoot half the time, till her
feet are spreading so, that after a little they will be as flat
and broad as a mackerel. Besides that, I saw her trying to
milk, which you know will spoil her hands sooner than any
thing else in creation. My advice is that you send her to
school, say here to New Haven, if you like. Mrs. Dana's is a
splendid school for young ladies. I would write at once to
68 A STIR AT MILLBANK.
Mrs. Floyd if I were you. And, Roger, for thunder's sake, tell
her to let Mrs. Johnson or her daughter see to Maggie's ward
robe. She would be the laughing-stock of the town if she were
to come here rigged out ti la Floyd."
This and much more Frank had written to Roger, who, in a
milder form, wrote it back to Hester, telling her that Magdalen
must go away, and suggesting New Haven as a proper place
where to send her.
Hester was a very little indignant when she read this letter,
which, without directly charging her with neglect, still implied
that in some things concerning Magdalen she had been remiss,
and to Bessie, the housemaid, she was freeing her mind pretty
thoroughly when Magdalen came in and began to question her
eagerly with regard to Roger, and to ask if the letter was for
her.
"No," Hester replied, "but it's about you. I'm too old-
fashioned to fetch you up any longer, and you've got to be sent
away. The district school ain't good enough, and you are to
go to New Haven and learn manners, and not go barefoot, nor
milk, and put your feet and hands out of shape. Haven't I told
you forty times, Magdalen Lennox, to put on your shoes ? "
" Yes, fifty," Magdalen replied, in that peculiar winning way
which she had of conciliating Hester when in one of her quer
ulous moods. "What is it about my hands and feet, let me
see ? "
And coming close to Hester, she laid one hand soothingly
on the old woman's shoulder, and with the other took Roger's
letter, which she read through from beginning to end ; then,
with a passionate exclamation, she threw it from her, saying :
" It is Frank who put Mr. Roger up to this. I won't go
away from Millbank to horrid old New Haven, where the girls
sit, and walk, and act just so, with their elbows in and their
toes out. I hate New Haven, I hate Frank, I hate everybody
but you."
Magdalen's eyes were flashing, and her hand deepened its
grasp on Hester, who cast upon the young girl a look whict
A STIR AT MILLBANK. 69
told how full of love her old heart was for the child whom she
had cared for and watched over since the night she first came
to Millbank. No one could live with Magdalen and not love
her. Generous, outspoken, and wholly truthful, warm-hearted
and playful as a kitten, she had wound herself around every
fibre of Hester's heart, until the woman hardly knew which
was dearer to her, Magdalen or Roger. She would miss
the former most. Millbank would be very lonely without
those busy little bare feet of which Roger disapproved, and
that blithe, merry voice which filled the house with melody,
and it was partly a dread of the loneliness which Magdalen's
absence would leave which prompted Hester to such an out
burst as had followed the reading of Roger's letter; and when
Magdalen took up the theme, vehemently declaring she would
never go to New Haven, Hester felt a thrill of joy and pride
in the girl who preferred her to New Haven and its stylish
young ladies.
Her soberer second thoughts, however, were that Roger's
wishes would have to be considered, and Magdalen be obliged
to yield. But Magdalen thought differently and persisted in say
ing she would never go to New Haven, and subject herself to
the criticisms of that Alice Grey, about whom Frank had talked
so much on his last visit to Millbank.
He had only stayed a day or two, and Magdalen had thought
him changed, and, as she fancied, not for the better. He had
always teased her about her grandmotherly garb, but his teas-
ings this time were more like earnest criticisms, and he was
never tired of holding up Alice Grey as a model for ail
young girls to imitate. She was very pretty, he said, with soft
blue eyes and rich brown hair, which was almost a chestnut, and
she had such graceful, lady-like manners, that all the college
boys were more in love with her, a little maiden of fourteen,
than with the older young ladies in Miss Dana's school.
Heretofore, when Frank had visited Millbank, Magdalen had
been all in all, and she resented his frequent allusion to one
whom he seemed to consider so superior to herself, and felt
7O A STIR AT MILLBANK.
relieved when he went back to his Alice, with her chestnut hair,
and her soft blue eyes, and wax-like complexion.
Magdalen hated her own dark skin for a little after that, and
taught by Bessie, tried what frequent washings in buttermilk
would do for it ; but Hester's nose, which had a most remark
able knack for detecting smells even where none existed, soon
ferreted out the hidden jar containing Magdalen's cosmetic, and,
all hopes of a complexion like Alice Grey's were swept away
with the buttermilk which the remorseless Hester threw into the
pig-pen as its most fitting place. After a while the fever sub
sided, and Alice Grey ceased to trouble Magdalen until she
was brought to mind by Roger's letter.
That she would not go to New Haven, Magdalen was re
solved. If Roger wanted her to try some other school she
would, she said, but New Haven was not to be considered for
a moment ; and so Hester wrote to Roger an account of the
manner with which his proposition had been received, and
asked him to suggest some other school for his ward.
In her excitement Magdalen had entirely forgotten the
stranger in the graveyard, nor was he recalled to her mind un
til the next day, when, with Hester Floyd, she walked demurely
to the little church where she was in the habit of worshipping.
It- was a beautiful morning, and the air was laden with the
sweet perfume of the clover blossoms and the new-mown hay,
and Magdalen looked unusually bright and pretty in her light
French calico and little white sack, which the village dress
maker had made, and which bore a more modern stamp than
was usual to Hester's handiwork. Her shoes and stockings
were all right this time, and her hands were encased in a pair
of cotton gloves, which, though a deal too large, were neverthe
less gloves, and kept her hands from tanning. And Magdalen,
with her prayer-book and sprig of caraway, felt very nice as she
went up the aisle to Squire Irving's pew, where, in imitation of
Hester she dropped on her knees and said her few words of
prayer, while her thoughts v/ere running upon the gentleman ia
A STIR AT MILLBANK. J\
front, the stranger of the graveyard, who turned his head as
she came in with a half nod of recognition.
He seemed very devout as the services proceeded, and nevei
had Magdalen heard any one respond so loud in the Psalter, or
seen any one bow so low in the Creed as he did ; while in the
chants and psalms he almost drowned the choir itself, as his
head went up and back as if it were following his spirit, which,
judging from his manner, was borne almost to Pisgah's top.
" He must be an awful pious man. I shouldn't wonder if he
was a minister, and should preach this evening," Magdalen
thought as she watched him, and, awed somewhat by his pres
ence, she let her peppermint lozenges stay in her pocket, and
only nibbled a little at the sprig of caraway when sure he would
not see her.
She did not know that he had noticed her at all after the first
glance of recognition, until the last chant, when her clear, sweet
voice joined in the singing, making him pause a moment to lis
ten, while a look of pleased surprise came into his face as he
turned toward her.
He had not seen Hester distinctly, for she was behind him ;
but Plester saw him and pronounced him some " starched-up
city buck," and thought his coat too short for so old a man, and
his neck too big and red.
" Jest the chap she shouldn't want to have much to do with,"
was her mental comment, and his loud " Good Lord, deliver
us " sounded to the shrewd old woman like mockery, for she did
not believe he felt it a bit.
Hester did not like the stranger's appearance, but she won
dered who he was, and when church was out, and she was walk
ing down the street with her niece who kept the public house,
she spoke of him, and learned that he was stopping at the Mon-
tauk, as the little hotel was named. He came about noon the
previous day, Martha said ; had called for their best room, and
drank wine with his dinner, and smoked a sight of cigars, and
had a brandy sling sent up to him in the evening. She did not
remember his name, and she guessed he must have a great deal
72 A STIR AT MILLBANK.
of money from his appearance. He was going to New York in
the night train, and that was all she knew. Hester made no
special remark, and as they just then reached the cross-roads
where their paths diveged, she bade her niece good-day, and
walked on towards Millbank.
Meantime, Magdalen was reciting her Sunday-school lesson,
and finishing her caraway and lozenges, and telling her compan
ions that she was going away to school by and by, as Mr. Roger
wrote she must. The school question did not seem as formi
dable to-day as yesterday. Miss Nellie Johnson, who repre
sented the first young lady in town, had been to Charlestown
Seminary, and so had Mr. Fullerton's daughters and Lilian
Marsh, who was an orphan and an heiress. On the whole,
Magdalen had come to think it would set her up a little to go
away, and she talked quite complacently about it, and said she
guessed it would be to Charlestown, where Miss Johnson had
been graduated ; but she made no mention of New Haven or
Alice Grey, though the latter was in her mind when she sang
the closing hymn, and went out of the church into the beautiful
sunshine. The day was so fine, and the air so clear, that Mag
dalen thought to prolong her walk by going round by the grave
yard, as she sometimes did on a Sunday. The quiet, shaded
spot where Squire Irving was buried just suited her Sunday
moods, and she would far rather lie there on the grass, than sit
in the kitchen at Millbank, and recite her catechism to Hester
or read a sermon to Aleck, whose eyes were growing dim.
It would seem that another than herself liked the shadow of
the evergreens and the seclusion of Squire Irving' s lot, for as
Magdalen drew near the gate, she saw the figure of a man re
clining upon the grass, while a feathery ring which curled up
among the branches of the trees denoted that he was smoking.
Magdalen did not think it just the thing to smoke there among
the graves, and the stranger fell a little in her estimation, for it
was the stranger, and he arose at once, and bade Magdalen
good-afternoon, and called her Miss Rogers, as if he thought
that was her name.
A STIR AT MILLBANFC. 73
" I find this place cooler than my hot room at the Montauk,"
he said : and then he spoke of having seen her at church, and
asked who had taught her to sing.
" Mr. Roger," she replied. " He used to sing with me before
lie went away. He has a splendid voice, and is a splendid
scholar, too."
And then, as that reminded her of New Haven and Alice
Grey, she continued : " We heard from Mr. Roger yesterday,
and he said I was to go to school in New Haven, but I don't
want to go there a bit."
" Why not ? " the stranger asked ; and Magdalen replied :
"Oh, because I don't. Frank is there, and he told me so
much about a Miss Alice Grey, and wants me to be like her ;
and I can't, and I don't want to know her, for she would laugh
at me, and I should be sure to hate her."
" Hate Alice ! Impossible ! " dropped involuntarily from the
stranger's lips, and turning upon him her bright eyes, Magda
len said :
" Do you know Frank's Alice Grey ? "
" I know one Alice Grey, but whether it is Frank's Alice, I
cannot tell. I should devoutly hope not," was the stranger's
answer ; and Magdalen noticed that there was a disturbed look
on his face, and that he forgot to resume his cigar, which lay
awhile smouldering in the grass, and finally went out.
He did not seem disposed to talk much after that, and Mag
dalen kept very quiet, wondering who he was, until her atten
tion was suddenly diverted into another channel by noticing,
for the first time, the absence of the bouquet which she had
brought the day before and left upon the grave.
" Somebody has stole my flowers ! I'll bet it's Jim Bartlett.
He's always doing something bad," she exclaimed, and she
searched among the grass for the missing bouquet.
The stranger helped her hunt, and not finding it, said he pre
sumed some one had taken it, that/zV/z was a bad boy to
steal, and Magdalen must talk to him and teach him the eighth
commandment. Anxious to confront and accuse the thieving
74 FRANK AT MILLBANK.
Jim, Magdalen left the graveyard, and was soon engaged in a
hot battle with the boy, who denied all knowledge of the flow
ers, declaring he had not been in the yard for a week, and
throwing tufts of grass and gravel-stones after her as she finally
left him and walked away, wondering, if Jim did not take the
flowers, who d'.d. She never dreamed of suspecting the stran
ger, or guessed that when he left Belvidere there was in one
corner of his satchel the veritable bouquet which she had ar-
langed in memory of poor Jessie, or that the sight of those faded
flowers had touched a tender chord in his heart, and made him
for several days kinder and gentler to a poor, worn, weary in
valid, whom nothing in all the world had power to quiet or
soothe.
CHAPTER X.
FRANK AT MILLBANK.
OUR days later Magdalen received a letter fromFrank,
who was inconsolable. Alice Grey had left school
suddenly, without giving him a chance to say good-
by. Why she had gone or where, he did not know. He only
knew she was gone, and that he thought college a bore, and
New Haven a stupid place, and was mighty glad that vacation
was so close at hand, as he wanted to come up to Millbank and
fish again in the river.
" I think he might just as well spend a part of his time at
home, as to be lazin' 'round here for me to wait on," Hester
said, when Magdalen communicated the news of Frank's pro
jected visit to her.
Hester did not favor Frank's frequent visits to Millbank.
They made her too much work, for what with opening the din
ing-room and bringing out the silver, and getting extra meals,
and seeing to his sleeping room, and ironing his seven fine shirts
FRANK AT MILLBANK. 75
every week, with as many collars and pairs of socks, to say
nothing of linen coats and pants, and white vests, she had hei
own and Bessie's hands quite full.
" Then, too, Magdalen was jest good for nothin' when he wa?
there," she said, " and made a deal more work ; for, of course,
she must eat with the young gentleman instead of out in the
kitchen ; as was her custom when they were alone ; and it took
more time to cook for two than one."
Of Hester's opinion Frank knew nothing, and he came to
Millbank one delightful morning after a heavy shower of the
previous night, when the air was pure and sweet with the scent
of the grass just cut on the lawn, and the perfume of the flowers
blooming in such profusion in the garden. Millbank was beau
tiful to the tired, lazy young college student, who hated books
and tutors, and rules and early recitations, and was glad to get
away from them all and revel awhile at Millbank. He felt per
fectly at home there, and always called for what he wanted, and
ordered the servants with as much assurance as if he had been
the master. He had not forgotten about the will. He under
stood it far better now than he had done when, a little white-
haired boy, he fidgeted at his mother's side and longed to go
back to the baby in the candle-box. He had heard every par
ticular many a time from his mother, who still adhered to her
olden belief that there was another will which, if not destroyed,
would one day be found.
" I wish it would hurry up, then," Frank had sometimes said,
for with his expensive habits, four hundred dollars a year seemed
a. very paltry sum.
In his wish that " it would hurry up," he intended no harm
to Roger. Frank was not often guilty of reasoning or thinking
very deeply about anything, and it did not occur to him how
disastrously the finding of the will which gave him Millbank
would result for Roger. He only knew that he wanted money,
and unconsciously to himself had formed a habit of occasion
ally wondering if the missing will ever would be found. This
was always in New York or New Haven, when he wanted some-
76 FRANK AT MILLBANK.
thing beyond his means or had some old debt to pay. Al
Millbank, where he was free from care, with his debts in the
distance and plenty of servants and horses at his command, he
did not often think of the will, though the possibility that there
was one might have added a little to his assured manner, which
was far more like one who had a right to command than Roger's
had ever been.
Magdalen was waiting for him by the gate at the end of the
avenue, on the afternoon, when, with his carpet-bag in hand,
he came leisurely up the street from the depot, thinking as he
came how beautiful the Millbank grounds were looking, and
what a " lucky dog " Roger was to have stepped into so fair an
inheritance without any exertion of his own. And with these
thoughts came a remembrance of the will, and Frank began to
plan what he would do if it should ever be found. He would
share equally with Roger, he said. He would not stint him to
four hundred a year. He would let him live at Millbank just
the same, and Magdalen, too, provided his mother did not raise
too many objections ; and that reminded him of what his mother
had said to him that morning as he sat, breakfasting with her,
in the same little room where we first saw her.
Mrs. Walter Scott had not been in a very amiable mood when
she came down to breakfast that morning. Eleven years of the
wear and tear of fashionable life had changed her from the fair,
smooth-faced woman of twenty-eight into a rather faded woman
of thirty-nine, who still had some pretensions to beauty, but
who found that she did not attract quite so much attention as
she used to do a few years ago, when she was younger, and
Frank was not so tall, and so fearful a proof that her youthful
days were in the past. Her hair still fell in long limp curls about
her face, but part of its brightness and luxuriance was gone, and
this morning, as she arranged it in a stronger light than usual,
she discovered to her horror more than one white hair showing
here and there among the brown, and warning her that middle
age was creeping on, while the same strong light showed her ho\
FRANK AT MILLBANK. 77
lines were deepening across her forehead and about her eyes,
effects more of dissipation and late hours than of Father Time
Mrs. Walter Scott did not like to grow old and gray and ugly
and poor with all the rest, as she felt that she was doing. Hei
house in Lexington Avenue could only afford her a shelter. It
would not feed or clothe her, or pay her bills at Saratoga or
Long Branch or Newport. Neither would the interest of the ten
thousand dollars given her by Squire Irving, and she had long
ago begun to use the principal, and had nothing to rely on when
that was gone except Roger's generosity, and the possibility of
the lost will turning up at last. She was wanting to go to Long
Branch this summer ; her dear friends were all going, and had
urged her to join them, but her account at the bank was too
low to admit of that, and yesterday she had given her final an
swer, and seen the last of her set depart without her. She had
not hinted to them the reason for her refusal to join them. She
had said she did not care for Long Branch, and when they ex
claimed against her remaining in the dusty city, she had men
tioned Millbank and the possibility of her going there for the
.month of August. She did not really mean it ; but when Frank,
who had only been home from college three days, told her at
the breakfast table that he was going to Millbank after pure air,
and rich sweet cream, which was a weakness of his, she felt a
longing to go, too, a desire for the cool house and pleasan
grounds, to say nothing of the luxuries which were to be had
there in so great abundance. But since the morning of her de
parture from Millbank she had received no invitation to cross
its threshold, and had not seen Roger over half a dozen times.
He felt that she disliked him, and kept out of her way, stop
ping always at a hotel when in New York, instead of going to
her house on Lexington Avenue. He had called there, how
ever, and taken tea the day before he sailed for Europe, and
Mrs. Walter Scott remembered with pleasure that she had been
very affable on that occasion, and pressed him to spend the
night. Surely, after that, she might venture to Millbank, and
she hinted as much to Frank, who would rather she should
78 FRANK AT MILLBANK.
stay where she was. But he was not quite unfilial enough ta
say so. He only suggested that an invitation from the proper
authorities might be desirable before she took so bold a step.
" You used to snub Roger awfully," he said ; " and if he was
like anybody else, he wouldn't forget it in a hurry ; but, then, he
isn't like anybody else. He's the best-hearted and most gen
erous chap I ever knew."
" Generous ! " Mrs. Walter Scott repeated, with a tinge of
sarcasm in her voice.
" Yes, generous," said Frank. " He has always allowed me
more than the will said he must, and he's helped me out of
more than forty scrapes. I say, again, he is the most generous
chap I ever knew."
" I hope he will prove it in a few weeks, when you are of
age, by giving you more than that five thousand named in the
will," was Mrs. Walter Scott's next remark. " Frank," and
she lowered her voice lest the walls should hear and report,
" we are poor. This house and three thousand dollars are
all we have in the world ; and unless Roger does something
handsome for you, there is no alternative for us but to mort
gage the house, or sell it, and acknowledge our poverty to the
world. I have sold your father's watch and his diamond cross."
" Mother ! " Frank exclaimed, his tone indicative of his sur
prise and indignation.
" I had to pay Bridget's wages, and defray the expense of that
little party I gave last winter," was the lady's apology, to which
Frank responded :
" Confound your party ! People as poor as we are have no
business with parties. Sell father's watch ! and I was intending
to claim it myself when I came of age. It's too bad ! You'll
be selling me next ! I'll be hanged if it isn't deuced inconve
nient to be so poor ! I mean to go to Millbank and stay. I'm
seldom troubled with the blues when there."
" I wish you could get me an invitation to go there, too,"
Mrs. Walter Scott said. " It will look so queer to stay in the
city all summer, as I am likely to do. I should suppose
FRANK AT MILLBANK. 79
Roger would want somebody besides old Hester to look aftei
Magdalen. She must be a large girl now."
It was the first sign of interest Mrs. Walter Scott had shown
in Magdalen, and Frank, who liked the girl, followed it up by
expatiating upon her good qualities, telling how bright and
smart she was, and how handsome she would be if only she
could be dressed decently. Then he told her of Roger's inten
tion to send her to school, and after a few more remarks
arose from the table and began his preparations for Millbank.
Frank was usually very light-hearted and hopeful, but there was
a weight on his spirits, and his face wore a gloomy look all the
way from New York to Hartford. But it began to clear as
Millbank drew near. There was his Eldorado, and by the time
the station was reached, he had forgotten the impending mort
gage, and his father's watch, and his own poverty. It ail came
back, however, with a thought of the will, and he found himself
wishing most devoutly that the missing document could be
found, or else that Roger would do the handsome thing, and
come down with a few thousands on his twenty-first birthday,
now only three weeks in the distance. The sight of Magdalen,
however, in her new white ruffled apron, with her hair curling
in rings about her head, and her great round eyes dancing with
joyj diverted his mind from Roger and the will, and scattered
the blues at once.
" Oh; Mag, is that you ? " he exclaimed, coming quickly to
her side. " How bright and pretty you look ! "
And the tall young man bent down to kiss the little girl, who
was very glad to see him, and who told him how dull it had
been at Millbank, and how Aleck said there was good fishing
now in the creek, and a great many squirrels in the woods, though
she did not want him to kill them, and that he was going to
have the blue room instead of his old one, which was damp
from a leak around the chimney; that she had put lots of
flowers in it, and a photograph of herself, in a little frame made
of twigs. This last she had meant to keep a secret, and sur
prise the young man, who was sure to be so delighted. But
80 FRANK AT MILLBANK.
she had let it out, and she rattled on about it, till the house was
reached, and Frank stood in the blue room, where the wonder
ful picture was.
" Here, Frank, this is it. This is me;" and she directed his
attention at once to the picture of herself, sitting up very stiff
and prim, with mitts on her hands, and Hester's best collai
pinned around her high-necked dress, and Bessie's handker
chief, trimmed with cotton lace, fastened conspicuously at hei
belt.
Frank laughed a loud, hearty laugh, which had more of ridi
cule in it than approval ; and Magdalen, who knew him so well,
detected the ridicule, and knew he was making fun of what she
thought so nice.
" You don't like it, and I got it on purpose for you and Mr.
Roger, and sold strawberries to pay for it, because Hester said
a present we earned ourselves was always worth more than if
we took somebody else's money to buy it," Magdalen said, her
lip beginning to quiver and her eyes to fill with tears.
" The man was a bungler who took you in that stiff position,"
Frank replied, "and your dress is too old. I'll show you one I
have of Alice Grey, and maybe take you to Springfield, where
you can sit just as she does."
This did not mend the matter much, and Magdalen felt as if
something had been lost from the brightness of the day, and
wondered if Roger too would laugh at her photograph, which
had gone to him in Hester's letter. Frank knew he had
wounded her, and was very kind and gracious to her by way of
making amends, and gave her the book with colored plates
which he had bought for Alice Grey just before she left New
Haven so suddenly. It happened to be in his trunk, vvhich
was brought from the station that night, and he blessed his good
stars that it was there, and gave it as a peace-offering to Mag
dalen, whose face cleared entirely; and who next day went
with him down to the old haunt by the river, and fastened to
his hook the worms she dug before he was up ; and told him all
FRANK AT MILLBANK. 8 1
about the stranger in the graveyard, and about her going to
school. And then she asked him about Alice Grey, and the
picture which he had of her.
" Did she give it to you?" Magdalen asked; but Frank
affected not to hear her, and pretended to be busy with
something which hurt his foot. He did not care to tell her
that he had bought the picture at the gallery where it was
taken. He would rather she should think Alice gave it to
him, and after a moment he took it from his pocket and handed
it to Magdalen, who stood for a long time gazing at it without
saying a word. It was the picture of a sweet-faced young girl,
whose short, chestnut hair rippled in waves all over her head
just as Magdalen's did. Her dress was a white muslin, with
clusters of tucks nearly to the waist, and her little resetted
slipper showed below the hem. Her head was leaning upon
one hand, and the other held a spray of flowers, while around
her were pictures, and vases, and statuettes, with her straw hat
lying at her feet, where she had evidently thrown it when she
sat down to rest. It was a beautiful picture, and nothing could
be more graceful than Alice's attitude, or afford a more striking
contrast to the stiff position of poor Mag in that picture on
Frank's table, in the blue room. Magdalen saw the difference
at once, and ceased to wonder at Frank's non-appreciation of
her photograph. It was a botch, compared with Alice's, and
she herself was a botch, an awkward, unsightly thing in her
long dress and coarse shoes, two sizes too big for her, such as
she always insisted upon wearing for fear of pinching her toes.
She had them on now, and a pair of stockings which wrinkled
on the top of her foot, and she glanced first at them and then
at the delicate slipper in the picture, and the small round
waist, and pretty tucke.1 skirt, and then, greatly to Frank's
amazement, burst into a flood of tears.
" I don't wonder you like her best," she said, when Frank
asked what was the matter. "I don't look like that. I can't,
I haven't any slippers, nor any muslin dress ; and if I had, Hester
4*
82 FRANK AT MILLBANK.
wouldn't let me have it tucked, it's such hard work to iron it
Alice has a mother, I know, a good, kind mother, to take
care of her and make her look like other little girls. Oh, I
wish hei mother was mine, or I had one just like her."
Alas, poor Magdalen. She little guessed the truth, 01
dreamed how dark a shadow lay across the pathway of pretty
Alice Grey. She only thought of her as handsome and grace
ful and happy in mother and friends, and she wept on for a
moment, while Frank tried to comfort her.
There was no more fishing that day, for Maggie's head began
to ache, and they went back to Millbank, across the pleasant
fields, in the quiet of the summer afternoon. Frank missed
Magdalen's photograph from his table the next day, and had he
been out by the little brook which ran through the grounds,
he would have seen the fragments of it floating down the stream,
with Magdalen standing by and watching them silently. They
fished again after a day or two, and hunted in the woods and
sat together beneath an old gnarled oak where Frank grew
confidential, and told Magdalen of his moneyed troubles, and
wondered if Roger would allow him more than five thousand
when he came of age. And then he inadvertently alluded to
the missing will, and told Magdalen about it, and said it might
be well enough for her to hunt for it occasionally, as she had
access to all parts of the house. And Magdalen promised that
she would, without a thought of how the finding of it might
affect Roger. She would not for the world have harmed one
whom she esteemed and venerated as she did Roger, but he
was across the sea, and Frank had her ear and her sympathy.
It would be a fine thing to find the will, particularly as Frank
had promised her a dress like Alice Grey's and a piano, if she
succeeded.
Frank was not a scoundrel, as some reader may be ready to
suppose. He had no idea that the finding of the will would
ruin Roger. He had received no such impression from his
mother. She had not thought best to tell him all she believed,
and had only insinuated that the missing v/ill was more in
FRANK AT MILLBANK. 83
his favor than the one then in force. Frank wanted money,
a great deal of money, and his want was growing constantly,
and so he casually recommended Magdalen to hunt for the
will, and then for a time gave the subject no more thought
But not so with Magdalen. She dreamed of the will by night,
and hunted for it by day, when Frank did not claim her atten
tion, until at last Hester stumbled upon her turning over the
identical barrel of papers which Mrs. Walter Scott had once
looked through.
"In the name of the people, what are you doing?" she
asked; and Magdalen, who never thought of keeping her
intentions a secret, replied, " I'm looking for that will which
Mrs. Walter Scott says Squire Irving made before he died."
For an instant Hester was white as a ghost, and her voice
was thick with passion or fright, as she exclaimed, "A nice
business, after all Roger has done for you, and a pretty pickle
you'd be in, too, if such a will could be found. Don't you know
you'd be hustled out of this house in less than no time ? You'd
be a beggar in the streets. Put up them papers quick, and
don't let me catch you rummagin' again. If Frank is goin' to
put such notions into your head, he'd better stay away from
Millbank. Come with me, I say ! "
Hester was terribly excited, and Magdalen looked at her
curiously, while there flashed across her mind a thought, which
yet was hardly a thought, that, if there was a will, Hester knew
something of it. Let a woman once imagine there is a secret
or a mystery in the house, and she seldom rests until she has
ferreted it out. So Magdalen, though not a woman, had the
instincts of one; and her interest in the lost document was
doubled by Hester's excitement, but she did not look any more
that day, nor for many succeeding ones.
On Frank's birthday there came letters from Roger, and the
same train which brought them brought also Mrs. Walter Scott.
She had found the city unendurable with all her acquaintance
away, and had ventured to come unasked to Millbank. Hester
was not glad to see her. Since finding Magdalen in the garret,
84 FRANK AT MILLBANK.
she had suspected Frank of all manner of evil designs, and
now his mother had come to help him carry them out. She
had no fears of their succeeding. She knew they would not ;
but she did not want them there, and she spoke very short
and crisp to Mrs. Walter Scott, and was barely civil to her.
Mrs. Walter Scott, on the contrary, was extremely urbane and
sweet. She did not feel as assured as she had done when
last at Millbank. There was nothing of the mistress about
her now. She was all smiles and softness, and gentleness, and
called Hester " My dear Mrs. Floyd," and squeezed her hand,
and told her how well and young she was looking, and petted
Magdalen, and ran her white fingers through her rings of hair,
and said it was partly on her account she had come to Mill-
bank.
" I heard from Frank that she was to go to school in the
autumn, and knowing what a bore it would be for you, Mrs.
Floyd, to see to her wardrobe, with all the rest you have to do,
I ventured to come, especially as I have been longing to see
the old place once more. How beautiful it is looking, and
how nicely you and your good husband have kept everything !
How is Mr. Floyd?"
Hester knew there was a good deal of what she called " soft-
soap " in all the lady said ; but kind words go a great ways
with everybody, and Hester insensibly relaxed her stiffness and
went herself with Mrs. Walter Scott to her room and opened
the shutters, and brought clean towels for the rack, and asked
if her guest would have a lunch or wait till dinner was ready.
" Oh, I'll wait, of course. I do not mean to give you one
bit of trouble," was the suave reply, and Hester departed, won
dering to herself at the change, and if " Mrs. Walter Scott
hadn't j'ined the church or something."
ROGER'S LETTERS AND THE RESULT. 85
CHAPTER XL
ROGER'S LETTERS AND THE RESULT.
HILE Mrs. Walter Scott was resting, Roger's letters
were brought in. There was one for Frank, which
he carried to his own room, and one for Magdalen,
who broke the seal at once and screamed with delight as Roger's
photograph met her view. He had had it taken for her in
Dresden, and hoped it would afford her as much pleasure to
receive it as hers had given him. He did not say that he
thought her position stiff, and her dress too old for her, though
he had thought it, and smiled at the prim, old-womanish figure,
sitting so erect in the high-backed chair. But he would not
willingly wound any one, much less the little girl who had
picked berries in the hot sun to pay for the picture. So he
thanked her for it, and inclosed his own, and gave his consent
to the Charlestown arrangement, and asked again that some
competent person should take charge of her wardrobe, which
he wanted in every respect "to be like that of other young
girls." He underscored this line, and Hester, who read the
letter after Magdalen, felt her blood tingle a little, and knew
that her day for dressing Magdalen was over. As for Magda
len, she was too much engrossed in Roger's picture to think
much of the contents of the letter.
" Oh, isn't he splendid looking ; but I should be awfully
afraid of him now," she said, as she went in quest of Frank.
She found him in his room, with a disturbed, disappointed
look upon his face. Roger had not made him a rich man on
his twenty-first birthday. He had only ordered that six thou
sand dollars should be paid to him instead of five, as mentioned
in the will, and had said that inasmuch as Frank had another
year in college the four hundred should be continued for
the year and increased by an additional hundred, as seniors
usually wanted a little spending money. Frank's good sense
86 ROGERS LETTERS AND THE RESULT.
told him that this was more than he had a right to expect, that
Roger was and always had been very generous with him ; but
he knew, too, that he was owing here and there nearly a thou
sand dollars, while, worse than all, there was for sale in Mill-
bank the most beautiful fast horse, which he greatly coveted
and had meant to buy, provided Roger came down hand
somely. Knowing that hon es had been his father's ruin and
his grandfather's aversion, F;ank had abstained tolerably well
from indulging his taste, which was decidedly toward the race
course. But he had always intended to own a horse as soon as
he was able. According to the will, he could not use for that
purpose any of the five thousand dollars left to him. That was
to set him up in business, though what the business would be
was more than he could tell. He hated study too much to be
a lawyer or doctor, and had in his mind a situation in some
banking house where capital was not required, and with his
salary and the interest of what Roger was going to give him he
should do very well. That interest had dwindled down to a
very small sum, and in his disappointment Frank was accusing
Roger of stinginess, when Magdalen came in. She saw some
thing was the matter, and asked what it was, at the same time
showing him Roger's picture, at which he looked attentively.
" Foreign travel is improving him," he said. " He looks as if
he hadn't a care in the world ; and why should he have, with an
income of twenty or twenty-five thousand a year ? What does
he know of poverty, or debts, or self-denials ? "
Frank spoke bitterly, and Magdalen felt that he was blaming
Roger, whose blue eyes looked so kindly at him from the pho
tograph.
" What is it, Frank ? " she asked again ; and then Frank told
her of his perplexities, and how much he owed, and how he had
expected more than a thousand dollars from Roger, and, as he
talked, he made himself believe that he was badly used, and
Magdalen thought so, too, though she could not quite see how
Roger was obliged to give him money, if he did not r,hoose to
do so.
ROGER'S LETTERS AND THE RESULT. 87
Still she was very sorry for him, and wished that she owned
Millbank, so she could share it with the disconsolate Frank.
" I mean to write to Mr. Roger about it, and ask him to give
you more," she said, a suggestion against which Frank uttered
only a feeble protest.
As he felt then, he was willing to receive aid by almost any
means, and he did not absolutely forbid Magdalen to write as
she proposed ; neither, when she spoke of the will, and her in
tention to continue her search for it, did he offer any remon
strance. He rather encouraged that idea, and his face began
to clear, and, before dinner was announced, Magdalen heard
him practising on his guitar, which had been sent from New
York by express, and which Hester likened to a " corn-stock
fiddle."
Mrs. Walter Scott came down to dinner, very neatly dressed
in a pretty muslin of a white-ground pattern, with a little laven
der leaf upon it, her lace collar fastened with a coral pin, and
coral ornaments in her ears. Her hair was curling better than
usual, and was arranged very becomingly, while her long train
swept back behind her and gave her the air of a queen, Mag
dalen thought, as she stood watching her. She was very gra
cious to Magdalen all through the dinner, and doubly, trebly so
after a private conference with Frank, who told her of his dis
appointment, and what Magdalen had said about writing to
Roger, as well as hunting for the will. Far more shrewd and
cunning 'Jian her son, who, with all his faults, was too honor
able to stoop to stratagem and duplicity, Mrs. Walter Scott
saw at once how she could make a tool of Magdalen, and by
being very kind and gracious to her, play into her own hands
in more ways than one. Accompanying Roger's letter was a
chsck for five hundred dollars, which Hester was to use for
Magdalen's wardrobe, and for the payment of her bills at
school as long as it lasted. When more was needed, more
would be sent, Roger said ; and he asked that everything need
ful should be furnished to make Magdalen on an equality with
other young girls of her age. Here was a chance for Mrs. Wai.
88 ROGER'S LETTERS AND THE RESULT.
ter Scott. She had good taste. She knew what school- girls
needed. She could be economical, too, if she tried, she said
with her sweet, winning way ; and if Mrs. Floyd pleased, she
would, while at Millbank, relieve her entirely of all care of
Magdalen's dress, and see to it herself.
" Better keep family matters in the family, and not go to
Mrs. Johnson, who knows but little more of such things than
you do," she said to Hester, who, for once in her life, was
hoodwinked, and consented to let Mrs. Walter Scott take Mag
dalen and the check into her own hands.
There were two or three trips to New York, and two or three
milliners and dressmakers' bills paid and receipted and said
nothing about. There were also bundles and bundles of dry
goods forwarded to Millbank, from Stewart's, and Arnold's, and
Hearne's, and one would have supposed that Magdalen was a
young lady just making her debut into fashionable society, in
stead of a little girl of twelve going away to school. The re
ceipted bills of said bundles were all scrupulously sent across
the water to Roger, to whom Mrs. Walter Scott wrote a very
friendly letter, begging pardon for the liberty she had taken of
going to his house uninvited, but expressing herself as so
lonely and tired of the hot city, and so anxious to visit the
haunt sacred to her for the sake of her dear husband, Roger's
only brother. Then she spoke of Magdalen in the highest
terms of praise, and said she had taken it upon herself to see
that she was properly fitted out, and as Roger, being a bachelor,
was not expected to know how much was actually required
nowadays for a young miss's wardrobe, she sent him the bills
that he might know what she was getting, and stop her if she
(was too extravagant.
This was her first letter, to which Roger returned a very
gracious answer, thanking her for her interest in Magdalen, ex
pressing himself as glad that she was at Millbank, asking her
to prolong her visit as long as she found it agreeable, and say
ing he was not very likely to quarrel about the bills, as he had
very little idea of the cost of feminine apparel.
ROGER'S LETTERS AND THE RESULT. 89
Roger was not naturally suspicious, and it never occurred la
him in glancing over the bills to wonder what a child of twelve
could do with fifteen yards of blue silk or three yards of velvet.
For aught he knew, blue silk and black silk and velvet were as
appropriate for Magdalen as the merinos and Scotch plaids,
and delaines and French calicoes, and ginghams, and littk
striped crimson and black silk which the lady purchased
for Magdalen at reduced rates, and had made up for her ac
cording to her own good taste.
In Mrs. Walter Scott's second letter she spoke of two or
three other bills which she had forgotten to enclose in her last,
and which were now mislaid so that she could not readily find
them. The amount was a little over one hundred dollars, and
she mentioned it so that he might know just what disposition
was made of his check while the money was in her hands.
Then it did occur to Roger that Magdalen must be having a
wonderful outfit, and for a moment a distrust of Mrs. Walter
Scott flashed across his mind. But he quickly put it by as
unworthy of him, and by way of making amends for the dis
trust, sent to the lady herself his check for one hundred dol
lars, which she was to accept for her kindness to Magdalen.
Mrs. Walter Scott was in the seventh heaven of happiness, and
petted Magdalen more than ever, and confirmed old Hester in
her belief that " she had joined the church or met with a great
change."
The will was never mentioned in Hester's presence, but to
Magdalen Mrs. Walter Scott talked about it, not as anything
in which she was especially interested, but as something which
it was well enough to find if it really existed, and gave, as she
believed it did, more money to Frank than the other one
allowed him. Magdalen was completely dazzled and charmed
by the great lady whom she thought so beautiful and grand, and
whose long curls she stroked and admired, wondering a little
why Mrs. Irving was so much afraid of her doing anything to
straighten them, when her own hair, if once wet and curled and
dried, could not well be comb d out of place. Magdalen be-
90 ROGER'S LETTERS AND THE RESULT.
Ueved in Mrs. Walter Scott, and looked with a kind of disdain
upon Mrs. Johnson and Nellie, who had once stood for her
ideas of queens and princesses. Now they were mere ciphers
when compared with Mrs. Walter Scott, who took her to drive,
and kept her in- her own room, and kissed her affectionate!)'
when she promised of her own accord "to look for that will
until it was found."
" My little pet, you make me so happy," she had said ; and
Magdalen, flushed with pride and flattery, thought how delight
ful it would be to give the recovered document some day into
the beautiful woman's hands and receive her honeyed words
of thanks.
Those were very pleasant weeks for Magdalen which Frank
and his mother spent at Millbank ; the pleasantest she had ever
known, and she enjoyed them thoroughly. The parlors were
used every day, and Magdalen walked with quite an aii
through the handsome rooms, arrayed in some one of her new
dresses which improved her so much, and made her, as Frank
said, most as handsome as Alice Grey. At her particular re
quest she had a white muslin made and tucked just like Alice's
in the picture, and then went with Frank to Springfield, and
sat as Alice sat, with her head leaning on her hands, flowers
in her lap, and her wavy hair arranged like Alice's. It was a
striking picture, prettier, if possible, than Alice's, except that in
Magdalen's face there was an anxious expression, a look ol
newness, as if she had come suddenly into the dress and the
position ; whereas Alice was easy and natural, as if tucked mus
lins and flowers were everyday matters with her. Magdalen was
not ashamed of her photograph this time, and she sent a copy
to Roger, with the letter which she wrote him, and in which she
made Frank the theme of her discourse. There was nothing
roundabout in Magdalen's character. She came directly at
what she wanted to say, and Roger was told in plain terms
that Magdalen wished he would give Frank a little more money,
that he had debts to pay, and had said that if he could get
them off his mind he would never incur another, but would
ROGERS LETTERS AND THE RESULT. 9!
tvork like a dog to earn his own living when once he was
through college. If Roger would do this, she, Magdalen,
would study so hard at school and be so economical, that per
haps she could manage to save all he chose to send to Frank
Mrs. Irving had bought her more clothes than she needed,
and she could make them last for two or three years, she
knew she could.
This was Mr.gdalen's letter; and a week after Frank's return
to college he was surprised by a request from Roger to send
him a list of all his unpaid bills, as he wished to liquidate them.
There were some bills which Frank did not care to have come
under Roger's grave inspection ; but as these chanced to
be the largest of them all, he could not afford to lose the
opportunity of having them taken off his hands ; and so
the list went to Roger, with a self-accusing letter full of
promises of amendment. And kind, all-enduring Roger tried
to believe his nephew sincere, and paid his debts, and made
him a free man again, and wrote him a kind, fatherly letter,
full of good advice, which Frank read with his feet on the
mantel, an expensive cigar in his mouth, and a mint julep
on the table beside him.
Meantime Magdalen had said good-by to Millbank, and was
an inmate of Charlestown Seminary, where her bright face and
frank, impulsive manner were winning her many friends among
the young girls of her own age, and the quickness which she
evinced for learning, and the implicit obedience she always
rendered to the most trivial rule, were winning her golden
laurels from her teachers, who soon came to trust Magdalen
Lennox as they had seldom trusted any pupil before her.
Mrs. Walter Scott lingered at Millbank until the foliage, so
fresh and green when she came, changed into scarlet and gold,
and finally fell to the ground. Every day she stayed was clear
gain to her, and so she waited until her friends had all returned
to the city, and then took her departure and went back to New
York, tolerably well satisfied with her visit at Millbank. She
had made a good thing of it on the whole. She had managed
92 ALICE GREY.
to pay two or three little bills which were annoying her terribly,
for she did not like to be ir. debt. She had secured herself a
blue silk and a black silk, and a handsome velvet cloak, to say
nothing of the hundred dollars, which Roger had sent for ser
vices rendered to Magdalen, and what was better for her peace
of mind, she had made herself believe that there was nothing
very wrong in the transaction. She would have shrunk from
theft, had she called it by that name, almost as much as from
midnight murder, but what she had done was not theft, nor yet
was it dishonesty. It was simply taking a small part of what
belonged to her, for she firmly believed in the will, and always
would believe in it, whether it was found or not. So she
sported her handsome velvet cloak on Broadway, and wore her
blue-silk dress, without a qualm of conscience or a thought
that they had come to her unlawfully.
CHAPTER XII.
ALICE GREY.
[HILE the events we have narrated were transpiring at
Millbank, the New York train bound for Albany had
stopped one summer afternoon at a little station on
the river, and then sped on its way, leaving a track of smoke
and dust behind it. From the platform of the depot a young
girl watched the cars till they passed out of sight, and then,
with something like a sigh, entered the carriage waiting for her.
Nobody had come to meet her but the driver, who touched his
hat respectfully, and then busied himself with the baggage. The
girl did not ask him any questions. She only looked up into
his face with a wistful, questioning gaze, which he seemed to
understand ; for he shook his head sadly, and said, " Bad again,
and gone."
ALICE GREY. 93
Then an expression of deep sorrow flitted over the girl's
face, and her eyes filled with tears as she stepped into the car
riage. The road led several miles back from the rivei
and up one winding hill after another, so that the twi
light shadows were fading, and the night was shutting in the
beautiful mountain scenery, ere the carriage passed through
a broad, handsome park to the side entrance of a massive
brick building, where it stopped, and the young girl sprang
out, and ran hastily up the steps into the hall. There was
no one there to meet her. Nothing but silence and loneliness,
and the moonlight, which fell across the floor, and made the
young girl shiver as she went on to the end of the hall, where
a door opened suddenly, and a slight, straight woman appeared
with iron-grey puffs around her forehead, diamonds in her ears,
diamonds on her soft white hands, and diamonds fastening the
lace ruffle, which finished the neck of her black-satin dress
She was a proud-looking woman, with a stern, haughty face,
which relaxed into something like a smile when she saw the
young girl, who sprang forward with a cry, which might per
haps have been construed into a cry of joy, if the words which
followed had been different.
" 0, auntie," she said, taking the hand offered her, and put
ting up her lips for the kiss so gravely given " O, auntie, why
did father send for me to come home from the only place where
I was ever happy ? "
" I don't know. Your father's ways are ways of mystery to
me," the lady said ; and then, as if touched with something like
pity for the desolate creature who had been brought from " the
only place where she was ever happy," to this home where she
could not be very happy, the lady drew her to a couch, and
untied the blue ribbons of the hat, and unbuttoned the gray
sack, doing it all with a kind of caressing tenderness which
s howed how dear the young girl was to her.
" But did he give you no reason, auntie ? What did he say
when he told you I was coming ? " the girl asked vehemently,
and the lady replied :
94 ALICE GREY.
"He was away from Beechwood several days, travelling in
New England, and when he came back he told me he had left or
ders for you to come home at once. I thought, from what he
said, that he saw you in New Haven."
" I never saw or heard of him till Mr. Baldwin came, and
said I was to leave school for home, and he was to be my es
cort. It's very strange that he should want me home now.
Robert told me she was gone again. Did she get very bad? ' "
The voice which asked this question was sad and low, like the
voices of those who talk of their dead ; and the voice which
answered was low, too, in its tones.
" Yes, she took to rocking and singing night as well as day,
and that, you know, makes your father nervous sooner than
anything else."
" Did she want to go ? "
" No ; she begged to stay at first, but went quietly enough at
the last."
"Did she ever mention me, auntie? Do you think she missed
me and wanted me ? "
" She spoke of you once. She said, ' If Allie was here, she
wouldn't let me go.' "
" O, poor, poor darling ! O, auntie, it's terrible, isn't it?"
Alice was sobbing now, and amid her sobs she asked :
" Was father gentle with her, and kind ? "
"Yes, gentler, more patient than I have known him for years.
It almost seemed as if something must have happened to him
while he was gone, for he was very quiet and thoughtful when
he came home, and did not order nearly as many brandy slings,
though he smoked all the time."
" Not in her room ! " and the girl looked quickly up.
" No, not in her room, he spared her that ; and when she
first began to rock and sing, he tried his best to quiet her, but
he couldn't. She was worse than usual."
" Oh, how dreadful our life is ? " Alice said again, while a
shiver as if she were cold ran over her. " I used to envy the
girls at school who were looking forward with such delight to
ALICE GREY. 95
their vacations, when I had nothing but this for my portion. It
is better than I deserve, I know, and it is wrong for me to mur
mur ; but, auntie, nobody can ever envy me my home ! "
Her white fingers were pressed to her eyes, and the tears
were streaming through them, as she sat there weeping so bit
terly, the fair young girl whom Magdalen Lennox had envied for
her beauty, her muslin dress, her mother, her home ! Alas !
Magdalen, playing, and working, and eating, and living in the
great kitchen at Millbank, had known more of genuine home
happiness in a month than poor Alice Grey had known in her
whole life. And yet Alice's home presented to the eye a most
beautiful and desirable aspect. There were soft velvet carpets
on all the floors, mirrors and curtains of costly lace in all the
rooms, with pictures, and books, and shells, and rare ornaments
from foreign lands ; handsome grounds, with winding walks and
terraced banks and patches of flowers, and fountains, and trees,
and rustic seats, and vine-wreathed arbors, and shady nooks,
suggestive of quiet, delicious repose ; horses and carriages, and
plenty of servants at command. This was Alice's home, and
it stood upon the mountain-side, overlooking the valley of the
Hudson, which could be seen at intervals winding its way to
the sea.
An old Scotch servant, who had been in the family for years,
came into the library where Alice was sitting, and after warmly
welcoming her bonny mistress, told her tea was waiting in the
little supper room, where the table was laid with the prettiest
of tea-cloths, and the solid silver contrasted so brightly with the
pure white china. There were luscious strawberries, fresh from
the vines, and sweet, thick cream from Hannah's milk-house,
and the nice hot tea-cakes which Alice loved, and her glass of
water from her favorite spring under the rock, and Lucy stood
and waited on her with as much deference as if she had been a
queen.
Alice was very tired, and soon after tea was over she asked
permission to retire, and Nannie, her own waiting-maid, went
with her up the broad staircase and through the upper hall to
96 ALICE GREY.
her room, which was over the library, and had, like that, a bay-
window looking off into the distant valley.
Nannie was all attention, but Alice did not want her that
night. She would rather be alone ; and she dismissed the girl,
saying to her with a smile, " I had no good Nannie at school
to undress me and put up my things. We had to wait on cur-
selves ; so you see I have become quite a little woman, a:id
shall often dispense with your services."
With her door shut on Nannie, Alice went straight to her
window, through which the moonlight was streaming, and kneel
ing down with her head upon the sill, she prayed earnestly for
grace to bear the loneliness and desolation weighing so heavily
on her spirits.
Although a child in years, Alice Grey had long since learned
at whose feet to lay her burdens. Her religion was a part of
her whole being, and she made it very beautiful with her loving,
consistent life. Her school companions had dubbed her the
little "Puritan," and sometimes laughed at her for what they
called her straight-laced notions; but there was not one of them
who did not love the gentle Alice Grey, or who would not have
trusted her implicitly, and stood by her against the entire
school.
Alice knew that she was apt to murmur too much at the
darkness overshadowing her home, and to forget the many
blessings which crowned her life, and she now asked forgive
ness for it, and prayed for a spirit of thankfulness for all the
good Heaven had bestowed upon her. And then she asked
that, if possible, the shadow might be lifted from the life of one
who was at once a terror and an object of her deepest solicitude
and love.
Prayer with Alice was no mere form to be gone through ; it
was a real thing, a communing with a living Presence, and
she grew quiet and calm under its influence, and sat for a time
drinking in the beauty of the night, and looking far off across the
valley to the hills beyond, the hills nearer to New Haven,
where she had been so happy. Then, as she felt strong
ALICE GREY. 97
enough to bear it, she took her lamp, and went noiselessly
down the wide hall and through a green-baize door into a nar
row passage which led away from the front part of the building.
Before one of the doors she paused, and felt again the same
heart-beat she had so many times experienced when she drew
near that door and heard the peculiar sound which always made
her for a moment faint and sick. But that sound was hushed
now, and the room into which Alice finally entered was silent
as the grave ; and the moon, which came through the windows
in such broad sheets of silvery light, showed that it was empty
of all human life save that of the young girl who stood looking
round, her lip quivering and her eyes filling with tears as one
familiar object after another met her view.
There was the cradle in the corner, just where it had stood
for years, and the carpet in that spot told of the constant mo
tion which had worn the threads away ; and there, too, was the
chair by the window, where Alice had so often seen a wasted
figure sit, and the bed with its snowy coverings, to which sleep
was almost a stranger. Alice knelt by this bed, and with her
hand upon the crib which seemed to bring the absent one so
near to her, she prayed again, and her tears fell like rain upon the
pillows which she kissed for the sake of the feverish, restless
head which had so often lain there.
" Poor darling," she said, " do you know that Alice is here
to-night in your own room ? Do you know that she is praying
for you, and loving you. and pitying you so much ? "
Then as the words "if Allie was here I shouldn't have to go
away," recurred to her mind, she sobbed, "No, darling, if Allie
had been here you should not have gone, and now that she is
here, she'll bring you back again ere long, and bear with all your
fancies more patiently than she ever did before."
There was another kiss upon the pillow as if it had been a
living face, and Alice's fair hands petted and caressed and
smoothed the ruffled linen, and then she turned away and
passed again into the passage and through the green-baize doo.r,
5
98 ALICE GREY.
back into the broader hall, where the air seemed purer, and she
breathed free again.
The morning succeeding Alice's return to Beechwood was
cool and beautiful, and the sun shone brightly through the
white mist which lay on the river and curled up the mountain
side. Alice was awake early, and when Nan came to call her
she found her dressed and sitting by the open window, looking
out upon the grounds and the park beyond.
"You see I have stolen a march upon you, Nannie," Alice
said; "but you may unlock that largest trunk, and help me put
up my things."
The trunk was opened, and with Nannie's assistance Alice
hung away all her pretty dresses, which were useless in this re
tired neighborhood, where they saw so few people. The tucked
muslin, which Magdalen had admired in the picture, Nan folded
carefully, smoothing out the rich Valenciennes lace and laying
it away in a drawer, to grow yellow and limp, perhaps, ere it was
worn again. Alice's chief occupation at Beechwood was to
wander through the grounds or climb over the mountains and
hills, with Nan or the house dog Rover as escorts ; and so she
seldom wore the dresses which had been the envy of her school
mates. She cared little for dress, and when at last she went
down to the breakfast room to meet her stately aunt, she wore
a simple blue gingham, and a white-linen apron, with dainty little
pockets all ruffled and fluted and looking as fresh and pure as
she looked herself, with her wavy hair, and eyes of violet blue.
Her aunt, in her iron-gray puffs, and morning-gown of silvery
gray satin, was very precise and ceremonious, and kissed her
graciously, and then presided at the table with as much formal
ity as if she had been giving a state dinner. There were straw
berries again, and flaky rolls, and fragrant chocolate, and a nice
broiled trout from a brook among the hills, where Tom had
caught it for his young lady, who, with a schoolgirl's keen appe
tite, ate far too fast to please her aunt, who, nevertheless, would
not reprove her that first morning home. Breakfast being
ALICE GREY. 99
over, Alice, who was expecting her father that day, went
to his room to see that it was in order. It adjoined the apart
ment where she had knelt in tears the preceding night, and
there was a door between the two ; but, while the other had
been somewhat bare of ornament and handsome furniture,
it would seem as if the master of the house had racked
his brain to find rare and costly things with which to deck his
own private room. There were marks of wealth and luxury
visible everywhere, from the heavy tassels which looped the
lace curtains of the alcove where the massive rosewood bed
stead stood, to the expensive pictures on the wall, French
pictures many of them, showing a taste which some would
call highly cultivated, and others questionable. Alice detested
them, and before one, which she considered the worst, she had
once hung her shawl in token of her disapprobation. She was
accustomed to them now, and she merely gave them a glance,
and then moved on to a pencil sketch, which she had never
seen before. It was evidently a graveyard scene, for there
were evergreens and shrubs, and a tall monument, and near
them a little barefoot girl, with a basket of flowers, which she
was laying on the grave. Alice knew it was her father's draw
ing, and she studied it intently, wondering where he got his
idea, and who was the little girl, and whose the grave she was
decorating with flowers. Then she turned from the picture to
her father's writing-desk, and opened drawer after drawer until
she came to one containing nothing but a faded bouquet of
flowers, such as the girl in the picture might have been putting
on the grave, and a little lock of yellow hair. Pinned about
the hair was a paper, which bore the same date as did that let
ter which Roger Irving guarded with so much care.
Alice had heard of Roger Irving from Frank, who called him
"uncle" when speaking of him to her. She had him in her
mind as quite an elderly man, with iron-gray hair, perhaps, such
as her auntie wore, and she had thought she would like to see
Frank's paragon of excellence ; but she had no idea how neai
IOO ALICE GREY.
he was brought to her by that faded bouquet and that lock of
golden hair, which so excited her curiosity.
Her father had always been a mystery to her. That there
was something in his past life which he wished to conceal, she
felt sure, just as she was certain that he was to blame for that
shattered wreck which sometimes made Beechwood a terror and
a dread, but to which Alice clung with so filial devotion. There
was very little in common between Alice and her father. A
thorough man of the world, with no regard for anything holy
and good, except as it helped to raise him in the estimation of
his fellows, Mr. Grey could no more understand his gentle
daughter, whose life was so pure and consistent, and so con
stant a rebuke to him, than she could sympathize with him in
his ways of thinking and acting. There was a time when in
his heart he had said there was no God, a time when, without
the slightest hesitancy, he would have trampled upon all God's
divine institutions and set his laws at naught ; and the teachings
of one as fascinating and agreeable as Arthur Grey had been
productive of more harm than this life would ever show, for
they had reached on even to the other world, where some of his
deluded followers had gone before him. But as Alice grew into
girlhood, with her sweet face and the example of her holy Chris
tian life, there was a change, and people said that Arthur Grey
was a better man. Outwardly he was, perhaps. He said no
longer there was no God. He knew there was when he looked
at his patient, self-denying daughter, and he knew that Grace
alone had made her what she was. For Alice's sake he admit
ted Alice's God, and, because he knew it helped him in various
ways, he paid all due deference to the forms of religion, and
none were more regular in their attendance at the little church
on the mountain side than he, or paid more liberally to every
religious and charitable object. He believed himself that he
had reformed, and he charged the reform to Alice and the mem
ory of a golden-haired woman whom he had loved better than
he had since loved a human being, save his daughter Alice. But
far greater than his love for his daughter was his love of selfj
ALICE GREY. IOI
and because it suited him to do it he took his child from school
without the shadow of an excuse to her, and was now making
other arrangements for her without so much as asking how she
would like them. He did not greatly care. If it suited him it
must suit her ; and, as the first step toward the accomplishment
of his object, he removed from Beechwood the great trial of hi?
life, and put it where it could not trouble him, and turned a deaf
ear to its entreaties to be taken back to "home" and "Allie"
and the " crib" its poor arms had rocked so many weary nights.
He knew the people with whom he left his charge were kind and
considerate. He had tested them in that respect ; he paid them
largely for what they did. " Laura " was better there than at
Beechwood, he believed ; at all events he wanted her out of his
way for a time, and so he had unclasped her clinging arms from
his neck and kissed her flushed, tear-stained face, and put her
from him, and locked the door upon her, and gone his way,
thinking that when he served himself he was doing the best
thing which Arthur Grey could do.
He was coming home the night after Alice's arrival, and the
carriage went down to the station to meet him. There was
a haze in the sky, and the moon was not as bright as on the
previous night, when Allie rode up the mountain side ; but it
was very pleasant and cool, and Mr. Grey enjoyed his ride, and
thought how well he had managed everything, and was glad he
had been so kind and gentle with Laura, and sent her that
basket of fruit, and that pretty little cradle, which he found in
New York ; and then he thought of Alice, and his heart gave a
throb of pleasure when he saw the gleam of her white dress
through the moonlight as she came out to meet him. There
was a questioning look in her eyes, a grieved, sorry kind ot
expression, which he saw as he led her into the hall, and he
kissed her very tenderly, and, smoothing her chestnut hair, said
in reply to that look :
"I knew you would hate to leave school, Allie ; but I am
going to take you to Europe."
IO2 ALICE GREY.
" To Europe ? Oh, father ! " And Alice gave a scream ol
joy.
A trip to Europe had been her dream of perfect happiness,
and now that the dream was to be fulfilled, it seemed too good
to be true.
" Oh, auntie ! " she cried, running up to that stately lady,
who, in her iron-gray puffs and black satin of the previous night,
was coming slowly to meet her brother, " Auntie, we are go
ing to Europe, all of us ! Isn't it splendid ? "
She was very beautiful in her white dress, with her blue eyes
shining so bright!}', and she hung about her father in a caress
ing way, and played and sang his favorite songs ; and then,
when at last he bade her good-night, she shook her curly head,
and, holding fast his hand, went with him up the stairs to his
own room, which she entered with him. She felt that he did not
want her there ; but she stayed just the same, and, seating her
self upon his knee, laid her soft, white arms across his neck,
and, looking straight into his eyes, pleaded earnestly for the
poor creature who had been an occupant of the adjoining
room.
" Let her go with us, father. I am sure the voyage would do
her good. Don't leave her there alone."
But Mr. Grey said " No," gently at first, then very firmly as
Alice grew more earnest, and, finally, so sternly and decidedly,
that Alice gave it up, with a great gush of tears, and only asked
permission to see her once before she sailed. But to this Mr.
Grey answered no, also.
" It would only excite her," he said ; "and the more quiet
she is kept, the better it is for her. I have seen that everything
is provided for her comfort. She is better there than here, or
with us across the sea. We shall be absent several years, per
haps, as I intend putting you at some good school where you
will finish your education."
He intimated a wish for her to leave him then, and so she
bade him good-night, and left him alone with his thoughts,
which were not of the most agreeable nature. How still it
ALICE GREY. 103
was in the next room ! so still, that he trembled as he opened
the door and went in, where Alice had wept so bitterly. He
did not weep ; he never wept ; but he was conscious of a feeling
of oppression and pain as he glanced around the quiet, ord erly
room, at the chair by the window, the bed in the corner, and
the crib standing near.
" What could have put that idea into her head ? " he asked
himself, as, with his hand upon the cradle, he made the motion
which poor Laura kept up so constantly.
Then with a sigh he went back to his own room, and stood
a long time before that picture of the graveyard, which hung
upon the wall. There was a softness now in his eyes and man
ner, a softness which increased when he turned to his chair
by the writing-desk, and took from a drawer the faded flowers
and the curl of hair which Alice had found.
"Poor Jessie ! I wish I had never crossed her path," he said,
as he put the curl and flowers away, and thought again of Alice
and the little dark-eyed girl who had designated her " Frank's
Alice Grey."
" Frank's, indeed!" he said; "I trust I have effectually
stopped any foolishness of that kind."
Frank Irving was evidently not a favorite with Mr. Grey,
though not a word was ever said of him to Alice, who, as the
days went by, began to be reconciled to her removal from
school, and to interest herself in her preparations for the trip to
Europe. They were to sail the last of August, and one morn
ing, in October, Magdalen received a letter from Frank, saying
that he had just heard, from one of Miss Dana's pupils, that
Alice Grey had gone to Italy.
IO4 A RETROSPECT.
CHAPTER XIII.
A RETROSPECT.
IX years have passed away and we lift the curtain of
our story in Charlestown, and, after pausing there a
moment, go back across the bridge which spans the
interval between the present and the past. It was the day but
one before the close of the term, and those who had learned to
love each other with a school-girl's warm, impetuous love,
would soon part, some forever and some to meet again, but
when, or where, none could tell.
" It may be for years, and it may be forever ! "
sang a clear, bird-like voice in the music-room, where Magda
len Lennox was practising the song she was to sing the follow
ing night.
" Yes, it may be for years, and it may be forever ! I wish
there were no such thing as parting from those we love," the
young girl sighed, as, with her sheet of music in her hand, she
passed through the hall, and up the stairs, to the room which
had been hers so long.
Magdalen had been very happy at Charlestown, where every
one loved her, from the teacher, whom she never annoyed, to
the smallest child, whom she so often helped and encouraged ;
and she had enjoyed her vacations at Millbank, and more than
once had taken two or three of her young friends there for the
winter or summer holidays. And Hester had petted, and ad
mired, and waited upon her, and scolded her for soiling so
many white skirts, and then had sat up nights to iron these
skirts, and had remarked, with a feeling of pride and complac
ency, that Hattie Johnson's dresses were not as full or as long
as Magdalen's. Hester was very proud of Magdalen ; they
were all proud of her at Millbank, and vied with each other in
their attentions to her ; and Magdalen appreciated their kind
A RETROSPECT. 105
ness, and loved her pleasant home, and thought there was i.a
place like it in the world ; but for all that she rather dreaded
returning to it for good, with nothing to look forward to in the
future. She understood her position now far better than when
she was a child, and as she thought over the strange circum
stances which had resulted \$. bringing her to Millbank, her
cheeks had burned crimson for the mother who had so wan
tonly deserted her. Still she could not hate that mother, and
her nightly prayers always ended with a blessing upon her, and
a petition that she might sometime find her, or know, at least,
who she was. She knew she had no claim on Roger Irving,
and, as she grew older, she shrank from a life of dependence at
Millbank, especially as Frank was likely to be there a good
share of his time.
With all the ardor of her impulsive nature she had clung to
and believed in him, until the day when he, too, said good-by,
and left her for Europe. He had been graduated with tolera
ble credit to himself, and because of his fine oratorical ability
had appeared upon the stage, and made what Magdalen had
thought a "splendid speech " for Magdalen was there in the
old Centre Church, listening with wrapt attention, and a face
radiant with the admiration she felt for her hero, whose grace
ful gestures and clear, musical voice covered a multitude of
defects in his rather milk-and-watery declamation. It was
Magdalen's bouquet which had fallen directly at his feet when
his speech was ended, and nothing could have been prettier
than his manner as he stooped to pick it up, and then bowed
his thanks to the young girl, whose face flushed all over with
pride, both then and afterward, when, in the evening, she leaned
upon his arm at the reception given to the students and their
friends. Magdalen was a little girl of thirteen-and-a-half, while
Frank was twenty-two ; -was a graduate ; was Mr. Irving, of
New York ; and could afford to patronize her, and at the same
time be very polite and attentive to scores of young ladies
whose acquaintance he had made during his college career.
After that July day in New Haven, the happiest and proud-
5*
IO6 A RETROSPECT.
cst of Magdalen's life, he went with her to Millbank, and fished
again in the Connecticut, and hunted in the woods, and smoked
his cigars beneath the maple-trees, and teazed and tyrannized
over, and petted, and made a slave of Magdalen, just as the
fancy took him. Then there came a letter from Roger, writ
ten after the receipt of one frorn^ Magdalen, who, because she
fancied it might please her hero, had said how much Frank
would enjoy a year's travel in Europe, and how much good it
would do him, especially as he was looking worn and thin from
his recent close application to study.
Roger bit his lip when he read that letter and wondered if
the hint was Frank's suggestion, and wondered, too, if it were
best to act upon it ; and then, with a genuine desire to see his
young kinsman, he wrote to Frank, inviting him to Paris, and
offering to defray his expenses for a year in Europe. Frank
was almost beside himself with joy, for, except at Millbank, he
felt that he had no home, proper, in the world. His mother
had been compelled to rent her handsome house, and board
with the people who rented it. This just supported her, and
nothing more. He would be in the way in Lexington Avenue,
and he accepted Roger's invitation eagerly ; and one bright
day, in September, sailed out of the harbor at New York, while
Magdalen stood on the shore and waved her handkerchief to
him until the vessel passed from sight.
The one year abroad had grown into five ; Roger was fond
of travel ; he had plenty of money at his command ; it was as
cheap living in Europe as at Millbank, where under efficient
superintendence everything seemed to go on as well without as
with him. He never encroached upon his principal, even after
Frank came to be his companion, and so he had lingered year
after year, sometimes in glorious Italy, sometimes climbing the
sides of Switzerland's snow-capped mountains, sometimes wan
dering through the Holy Land or exploring the river Nile, and
again resting for months on the vine-clad hills which over
shadow the legendary Rhine. Frank was not always with him.
He did not care for pictures, or scenery, or works of art ; and
A RETROSPECT. IO?
when Roger stopped for months to improve himself in these,
Frank went his own way to voluptuous Pari-s, where the gay
society suited him better, or on to the beautiful island of Ischia,
where all was " so still, so green, and so dreamy," and where at
the little mountain inn, called the " Piccola Sentinella," and
which overlooked the sea, he met again with Alice Grey.
But any hopes he might have entertained with regard to the
girl whom he had admired so much in New Haven were effectu
ally cut off by the studied coolness of Mr. Grey's manner to
wards him, and the obstacles constantly thrown in the way of
his seeing her alone. Mr. Grey did not like Frank Irving, and
soon after the arrival of the latter at the " Piccola Sentinella,"
he gave up his rooms at the inn, and started with his daughter
for Switzerland. There was a break then in Frank's letters to
Magdalen, and when at last he wrote again it was to say that
he was coming home, and that Roger was coming with him.
This letter, which reached Magdalen the night preceding
the examination, awoke within her a feeling of uneasiness and
disquiet. She had been always more or less afraid of Roger,
and she was especially so now that she had not seen him for
more than eight years, and he would undoubtedly expect so
much from her as a graduate and a young lady of eighteen.
She almost wished he would stay in Europe, or that she had
some other home than Millbank. It would not be half so
pleasant with the master there, as it used to be in other days
when she was a little girl fishing with Frank in the river, or
hunting with him in the woods. Frank would be at Millbank,
too, it was true; but the travelled Frank, who spoke French
like a native, was very different from the Frank of five years
ago, and Magdalen dreaded him almost as much as she
dreaded Roger himself, wondering if he would tease her as he
used to do, and if he would think her improved and at all like
Alice Grey, whom she knew he had met again at the " Piccola
Sentinella." " I wish they would stay abroad five years more,"
she thought, as she finished reading Frank's letter ; and her
cheeks grew so hot and red, and her pulse beat so rapidly, that
108 IN THE EVENING.
it was long after midnight ere she could quiet herself for the
rest she would need on the morrow, when she was to act so
conspicuous a part.
CHAPTER XIV.
IN THE EVENING.
jIAGDALEN was very beautiful in her white, fleecy
dress, which swept backward with as broad and grace
ful a sweep as ever Mrs. Walter Scott's had done
when she walked the halls at Millbank. There were flowers on
her bosom, knots of flowers on her short sleeves, and flowers in
her wavy hair, which was arranged in heavy coils about her head,
with one or two curls falling behind her ears. She knew she
was handsome ; she had been told that too often not to know it ;
while had there been no other means of knowledge within her
reach, her mirror would have set her right. But Magdalen was
not vain, and there was not the slightest tinge of self-conscious
ness in her manner as she went through the various parts as
signed her during the day, and received the homage of the
crowd. Once her room-mate had asked if she did not wish
Mr. Irving could be present in the evening, and Magdalen had
answered, " No, I would not have him here for the world. I
should be sure to make a miserable failure, if I knew Mr. Ir
ving and Frank were looking on. But there is no danger of
that. They cannot have reached New York yet."
Later in the day, and just as it was growing dark, a young
girl came into Magdalen's room, talking eagerly of "the two
most splendid-looking men she had ever seen."
" They came," she said, " out of the hotel and walked before
me all the way, looking hard at the seminary as they passed it.
I wonder who they were. Both were handsome, and one was
perfectly splendid."
Iff THE EVEMNG ICKJ
When Nellie Freeman was talking her companions usually
listened to her, and they did so now, laughing at her enthusiasm,
and asking several questions concerning the strangers who had
interested her so much. Magdalen said nothing, and her cheek
turned pale for an instant as something in Nellie's description
of the younger gentleman made her wonder if the strangers
could be Frank and Roger. But no : they could not have
reached New York yet, and if they had, they would not come
onlNo Charlestown without apprising her of their intentions,
unless they wished to see her first without being themselves
seen. The very idea of the latter possibility made Magdalen
faint, and she asked if one of the gentlemen was " oldish look
ing?"
" No, both young, decidedly so," was Nellie's reply, which
decided the matter for Magdalen.
It was not Roger Irving. She had seen no picture of him
since the one sent her six years ago, and judging him by her
self he must have changed a great deal since then. To girls
of eighteen, thirty-two seems old ; and Roger was thirty-two, and
consequently old, and very patriarchal, in Magdalen's estima
tion. There were some gray hairs in his head, and he began to
stoop, and wear glasses when he read, if the print was fine and
the light dim, she presumed. Nellie's hero was not Roger, and
Magdalen arranged the flowers in her hair, and smoothed the
long curls which fell upon her neck, and clasped her gold brace
lets on her arms, and then, when it was time, appeared before
the assembled crowd, who hailed her" with acclamations of joy,
and when her brilliant performance at the piano was ended,
sent after her such cheers as called her back again, not to play
this time, but merely to bow before the audience, which show
ered her with bouquets. Very gracefully she acknowledged the
compliment paid to her, and then retired, her cheeks burning
scarlet and her heart throbbing painfully as she thought of the
face which she had seen far back among the spectators, just be
fore she left the stage. Was it Frank who was standing on his
feet and applauding her so heartily, and was that Roger beside
110 ROGER AND FRANK.
him ? If so, she could never face that crowd again and sing
Kathleen Mavourneen. And yet she must. They were calling
for her now, and with a tremendous effort of the will she quieted
her beating heart and went again before the people. But she
did not look across the room toward the two figures in the
corner. She only knew there was a movement in that direction
as if some person or persons were going out, just as she tooL
her place by the piano. At first her voice trembled a little,
but gradually it grew steadier, clearer, and more bird-like in its
tones, while the people listened breathlessly, and tears' rushed
to the eyes of some as she threw her whole soul into the pa
thetic words, " It may be for years and it may be forever."
She did not think of the possible presence of Roger and Frank
then. She was thinking more of those from whom she was to
separate so soon, and she sang as she had never sung before,
so sweetly, so distinctly, that not a word was lost, and when
the song was ended there came a pause as if her listeners
were loth to stir until the last faint echo of the glorious music
had died away. Then followed a storm of applause, before
which all other cheers were as nothing, and bouquets of the
costliest kind fell in showers at her feet. Over one of these she
partly stumbled, and was stooping to pick it up when a young
man sprang to her side, and picking it up for her, said to her
in tones which thrilled her through and through, "Take my
arm, Magdalen, and come with me to Roger."
CHAPTER XV.
ROGER AND FRANK.
I HE steamer in which Roger and Frank sailed for
America had reached New York three days before
Magdalen believed it due. In her tasteful parlor,
where her handsomest furniture was arranged, Mrs. Waltei
ROGER AND FRANK. . Ill
Scott had received the travellers, lamenting to Roger amid her
words of welcome that she could not entertain him now as she
could once have*done when at the head of her own household
She was a boarder still, and her income had not increased dur
ing the last five years. Her dresses were made to last longei
than of old, and she always thought twice before indulging in
any new vanity. Still she was in excellent spirits, induced in
part by meeting her son again, and partly by a plan which she
had in her mind and meant to carry out. It appeared in the
course of the evening, when speaking of Magdalen, who was so
soon to be graduated and return to Millbank.
" You'll be wanting some lady of experience and culture as
a companion for Miss Lennox. Have you decided upon any
one in particular ? " she said to Roger, who looked at her in
astonishment, wondering what she meant.
She explained her meaning, and made him understand that
to a portion of the world at least it would seem highly improper
for a young lady like Magdalen to live at Millbank without
some suitable companion as a chaperone. She did not hint
that she would under any circumstances fill that place. Neither
did Roger then suspect her motive. He was a little disap
pointed and a little sorry, too, that any one should think it
necessary for a second party to stand between him and Mag
dalen. He had met with many brilliant belles in foreign lands,
high-born dames and court ladies with titles to their names, and
some of 'iiese had smiled graciously upon the young American,
and thought it worth their while to flatter and admire him, but
not one of all the gay throng had ever made Roger's heart beat
one throb the faster. Women were not to him what they were
to fickle, flirting Frank, and that he would ever marry did not
seem to him very probable, unless he found some one widely
different from the ladies with whom he had come in contact.
Of Magdalen, his baby, he always thought as he had last seen
her, with her shaker-bonnet hanging down her back, and eyes
brimfull of tears as she leaned over the gate watching him
going down the avenue and away from Millbank. To him she
112 ROGER AND FRANK.
was only a child, whose frolicsome ways and merry laugh, and
warm-hearted, impulsive manner he liked to remember as some
thing which would still exist when he -eturned to Millbank.
But Mrs. Walter Scott tore the veil away. Magdalen was a
young lady, a girl of eighteen, and Roger began to feel a little
uneasy with regard to the manner in which he would be ex
pected to treat her. As a father, or at most as her elder
brother and guardian, he thought ; but he could not see the
necessity for that third person at Millbank just because a few
of Mrs. Grundy's daughters might require it. At all events he
would wait and see what Magdalen was like before he decided.
He was to start next day for Millbank, whither a telegram had
been sent telling of his arrival, and producing a great commo
tion among the servants.
Hester was an old woman now of nearly seventy, but her
form was square and straight as ever, and life was very strong
within her yet. With Aleck, whom time had touched less lightly,
she still reigned supreme at Millbank. Ruey was long since
married and gone, and six children played around her door.
Rosy-cheeked Bessie, who had taken Ruey' s place, was lying out
in the graveyard not far from Squire Irving' s monument, and
Ruth now did her work, and came at Hester's call, after the
telegram was read. The house was always kept in order, but
this summer it had undergone a thorough renovation in honor
of Roger's expected arrival, and so it was only needful that the
rooms should be opened and aired, and fresh linen put upon
the beds, and water carried to the chambers, for Frank was to
accompany Roger. When all was done, the house looked very
neat and cool and inviting, and to Roger, who had not seen it
for eight years, it seemed, with its pleasant grounds and the
scent of new-mown hay upon the lawn, like a second Eden, as
he rode up the avenue to the door, where his old servants wel
comed him so warmly. Hester, who was not given to tears,
cried with joy and pride as she led her boy into the house, and
looked into his face and told him he had not grown old a bit,
and ttiat she thought him greatly improved, except for that hair
ROGER AND FRANK. 1 13
about his mouth. "She'd cut that off, the very first thing she
did, for how under the sun and moon was he ever going to eat ? "
And Roger laughed good-humoredly, and told her his mus
tache was his pet, and wound his arm around her and kissed
her affectionately, and said she was handsomer than any woman
he'd seen since he left home.
" In the Lord's name, what kind of company must the boy
have kept?" old Hester retorted, feeling flattered nevertheless,
and thinking her boy the handsomest and best she had ever
seen.
It was Frank who proposed going on to Charlestown to es
cort Magdalen home, and who suggested that they should not
introduce themselves until they had first seen her, and Roger
consented to the plan and went with his nephew to Charles-
town, and took his seat among the spectators, feeling very anx
ious for Magdalen to appear, and wondering how she would
look as a young lady. He could not realize the fact that she
was eighteen. In his mind she was the little girl leaning over
the gate with her eyes swimming in tears, while Frank re
membered her standing upon the wharf, her face very red with
the autumnal wind which tossed her dress so unmercifully, and
showed her big feet, wrinkled stockings, and shapeless ankles.
Neither of them had a programme, and they did not know when
she was coming, and when at last she came, Roger did not
recognize her at first. . But Frank's exclamation of something
more than surprise as he suddenly rose to his feet, warned him
that it was Magdalen who bore herself so like a queen as she
took her seat at the piano. The little girl in the shaker, lean
ing over the gate, faded before this vision of beautiful girlhood,
and for a moment Roger felt as a father might feel who after an
absence of eight years returns to find his only child developed
into a lovely woman. His surprise and admiration kept him
silent, while his eyes took in the fresh, glowing beauty of Mag
dalen's face, and his well-trained ears drank in the glorious
music she was making. Frank, on the contrary, was restless
and impatient. Had it been possible, he would have gone to
114 ROGER AND FRANK.
Magdalen at once, and stood guard over her against the glances
of those who, he felt, had no right to look at her as they were
looking. He saw that she was the bright star, around which the
interest of the entire audience centred, and he wanted to claim
her before them all as something belonging exclusively to the
Irving family, but, wedged in as he was, he could not well effect
his egress, and he sat eagerly listening or rather looking at Mag
dalen. He could hardly be said to hear her, although he knew
how well she was acquitting herself. He was watching her
glowing face and noticing the glossy waves of her hair, the long
curls on her neck, and the graceful motions of her white hands
and arms, and was thinking what a regal-looking creature she
was, and how delightful it would be at Millbank, where one
could have her all to himself. He did not regard Roger as in
his way at all. Roger never cared for women as he did. Roger
was wholly given to books, and would not in the least interfere
with the long walks, and rides, and tete-a-tetes which Frank had
rapidly planned to enjoy with Magdalen even before she left the
stage for the first time. When she came back to sing he could
sit still no longer, but forced his way through the crowd,
and went round to her just in time to escort her from the
stage. His appearance was so sudden, and Magdffen was so
surprised, that ere she realized at all what it meant, she had
taken Frank's offered arm, and he was leading her past the
group of young girls who sent many curious glances after him,
and whispered to each other that he must be the younger Mr.
Irving.
Frank was wonderfully improved in looks, and there was in
his manner a watchful tenderness and deference toward ladies,
very gratifying to those who like to feel that they are cared for
and looked after, and their slightest wish anticipated. And
Magdalen felt it even during the moment they were walking
down the hall to the little reception room, where Frank turned
her more fully to the light, and said : " Excuse me, but I must
look at you again. Do you know how beautiful you have
ROGER AND FRANK. 11$
grown ? As your brother, I think I might kiss you after my
long absence."
Magdalen did not tell him he was not her brother, but she
took a step backward, while a look flashed into her eyes, which
warned Frank that his days for kissing her were over.
"Where is Mr. Irving?" she asked; and then, seating her in
a chair, and thoughtfully dropping the curtain so that the cool
night air, which had in it a feeling of rain, should not blow so
directly upon her uncovered neck, Frank left her and went for
Roger.
Magdalen would have kissed Roger as she thought of him
while sitting there waiting for him, but when he came, and stood
before her, she would as soon have kissed Frank himself, as
the elegant^ooking young man whose dark-blue eyes and rich,
brown hair with a dash of gold in it, were all that were left of
the Roger who went from her eight years ago. He was entirely
different from Frank, both in looks and style and manner. He
could not bend over a woman with such brooding tenderness,
and make her think every thought and wish were subservient to
his own, but there was something about him which impressed
one with the genuine goodness and honesty of the man who was
worth a dozen Franks. And Magdalen felt it at once, and gave
her hand trustingly to him, and did not try to draw back from
him when, as a father would have kissed his child, he bent over
her, and kissed her fair brow, and told her how glad he was to
see her, and how much she was improved.
" I should never have recognized you but for Frank," he
said. " You have changed so much from the little girl "who
leaned over the gate to bid me good-by. Do you remember it ? "
Magdalen did remember it, and her sorrow at parting with
Roger, and could hardly realize that he had come back to her
again. He was very kind, very attentive ; and she felt a thrill
of pride as she walked through the halls or talked to her com
panions, with Roger and Frank on either side of her, Frank so
absorbed in her as to pay no heed to those around him, while
Roger never for a moment forgot that something was due tc
Il6 ROGER AND FRANK.
others as *vell as to Magdalen. He saw her all the time, and
heard every word she said, and marked how well she said it, but
he was attentive and courteous to others, and made himself so
agreeable to Nellie Freeman, to whom Magdalen introduced
him, that she dreamed of him that night, and went next morn
ing to the depot on pretence of bidding Magdalen good-by a
second time, but really for the sake of seeing Mr. Irving.
As Roger was anxious to return home as soon as possible,
they left Charlestown on an early train and reached Millbank
at two o'clock. Dinner was waiting for them, while Hester in
her clean brown gingham, with her white apron tied around hex
waist, stood in the door, ready to welcome her young people.
Magdalen was her first object of attention, and the old lady
kissed her lovingly, and then went with her to her pleasant
chamber, which looked so cool and airy with its matting, and
curtains of muslin looped with blue, and its snowy white bed
in the corner. She could not change her dress before dinner,
for her trunks had not been sent up, but she bathed her
heated face, and put on a fresh pair of cuffs and a clean linen
collar, and then, with her damp hair one mass g waves and
little curls, she went down to the dining-room, where Roger met
her at the door and led her to the head of his table, installing
her as mistress, and bidding her do the honors as the young lady
of the house. In spite of her gray dress, unrelieved by any
color except the garnet pin which fastened her collar, Magda
len looked very handsome as she presided at Roger's table, and
her white hands moved gracefully among the silver service ; for
there was fragrant coffee for dinner, with rich sweet cream from
the morning's milk, and Hester, who cared little for fashions,
had sent it .up with the meats, because she knew Roger would
like it best that way.
The dinner over, the party separated, Magdalen going to her
room to put her things away, Frank sauntering off to the sum
mer-house, with his box of cigars, and Roger joining Hester,
who had so much to tell him of the affairs at Millbank since he
went away.
LIFE AT MILLS A NK. II?
CHAPTER XVI.
LIFE AT MILLI3ANK.
|AGDALEN was very fresh and bright next morning
when she went down to breakfast, in her white cambric
wrapper, just short enough in front to show her small,
trim foot and well-shaped ankle, which Frank saw at once.
There were no wrinkles in her stockings, and the little high-
heeled slippers were as unlike as possible to the big shoes
which he remembered so well, wondering at the change, and
never guessing that Magdalen's persisting in wearing shoes too
large for her while growing, had helped to form the little feet
which he admired so much as they tripped up and down the
stairs or through the halls, with him always hovering near.
Her bright, sprightly manner, which had in it a certain spice
of recklessness and daring, just suited him, and as the days
went by, and he became more and more fascinated with her,
he followed her like her shadow, feeling glad that so much of
Roger's attention was necessarily given to his agents and
overseers, who came so often to Millbank, that he at last
opened an office in the village, where he spent most of his
time, thus leaving Frank free to walk and talk with Magdalen
as much as he pleased. And he improved his opportunity,
and was seldom absent from her side more than a few
moments at a time. At first this devotion was very grati
fying to Magdalen, who still regarded Frank as the hero of
her childhood, but after a few weeks of constant intercourse
with him, the spell which had bound her was broken, and she
began to tire a little of his attentions, and wish sometimes to
be alone.
One afternoon they were sitting together by the river, on the
mossy bank, beneath the large buttonwood tree, where they
had spent so many pleasant hours in the years gone by, and
Frank was talking of his future, and deploring his poverty as a
IlS LIFE AT MILLBANK.
hindrance to his ever becoming popular or even successful ii
anything.
" Now, if I were Roger," said he, "with his twenty-five thou
sand a year, it would make a great difference. But here I am,
most twenty-seven years old, with no profession, no means of
earning an honest livelihood, and only the yearly interest of six
thousand dollars, which, if I were to indulge my tastes, would
barely keep me in cigars and gloves and neckties. I tell you
what, Magdalen, it's mighty inconvenient to be so poor."
As he delivered himself of this speech, Frank stretched him
self upon the grass and gave a lazy puff at his cigar, while his
face wore a kind of martyred look as if the world had dealt
very harshly with him. Magdalen was thoroughly angry, and
her eye flashed indignantly, as she turned towards him. He
had been at Millbank nearly four weeks, and showed no inten
tion of leaving it. "Just sponging his board out of Roger,"
Hester said ; and the old lady's remarks had their effect on Mag
dalen, who herself began to wonder if it was Frank's intention
to leave the care of his support entirely to his uncle. It was
her nature to say out what she thought, and turning to Frank,
she said abruptly, " If you are so poor, why dorit you go to work
and do something for yourself? If I were a man, with as many
avenues open to me as there are to men, I would not sit idly
down and bemoan the fate which had given me only six thou
sand dollars. I'd make the most of that, and do something for
myself. I do not advise you to go away from Millbank, if there
is anything you can do here ; but, honestly, Frank, I think it
would look better if you were trying to help yourself instead
of depending upon Mr. Irving, who has been so kind to you.
And what I say to you I mean also for myself. There is no
reason why / should be any longer a dependent here, and as
soon as I can find a situation as teacher or governess I shall
accept it, and you will see I can practise what I preach. I
did not mean to wound you, Frank, but it seems to me that
both of us have received enough at Mr. Irving's hands, and
LIFE AT MILLBANK, 119
should now try to help ourselves. You are not angiy with me,
I hope ? "
She was looking at him with her great bright eyes so kindly
and trustingly that he could not be angry with her, though he
winced a little and wished that she had not been quite so plain
and outspoken with him. It was the first time any one had
put it before him in plain words that he was living on Roger,
and it hurt him cruelly that Magdalen should be the one to
rebuke him. Still he would not let her see his annoyance, and
he tried to appear natural as he answered, " I could not be
angry with you, especially when you tell me only the truth. I
ought not to live on Roger, and I don't mean to, any longer.
I'll go into his office to-morrow. I heard him say he wanted a
clerk to do some of his writing. I'll be that clerk, and work
like a dog. Will that suit you, Maggie ? "
Ere Magdalen could reply, a footstep was heard, and Roger
came round a bend in the river, fanning himself with his straw
hat, and looking very much heated with his rapid walk.
" I thought I should find you here," he said. " It's a splen
did place for a hot day. I wish I'd nothing to do but enjoy
this delicious shade as you two seem to be doing ; but I must
disturb you, Frank. Your mother has just arrived, and is quite
anxious to see you."
Frank would far rather have stayed down by the river, and
mentally wishing his mother in Guinea, he rather languidly
arose and walked away, leaving Magdalen alone with Roger.
Taking the seat Frank had vacated, he laid his hat upon the
grass, and leaning his head upon his elbow began to talk very
freely and familiarly, asking Magdalen if she missed her school
mates any, and if she did not think Millbank a much pleasanter
place than Charlestown.
Here was the very opening Magdalen desired; here a
chance to prove that she was sincere in wishing to do some
thing for herself, and in a few words she made her intentions
known to Roger, who quickly lifted himself from his reclining
position, and turned toward her a troubled, surprised face as
120 LIFE AT MILLBANK.
he asked why she wished to leave Millbank. " Arj you not
happy here, Magda? "
He had written that name once to her, but had not called
her thus before in her hearing; and now as he did so his voice
was so low and kind and winning, that the tears sprang to Mag
dalen's eyes, and she felt for a moment a pang of homesickness
at the thought of leaving Millbank.
" Yes, very happy," she said ; " but that is no reason why I
should remain a dependent upon you, and before I left the
Seminary I determined to earn my own living as soon as an
opportunity presented itself. I cannot forget that I have no
right to be here, no claim upon you."
" No claim up me, Magdalen ! No right to be here ! " Roger
exclaimed. " As well might a daughter say she had no right in
her father's house."
" I am not your daughter, Mr. Irving. I am nobody's daugh
ter, so far as I know : or if I am, I ought perhaps to blush for the
parents who deserted me. I have no name, no home, except
what you so kindly gave me, and you have been kind, Mr. Ir
ving, very, very kind, but that is no reason why I should burden
you now that I am able to take care of fliyself. O, mother,
mother ! if I could only find her, or know why she treated me
so cruelly."
Magdalen was sobbing now, with her face buried in her hands,
and Roger could see the great tears dropping from between
her fingers. He knew she was crying for the mother she had
never known, and that shame, quite as much as filial affection,
was the cause of her distress, and he pitied her so much, know
ing just how she felt; for there had been a time when he, too,
was tormented with doubts concerning his own mother, the
golden -haired Jessie, who was now cherished in his memory as
the purest of women. He was very sorry for Magdalen, and
very uncertain as to what, under the circumstances, it was
proper for him to do. The world said she was a young lady,
and if Roger had seen as much of her during the last four weeks
as Frank had seen, he might have thought so too. But so
LIFE AT MILLBANK. 121
absorbed had he been in his business, and so much of his time
had been taken up with looking over accounts and receipts,
and listening to what his agents had done, that he had given no
very special attention to Magdalen, further than that perfect
courtesy and politeness which he would award to any lady.
He knew that she was very bright and pretty and sprightly, and
that the tripping of her footsteps and the rustle of her white
dress, and the sound of her clear, rich voice, breaking out in
merry peals of laughter, or singing in the twilight, made Mill-
bank very pleasant ; but he thought of her still as a child, his
little child, whom he had held in his lap in the dusty car and
hushed to sleep in his arms. She was only eighteen, he was
thirty-two ; and with that difference between them, he might
surely soothe and comfort her as if she really were his daugh
ter. Moving so near to her that her muslin dress swept across
his feet, he laid his hand very gently upon her hair, and Mag
dalen, when she felt the pitying, caressing touch of that great
broad, warm hand, which seemed in some way to encircle and
shield her from all care or sorrow, bowed her head upon her
lap, and cried more bitterly than before, cried now with a feel
ing of utter desolation, as she began dimly to realize what it
would be to go away from Millbank and its master.
" Poor Magda," he said, and his voice had in it all a father's
tenderness, " I am sorry to see you so much distressed. I can
guess in part at the cause of your tears. You are crying for
your mother, just as I have cried for mine many and many a
time."
" No, not as you have cried for yours," Magdalen said, lift
ing up her head and flashing her brilliant eyes upon him.
" Hester has told me about your mother. You believe her
pure and good, while mine oh, Mr. Irving, I don't know
what I believe of mine."
" Try to believe the best, then, until you know the worst ; "
and Roger laid his arm across Magdalen's shoulders and drew
her nearer to him, as he continued : " I have thought a great
deal about that woman who left you in my care. I believe she
6
122 LIFE AT MILLBANK.
was crazy, made so by some great sorrow, your father's death,
perhaps, for she was dressed in black ; and, if so, she was
not responsible for what she did, and you need not question
her motives. She had a young, innocent face, and bright,
handsome eyes like yours, Magda."
Every time he spoke that name, Magdalen felt a strange
thrill creep through her veins, and she grew very quiet while
Roger talked to her of her mother, and the time when he
found himself with a helpless child upon his hands.
" I adopted you then as my own, my little baby," he said.
" You had nothing to do with it ; the bargain was of my making,
and you cannot break it. I have never given up my guardian
ship, never mean to give it up until some one claims you who
has a better right than I to my little girl. And this I am say
ing in answer to your proposition of going away from Millbank,
because you have no right here, no claim on me. I am sorry
that you should feel so, you have a claim on me, I cannot
let you go, Millbank would be very lonely without you,
Magda."
He paused a moment, and, looking off upon the hills across
the river, seemed to be thinking intently. But it was not of
the interpretation which many young girls of eighteen might
put upon his words and manner. Nothing could be further
from his mind than making love to Magdalen. He really
felt as if he stood to her in the relation of a father, and that she
had the same claim upon him which a child has upon a parent.
Her proposition to leave Millbank disturbed him, and led
him to think that perhaps he was in some way at fault. He
had not been very attentive to her ; he had been so much ab
sorbed in his business as to forget that any attentions were due
from him as master of the house. He had left all these things
to Frank, who knew so much better how to entertain young
ladies than he did ; but he meant to do better ; and his eyes
came back at last from the hflls across the river, and rested very
kindly on her, as he said :
LIFE AT MILLBANK. 12,3
" I am thinking, Magda, that possibly I may have been
remiss in my attentions to you since my return. I am not a
lady's man, in the common acceptation of the term ; but I
have never meant to neglect you ; and when I have seemed
the most forgetful, you have been, perhaps, the most in my
mind ; and the coming home at night from the business which
nearly drives me crazy, has been very pleasant to me, because
you were there at our home I will call it, for it is as much yours
as mine, and I want you to consider it so. It is hardly prob
able that I shall ever marry. I have lived to be thirty-two
without finding a woman whom I would care to make my wife ,
and, after thirty, one's chances of matrimony lessen. But,
whether I marry or not, I shall provide for you, as well as
Frank, who should perhaps have had more of my father's prop
erty. His mother once believed there was another will, a
later one, which gave him Millbank, and disinherited me ;
but that is all passed now."
This was the first time Magdalen had ever heard the will
matter put in so strong a light, and, springing to her feet, she
exclaimed :
" Give Millbank to Frank, and disinherit you ! I never
heard that hinted before, i understood that the later will
merely gave more to Franknrhan the five thousand dollars. I
never dreamed, I did not know when I oh, Mr. Irving, I
have been such a monster ! "
She was ringing her hands, in her distress at having believed
in and even hunted for a will which would take Millbank from
Roger, who looked at her in astonishment, and asked what she
meant.
" Have you, too, heard of the will trouble ; who told you ? "
he asked. And with her eyes full of tears, which with a quick
nervous motion of her fingers she dashed away, Magdalen
replied :
" Frank told me first years ago, and his mother told me
again, but not of the disinheritance. She said the will was
better for Frank, and I oh, Mr. Irving, forgive me, I hunt-
124 LIFE AT MILLBANK.
ed for it ever so much, in all of the rooms, and in the garret,
where Hester found me, and seemed so angry, that I remembei
thinking she knew something about it if there was one, and like
a silly, curious girl I said to myself, I'll keep hunting till I find
it; but I didn't. Oh, Mr. Irving, believe me, I didn't!"
" Don't look at me so, please," Magdalen exclaimed in a tremor
of distress at the troubled, sorry look in Roger's face, a look
as if he had been wounded in his own home by his own friends.
" I might have hunted more, perhaps," Magdalen went on, too
truthful to keep back anything which concerned herself; "but
so much happened, and I went away to school and forgot all
about it. Will you forgive me for trying to turn you out of
doors." She was kneeling by him now as he sat upon the
bank, and her hands were clasped upon his arm, while her tear
ful face was turned imploringly to his.
Unclasping her hands from his arm, and keeping them be
tween his own, Roger said to her :
"You distress yourself unnecessarily about a thing which
was done with no intention to injure me. I know, of course,
that you would not wish me to give up the home I love so
well ; but, Magdalen, if there was a later will it ought to be
found, and restitution made."
"You do not believe there was such a will, you surely
do not," Magdalen asked, excitedly ; and Roger replied :
" No, I do not. If I did I would move heaven and earth to
find it, for in that case I should have been living all these
years on what belonged to others. Don't look so frightened,
Magdalen," Roger continued, playfully touching her cheek,
which had grown pale at the mere idea of his being obliged to
give up Millbank. " No harm should come to you. I should
take care of my little girl. I would work with my hands if
necessary, and you could help me. How would you like that ? "
It was rather a dangerous situation for a girl like Magdalen.
Her hands were imprisoned by Roger, whose eyes rested so
kindly upon her as he spoke of their working for each other
and asked how she would like it.
LIFE AT MILLBANK. 12$
Hou would she like if? She was a woman, with all a
woman's impulses. And Roger Irving was a splendid-looking
man, with something very winning in his voice and manner,
and it is not strange if at that moment a life of toil with Rogei
looked more desirable to Magdalen than a life of ease at Mill-
bank without him.
" If it ever chances that you leave Millbank, I will gladlj
work like a slave for you, to atone, if possible, for my meddle
some curiosity in trying to find that will," Magdalen replied ;
and Roger responded :
" I wish you to find it if there is one, and I give you full
permission to search as much and as often as you like. You
spoke of Hester's having come upon you once when you were
looking ; where were you then ? "
"Up in the garret," Magdalen said. " There are piles of
rubbish there, and an old barrel of papers. I was tumbling
them over, and I remember now that Hester said something
about its being worse for me if the will was found ; and she
was very cross for several days, and very rude to Mrs. Irving,
who, she said, ' put me up.' She never liked Mrs. Irving much,
although latterly she has treated her very civilly."
" And do you like my sister Helen ? " Roger asked, a doubt
beginning to cross his mind as to the propriety of carrying out
a plan which had recently suggested itself to him. Mrs. Wal
ter Scott, who never did anything without a motive, had petted
and caressed and flattered Magdalen ever since she had fitted
her out for school, and served herself so well by the means.
She had called upon her twice at the seminary, had written her
several affectionate letters, and it was natural that Magdalen,
who was wholly unsuspicious, should like her ; and she expressed
her liking in such strong terms, that Roger's olden feeling of
distrust, if it could be called by so harsh a name, gave way,
and he spoke of what his sister had said to him in New York
with regard to Magdalen having a companion or chaperone at
Millbank.
" You know, perhaps," he said, " that the world has estab-
126 LIFE AT MILLS ANK.
lished certain codes of propriety, one of which says that a
young lady like you should not live alone with an old bachelor
like me. I don't see the harm myself, but sister Helen does,
and she knows what is proper, of course. She has made pro
priety the business of her life, and it has occurred to me that
it might be well for her to stay at Millbank altogether, that
is, if it would please you to have her here."
Magdalen felt that she was competent to take care of her
self, but if she must have a companion she preferred Mrs.
Irving, and assented readily to a plan which had originated
wholly in Mrs. Walter Scott's fertile brain, and to the accom
plishment of which all her energies had been directed for the
last few years.
" It is fortunate that she is here," Roger said, " as we can
talk it over together better than we could write about it. I
shall be glad to assist Helen in that way, and it may prove a
pleasant arrangement for all parties."
They were walking back to the house now, across the pleas
ant fields which were a part of Roger's inheritance, and if in
the young man's heart there was a feeling that it would be hard
to give up all this, it was but the natural result of his recent
conversation concerning the imaginary will. That such a doc
ument existed, he did not believe, however ; and his momentary
disquiet had passed before he reached the house, which looked
so cool and inviting amid the dense shade of the maples and elms.
" Come this way, Magdalen," Roger said, as they entered
the hall ; and Magdalen went with him into the music-room,
starting with surprise, and uttering an exclamation of delight as
she saw a beautiful new piano in place of the old rattling instru
ment which had occupied that corner in the morning.
" Oh, I am so glad ! I can now play with some satisfaction
to myself and pleasure to others," she said, running her fingers
rapidly over the keys, then as her eye fell upon the silver plate,
with her name, " Magdalen Lennox," engraved upon it, she
stopped suddenly, and her eyes filled with tears at once as she
said :
LIFE AT MILLBANK. 12;
" Oh, Mr. Irving, how good you are to me ! what can I do
to show that I appreciate your kindness ? "
Roger had managed to have the piano brought to the house
while she was away, intending it as a surprise, and he enjoyed
it thoroughly, and thought how beautiful she was, with thost
tear-drops glittering in her great dark eyes. She was one, of
whom any parent might be proud, and he was proud of her, and
called himself her father, and tried to believe that he felt to
ward her as a father would feel toward his daughter ; but
somehow that little episode down by the river, when she had
knelt before him, with her hands upon his arm, and her flushed,
eager face so near to his, had stirred a new set of feelings in
his heart and made him, for the first time in his life, averse to
being addressed by her as " Mr. Irving." And when she asked
him what she could do to show how glad she was, he said,
" I know you are glad, I can see it in your eyes, and I
want nothing in return, unless, indeed, you drop the formal
title of Mr. Irving, and give me the more familiar one of
Roger. Couldn't you do that, Magda? "
Magdalen would as soon have thought of calling the clergy
man of the parish by his first name, as to have addressed her
guardian as Rogei, and she shook her head laughingly.
" No, Mr. Irving, you can never be Roger to me, it would
bring you too much on a level with Frank, and that I should
not like."
Perhaps Roger was not altogether displeased with her answer,
for he smiled kindly upon her, and asked if he would have to
fall very far to reach his nephew's level. " In some respects,
yes," was Magdalen's reply, as she commenced a brilliant polka
which brought Frank himself into the parlor, followed by his
mother, who kissed Magdalen lovingly, and then stood with
both her hands folded on the young girl's shoulder as she went
on playing one piece after another, and making such melody as
Dad not been heard since the days when Jessie was queen of
Millbank and played in the twilight for her gray-haired hus
band.
128 LIFE AT MILLBANK
Mrs. Walter Scott was very sociable and kind and conciliatory,
and lavish of her praises of Millbank, which she admired so
much, saying she was half sorry she came, as it would be so
hard to go back to her close, hot rooms in New York. Then
she said she expected to have her house on her hands altogeth
er, as her tenants were intending to go South in November, and
how she should live without the rent she did not know.
" Perhaps I can suggest something which will meet your
approval," Roger said ; and then he proceeded to speak of his
plan that his sister should stay at Millbank with Magdalen.
Mrs. Walter Scott had never thought of such a thing,
she did not know that she could live out of New York,
and nothing but her love for Magdalen and her desire to
serve Roger, who had done so much for Frank, could in
duce her to consider the proposition for a moment. This
was what she said ; but when five hundred dollars a year
was added to her fondness for Magdalen and her desire
to serve Roger, she consented to martyr herself, and accepted
the situation with as much amiability and resignation as if
it had not been the very object for which she had been striv
ing ever since her first visit to Charlestown, when she foresaw
what Magdalen would be, and what Roger would do for her.
It was decided that Frank, too, should remain at Millbank as
a clerk in Roger's office, where he pretended to study law, and
where, after his writing was done, he spent his whole time in
smoking cigars and following Magdalen, who sometimes teased
him unmercifully, and then drove him nearly wild with her
lively sallies and bewitching ways. They were very gay at
Millbank that autumn ; and in the sad years which followed,
Magdalen often looked back upon that time as the happiest
period of her life.
Roger was naturally domestic in his tastes, and would at any
time have preferred a quiet evening at home with his family to
the gayest assemblage ; but his sister-in-law made him believe
that, as the master of Millbank, he owed a great deal to so
ciety, and so he threw open his doors to his friends, who gladly
LIFE AT MILLBANK, I2g
availed themselves of anything which would vary the monotony
of their lives. Always bright and sparkling and brilliant, Mag
dalen reigned triumphant as the belle on all occasions. She
was a general favorite, and as the autumn advanced, the young
maidens of Belvidere, who had dreamed that to be mistress
of Millbank might be an honor in store for one of them, be
gan to notice the soft, tender look in Roger's eyes as they fol
lowed Magdalen's movements, whether in the merry dance, of
which she never tired, or at the piano, where she excelled all
others in the freshness of her voice and the brilliancy of her
execution. Frank, too, with his gentlemanly manners and
foreign air, and Mrs. Walter Scott, with her city style and ele
gance, added to the attractions at Millbank, where everything
wore so bright a hue, with no shadow to foretell the dark storm
which was coming. The will seemed to be entirely forgotten,
though Roger dreamed once that it had been found, and by
Magdalen, too, and that, with an aching heart, he read that
he was a beggar, made so by his father, and that he had gone
out from his beautiful home penniless, but not alone, or utterly
hopeless, for Magdalen was with him, her dark eyes beamed
upon him, and her hands ministered to him just as she had
said they would, should he ever come to what he had.
Roger was glad this was only a dream, glad to awake
in his own pleasant chamber and hear the robins sing in the
maple-tree outside, and see from his window the scarlet tints
with which the autumnal frosts were beginning to touch the
maples. He was strongly attached to his beautiful home, and
to lose it now would be a bicter trial.
But he had no expectation of losing it. It belonged to him
without a question, and all through the autumn months he went
on beautifying and improving it, and studying constantly some
new surprise which would add to the happiness of those he had
gathered around him, and whose comfort he held far above his
own. Wholly unselfish, and liberal almost to a fault, he spent
his money freely, not only for those of his own household, but
for tl'e poor, who had known and loved him when a boy, and
6*
130 LOVE-MAKING AT MILLBANK.
who now idolized and honored him as a man, and blessed the
cby which had brought him back to their midst, the kind and
considerate employer of many of them, the friend of the des
titute and needy, the cultivated gentleman in society, and the
courteous master of Millbank.
CHAPTER XVII.
LOVE-MAKING AT MILLBANK.
HE holidays were over. They had been spent in New
York, where, with Mrs. Walter Scott as her chaperone,
Magdalen had passed a few weeks, and seen what was
meant by fashionable society. But she did not like it, and was
glad to return to Millbank.
Roger had spent only a few days with her in New York, but
Frank had been her constant attendant, and not a little proud
of the beautiful girl who attracted so much attention. While
there Magdalen had more than once heard mention made of
Alice Grey, who had returned to America and was spending a
few weeks in New York, where she would have been a belle
but for her poor health, which prevented her from mingling
much in fashionable society. Frank had called on her several
times, and occasionally she heard him rallied upon his pen
chant for Miss Grey by some one of his friends, who knew
them both. Frank would have denied the charge openly had
Magdalen's manner towards him been different from what it
was. She called him her brother, and by always treating him
as such, made anything like love-making on his part almost
impossible ; and so Frank thought to rouse her jealousy by al
lowing her to believe that there was something serious between
himself and Alice Grey. But in this he was mistaken. The
charm he had once possessed for Magdalen, when, as a child,
LOVE-MAKING AT MILLBANK. 131
she enshrined him her hero and lived upon his smiles, was
broken, and though she liked him greatly and showed that she
did so, she knew that any stronger feeling towards him was ut
terly impossible, and was delighted at the prospect of his trans-
ferring to another some of the attentions which were becoming
distasteful to her, from the fact of their being so very marked
and lover-like.
Once she spoke to him herself of Alice, who was stopping at
the St. Denis, and asked, " Why do you not bring her to see
me or let me go to her ? " and Frank had answered her, " Miss
Grey is too much of an invalid to make or receive calls from
strangers. She asks after you with a great deal of interest, and
hopes :
Frank hesitated a moment, and Magdalen playfully caught
him up, saying, " Hopes to know me well through you. Is
that it, and is what I have heard about you true ? I am so
glad, for I know I shall like her, though I used to be jealous of
her years ago when you talked so much of her."
Magdalen was very sincere in what she said, but foolish
Frank, who set a far greater value upon himself than others set
upon him, and who could not understand how any girl could
be indifferent to him, was conceited enough to fancy that he
detected something like pique in Magdalen's manner, and that
she was not as much delighted with Alice Grey as she would
like him to think. This suited him, and so he made no reply,
except, " I am glad you are pleased with her. She is worthy
of your love."
And thus was the conviction strengthened in Magdalen's
mind that she might some day know Alice Grey intimately as
the wife of Frank, towards whom she showed at once a greater
decree of familiarity than she had done hitherto, making him
think his ruse a successful one, which would in due time bear
the desired fruit. Meanwhile his mother had her own darling
scheme, which she was adroitly managing to carry out. Once
she would have spurned the thought of accepting Magdalen as
her daughter-in-law, but she had changed her mind after a con-
132 LOVE-MAKING AT MILLBANK.
versation with Roger, who, wholly deceived by the crafty, fas
cinating woman, had grown very confidential, and been led on
to admit that in case he never married, or even if he did, Mag
dalen would stand to him in the relation of a child, and share
in his property. Indeed, from his conversation it would seem
that, feeling impressed with the uncertainty of life, and having
no foolish prejudices against making his will, he had already
done so, and provided for both Magdalen and Frank.
He did not state what provision he had made for them, and his
sister did not ask him. She preferred to find out in some other
way, if possible, and not betray the interest she felt in the mat
ter. So she merely thanked him for remembering Frank, for
whom he had done so much, and then at once changed the
conversation. She did not seem at all curious, and Roger, who
liked her now much better than when he was a boy, never
dreamed how the next day, while he was in his office and Mag
dalen was away on some errand for old Hester, the writing-desk,
which still stood in the library, was visited by Mrs. Walter Scott,
who knew that some of his papers were kept there, and whose
curiosity was rewarded by a sight of the desired document.
It was not sealed, and with a timid glance at the door she
opened it nervously, but dared not stop to read the whole lest
some one should surprise her. Rapidly her eye ran over the
paper till it caught the name of Magdalen, coupled with one
hundred thousand dollars. That was to be her marriage por
tion, paid on her bridal day, and Mrs. Walter Scott was about
to read further when the sound of a footstep warned her that
some one was coming. To put the paper back in its place was
the work of a moment, and then, with a most innocent look on
her face the lady turned to meet old Hester Floyd, whose gray
eyes looked sharply at her, and who merely nodded in reply to
her words of explanation,
" I am looking at this silver plate over the doors of the writ
ing-desk. How it is tarnished ! One can scarcely make out
the squire's name. I wish you'd set Ruth to polishing it."
The plate was polished within fifteen minutes by Hester
LOVE-BAKING AT MILLBANK. 133
herself, who had caught the rustle of papers and the quick
shutting of the drawer. She knew the tarnished plate was a
pretence, and stood guard till Roger came. He merely laughed
at her suspicions, but when a few days after Mrs. Walter Scott
found an opportunity to try the drawer again, she found it
locked, and all her hopes of ascertaining how Frank fared in
the will were effectually cut off. But she knew about Magda
len. One hundred thousand dollars as a marriage portion was
worth considering, and Mrs. Walter Scott did consider it, and
it outweighed any scruples she might otherwise have had con
cerning Magdalen's birth, and made her doubly gracious to the
young girl whom she sought as her future daughter-in-law.
That was just before they went to New York, where the
favor with which Magdalen was received confirmed her in her
intentions to win the hundred thousand dollars. Every oppor
tunity for throwing the young people together was seized upon,
and if by chance she heard the name of Alice Grey coupled
with her son's, she smiled incredulously, and said it was a most
absurd idea that Frank should wish to marry into a family
where there was hereditary insanity, as she knew was the case
in Miss Grey's.
After their return to Millbank she resolved to push matters
a little, and so one afternoon, when she chanced to be walking
with Frank from the office to the house, she broached the sub
ject by asking how long he intended to let matters go on as
they were going, and why he did not at once propose to Mag
dalen, and not keep her in suspense !
" Suspense ! mother ; " and Frank looked up joyfully. " Do
you think, do you believe Magdalen really cares for me ?
I have been afraid it was only a sisterly regard, such as she
would feel for me were I really her brother."
"She must be a strange gin. to conduct herself towards you
as she does and not seriously care for you," Mrs. Walter Scott
replied; and Frank continued, "She has been different pince
we came from New York, I know, and has not kept me quite
so much at arm's-length. Mother," and Frank spoke more
134 LOVE-MAKING AT MILLBANK.
energetically than before, " I am so glad you have broken
the ice ; so glad you like her and are willing. I did not know
but you might object, you are so straight-laced about blood and
birth and all that."
" I am a little particular about such things, I'll admit," Mrs.
Irving replied; " but in Magdalen's case I am ready to make
an exception. She is a splendid girl and created a great sen
sation in New York ; while better than all, she is, or will be, an
heiress. Roger has made his will, and on her bridal day she is
to have one hundred thousand dollars dowry."
"How do you know that?" Frank asked quickly, and his
mother replied : " No matter how. It is sufficient that I do
know it, and with poverty staring us in the face the sooner you
appropriate that hundred thousand the better for both of us."
" Mother," and Frank spoke sternly, " I wonder what you
take me for ! A mere mercenary wretch ? Understand plainly
that I am not so base as that, and I love Magdalen well enough
to marry her if she was never to have a penny in the world.
Much as I hate work I could work for her, and a life of poverty
shared with her has more attractions for me than all the king
doms in the world shared with another."
They had reached Millbank by this time, and Magdalen met
them at the door. She had been out for a drive, and the ex
ercise and clear wintry air had brought a deeper glow than
usual to her cheeks and made her eyes like diamonds. She
had never been more beautiful to Frank than she was that
evening in her soft crimson dress, with her hair arranged in
long curls, which fell about her face and neck in such profusion.
Magdalen did not often curl her hair ; it was too much trouble,
she said, and she had only done so to-day because of some
thing which Roger had said to her. He had been standing
with her before the picture of his mother, whose golden hair
Covered her like a veil, and to Magdalen, who admired the
flowing tresses, he had said, "Why don't you wear curls,
Magda ? I like so much to see them when I know they are
as natural as yours would be."
LOVE-MAKING AT MILL BANK. 135
Thai afternoon Magdalen had taken more than usual pains
with her toilet, and Celine, the French maid, whom Mrs.
Walter Scott had introduced into the house, had gone into
ecstasies over the long, beautiful curls which fell almost to
Magdalen's waist and somewhat softened her dashing style of
beauty. Roger, too, had complimented her, when about four
o'clock he came in, saying he was going to drive out a mile or
two from Millbank, and asking her to accompany him. The
day was very cold, and with careful forethought he had seen
that she was warmly clad, had himself put the hot soap-stone
to her feet, and wrapping the fur robes around herj had looked
into her bright face and starry eyes, and asked if she was com
fortable. On their return to Millbank, he had carefully lifted
her from the sleigh and carried her up the steps into the hall,
where he set her down, calling her Mother Bunch, with all
her wraps around her, and trying to help her remove them.
Roger was a little awkward in anything pertaining to a woman's
gear, but he managed to unpin the shawl and untie the ribbons
of the % pretty, coquettish rigolette, which were in a knot
and troubled him somewhat, bringing his face so close to Mag
dalen's that her curls fell across his shoulder and he felt her
breath upon his cheek.
" Your ride has done you good, Magda. You are looking
charmingly," he said, when at last she was undone and stood
before the fire. He was obliged to go out again, and as it was
not likely he should return till late, they were not to wait
dinner for him, he said.
Something in his manner toward her more than his words
had affected Magdalen with a sweet sense of happiness, and
her face was radiant as she met Frank in the hall, and went
with him to the dining-room, where dinner was waiting for
ihem. She explained that Roger would not be there, and then,
as Frank took the head of the table, rallied him upon his
awkwardness in carving and his absent-mindedness in general.
He had a bad headache, he said, and after dinner was over and
they had adjourned to the library, where their evenings wera
13^ LOVE-MAKING AT MILL BANK.
usually passed, he lay down upon the couch and looked so
pale and tired, that Magdalen's sympathy was awakened at
once, and she insisted upon doing something for him. Since
their return from New York she had been far more familiar in
her intercourse with him than she would have been had she
not believed there was something between him and Alice Grey
which might ripen into love. With no fears for herself, she
could afford to be very gracious, and being naturally something
of a coquette, she had tormented and teased poor Frank until
he had some reason for believing that his affection for her was
returned, and that his suit would not be disregarded should he
ever urge it upon her. With the remembrance of Roger's
words and manner thrilling every nerve, she was in an un
usually soft, amiable rnood to-night, and knelt at last by Frank's
side and offered to bathe his aching head.
" The girls at school used to tell me there was some mesmer
ism in my fingers," she said, " some power to drive away pain
or exorcise evil spirits. Let me try their effect on you."
Mrs. Walter Scott, who had been watching the progress of
matters, found it convenient just then to leave the room, and
Frank was alone with Magdalen. For a few moments her
white fingers threaded his hair, brushing it back from his fore
head and passing lightly over his throbbing temples until it was
not in human nature to endure any longer, and rising sud
denly from his reclining position, Frank clasped his arms around
her, and straining her to his bosom, pressed kiss after kiss upon
her lips, while he poured into her astonished ear the story of
his love, telling her how long ago it began, telling her how
dear she was to him, how for her sake he had lingered at
Millbank trying to do something for himself, because she had
once suggested that such a thing would be gratifying to her,
how thoughts of her were constantly in his mind, whether awake
or asleep, and lastly, that his mother approved his choice and
would gladly welcome her as a daughter.
As he talked, Magdalen had struggled to her feet, her cheeks
burning with surprise and mortification, and sorrow too, that
LOVE-MAKING AT MILLBANK. 137
Frank should have misjudged her so. She knew he vas in
earnest, and she pitied him so much, knowing as she did horf
hopeless was his suit.
"Speak to me," he said at last, " if it is only to tell me no.
Anything is better than your silence.''
"Oh, Frank," Magdalen began, "I am so sorry, because "
" Don't tell me no. I will not listen to that answer," Frank
burst out impetuously, forgetting what he had just said when he
begged her to speak. " You do like me, or you have seemed
to, and have given me some encouragement, or I should not
have told you what I have. Don't you like me, Magdalen ?"
"Yes, very much, but not the way you mean. I do not like
you well enough to take you for my husband. And, Frai}k,
what of Alice Grey? You say I have encouraged you, and
perhaps I have. I'll admit that since I thought you loved Miss
Grey, I have been less guarded in my manner towards you ;
but I never meant to mislead you, never. I felt towards
you as a sister might feel towards a brother, nothing more.
But you do not tell me about Miss Grey. Are you, then,
so fickle ? "
' " Magdalen," Frank said " I may as well be truthful with you
now ; that was all a ruse, done for the sake of piquing you
and rousing your jealousy. I did care for Alice when she was
a young girl and I in college at New Haven, and when I met
her again abroad, and found her the same sweet, lovely creature,
I don't know what I might have done but for her father, who
seemed to dislike me, and always imposed some obstacle to my
seeing her alone, until at last he took her away and I saw her
no more, until I met her in New York, and had learned to love
you far more than I ever loved Alice Grey."
" "And so to win me you stooped to play with the affections
of another. A very manly thing to do," Magdalen rejoined,
in a tone of bitter scorn, which made poor Frank's blood tingle
as he tried to stammer out his excuses.
"It was not a manly act, I know ; but, Magdalen, so far as
Alice was concerned, it did no harm. I know she does not care
138 THE LOOSE BOARD IN THE GARRET.
for me now, if she ever did. Our intercourse was merely
friendly, nothing more; and I cannot flatter myself that she
would feel one heart-throb were she to hear to-day of my mar
riage with another. Forgive me, Magdalen, if in my love for
you I resorted to duplicity, and tell me that you can love me
in time, that you will try to do so. Will you, Magdalen ? "
" No. Frank. I can never be your wife ; never. Don't
mention it again ; don't think of it again, for it cannot be."
This was Magdalen's reply, which Frank felt was final. She
was leaving the room, and he let her go without another word.
He had lost her, and throwing himself upon the couch, he
pressed his hands together upon his aching head, and groaned
aloud with pain and bitter disappointment.
CHAPTER XVIII.
THE LOOSE BOARD IN THE GARRET.
ESTER FLOYD was sick. Exposure to a heavy rain
had brought on an attack of fever, which confined her
to her bed, where she lay helpless and cross, and some
times delirious. She would have no one with her but Magda
len. Every other person made her nervous, she said. Magda
len's hands were soft ; Magdalen's step was light ; Magdalen
knew what to do ; and so Magdalen stayed by her constantly,
glad of an excuse to keep away from Frank, with whom she had
held but little intercourse since that night in the library, which
she remembered with so much regret. Hester's illness she
looked upon as a godsend, and stayed all day by the fretful old
woman's bedside, only leaving the room at meal time, or to
make a feint of watching Mrs. Walter Scott, for whom Hester
evinced a strong dislike or dread.
" Snoopin', pryin' thing," she said to Magdalen. " She'll
be up to all sorts of capers now that I'm laid up and can't head
THE LOOSE BOARD IN THE GARRET. 139
her off. I've found her there more than once ; I knew what she
was after, and took it away, and then like a fool lugged it back
again, and it's there now, and you must get it, and put it put
it oh, for the dear Lord's sake what nonsense be I talkin'.
What was I sayin', Magdalen ? "
Hester came to herself with a start, and stared wildly at Mag.
dalen, who was bending over her, wondering what she meant,
and what it was which she must bring from the garret and hide.
Whatever it was, it troubled Hester Floyd greatly, and when
she was delirious, as was often the case, she was sure to talk of
it, and beg of Magdalen to get it, and put it beyond the reach
of Mrs. Walter Scott.
" How am I to get it when I don't know what it is nor where
it is," Magdalen said to her one night when she sat watching by
her, and Hester had insisted that she should go to the garret,
and " head off that woman! She's there, and by and by she'll
find that loose board in the floor under the rafters where I
bumped my head so hard. Go, Magdalen, for Heaven's sake,
if yoa care for Roger"
Magdalen's face was very white now, and her eyes like burn
ing coals as she questioned Hester. At the mention of Roger
a sudden suspicion had Hashed upon her, making her grow
faint and cold as she grasped the high post of the bedstead and
asked, " How she could get it when she did not know what it
was, nor where it was."
The sound of her voice roused the old woman a little, but
she soon relapsed into her dreamy, talkative mood, and insisted
that Mrs. Walter Scott was in the garret and Magdalen must
"head her off."
" I'll go," Magdalen said at last, taking the candle which
Hester always used for going about the house. " Hush ! " she
continued, as Hester began to grow very restless ; " I'm going
to the garret. Be quiet till I come back."
" I will, yes," was Hester's reply, her eyes wide open now,
and staring wildly at Magdalen, whose dress she tried to clutch
with her hand as she whispered, "The loose board, way down
I4O THE LOOSE BOARD IN THE GARRET.
under the eaves. You must get on your knees. Bring it to
me, and never tell."
The house was very quiet, for the family had long since re
tired, and the pale spring moonlight came struggling through
the windows, and lighting up the halls through which Magdalen
went on her strange errand to the garret. The stairs which
led to it were away from the main portion of the building, and
she felt a thrill of something like fear as she passed into the
dark, narrow hall, and paused a moment by the door of the
stairway. What should she find, was Mrs. Walter Scott there,
as Hester had averred ; and if so, what was she doing, and what
excuse could Magdalen make for being there herself?
" I'll wait, and let matters take their course," she thought ;
and then summoning all her courage, she opened the door, and
began the ascent of the steep narrow way, every stair of which
creaked with her tread, for Magdalen did not try to be cautious.
" If any one is there, they shall know I am coming," she thought ;
and she held her candle high above her head, so that its light
might shine to the farthest crevice of the garret and give warn
ing of her approach.
But there was no one there, and only the accumulated rub
bish of the house met her view, as she came fully into the gar
ret and cast her eyes from corner to corner and beam to beaiv .
Through the dingy window at the north the moon was look'.ng
in, and lighting up that end of the garret with a weird, gkjstly
kind of light, which made Magdalen shiver more than utter
darkness would have done. She knew she was alone ; there
was no sign of life around her, except the huge rat, which,
frightened at this unlooked-for visitation, sprang from Magdalen
knew not where, and running past her disappeared in a hole
low down under the eaves, reminding Magdalen of what Hes
ter had said of " the loose plank under the rafters where you
have to stoop."
At sight of the rat Magdalen had uttered a cry, which she
quickly suppressed, and then stood watching the frightened ani
mal, until it disappeared from sight.
THE LOOSE BOARD IN THE GARRET. ' 141
" There can be no harm in seeing if there is a loose board
there," Magdalen thought ; and setting her candle upon a little
table she groped her way after the rat, bumping her head once
as old Hester had bumped hers ; and then crouching down
upon her knees, she examined the floor in that part of the gar
ret, growing faint and cold and frightened when she found that
far back under the roof there was a board, shorter than the
others, which looked as if it might with a little trouble be lifted
from its place.
It fitted perfectly, and, but for what old Hester had said,
might never have been discovered to be loose and capable of
being moved from its position. Magdalen was not quite sure,
even now, that she could raise it, and if she could, did she
wish to, and for what reason ? Was there anything hidden
under it, and if so, was it ? "
Magdalen did not dare repeat the last word even to herself,
and, as she thought it, there came rushing over her a feeling
as if she were already guilty of making Roger Irving a beggar.
" No, no, I can't do that. If there is anything under there,
which I do not believe, it may remain there for all of me,"
she said ; and her face was very pale as she drew back from be
neath the roof, and took the candle in her hand.
The moon had passed under a cloud, leaving the garret in
darkness, and Magdalen heard the rising wind sweeping past
the windows as she went down the stairs and out again into the
hall, where she breathed more freely, and felt less as if there
were a nightmare's spell upon her. Mrs. Walter Scott's door
stood ajar, just as it had done when Magdalen passed it on her
way to the garret, and, impelled by a feeling she could not re
sist, she looked cautiously in. The lady was sleeping soundly,
with her hair in the hideous curl papers, and her white hands
resting peacefully outside the counterpane. She had not
been near the garret. She knew nothing of the loose plank
under the roof, and with a feeling that injustice had been done
to the sleeper, Magdalen passed on toward Hester's room, her
heart beating rapidly and the blood rushing in torrents to hex
142 THE LOOSE BOARD IN THE GARRET.
face and neck as she heard Hester's sharp, querulous tones
mingled with another voice which seemed trying to quiet her.
It was a man's voice, Roger's voice, and Roger himself was
bending over the restless woman and telling her that Magdalen
would soon be back, and that nobody was going to harm him.
" Here she is now," he continued, as Magdalen glided into
the room, looking like some ghost, for the blood which had
crimsoned her face a moment before had receded from it, leav
ing it white as marble, and making her dark eyes seem larger
and brighter and blacker than their wont. " Why, Magda,"
Roger exclaimed, coming quickly to her side, " what is the
matter ? Have you, too, been hearing burglars ? " '
"Burglars ! " Magdalen repeated, trying to smile as she put
her candle upon the table and hastened to Hester, who was
sitting up in bed, and who demanded of her, " Did you find it?
Was she there ? "
" No, no. There was nobody there," Magdalen said, sooth
ingly ; and then as Hester became quiet, and seemed falling
away to sleep as suddenly as she sometimes awoke, Magdalen
turned to Roger, who was looking curiously at her, and as she
fancied with a troubled expression on his face. " You spoke
of burglars. What did you mean ? " she asked.
" Nothing," he replied, laughingly. " Only I have been
restless all night, too strong coffee for dinner, I dare say.
Suppose you see to it yourself to-morrow. I remember a cup
you made me once, and I never tasted better."
" Yes ; but what of the burglars, and why are you up ? "
Magdalen continued.
She knew there was some reason for Roger's being there at
that hour of the night, and she wished to get at it.
" I could not sleep," he replied, " and I thought I heard
some one about the house. The post-office was entered last
week, and as it would not be a very improbable thing for the
robbers to come here, I dressed, and fearing that you might be
alarmed at any unusual sound about the house, I came directly
here, and learned from Hester that you were rummaging,
THE LOOSE BOARD IN THE GARRET. 143
you or somebody. I could hardly understand what she did
mean, she was so excited."
" I rummaging ! " Magdalen stammered. " Hester has queer
fancies. She took it into her head that Mrs. Irving was rum-
xiaging, as she calls it, and insisted that I should go and see ;
so I went, to quiet her."
" And got a cobweb in your hair," Roger added, playfully
brushing from her hair the cobweb which she had gotten under
the roof, and which he held up before her.
" Oh, Mr. Irving ! " Magdalen exclaimed, in real distress, for"
she did not like the expression of the eyes fastened upon her.
" I don't know what Hester may have said to you, but she has
such queer ideas, and she would make me go where she said
Mrs. Irving was, and I went ; but I meant no harm, believe me,
won't you ? "
Her cheeks were scarlet, and her eyes were filling with tears
as they looked up to Roger, who laughed merrily, and said :
" Of course I believe you ; for what possible harm could
there be in your going to the garret after Mrs. Irving, or what
could Hester think she was there for ? "
He knew then where she had been. Hester had let that out,
but had she told him anything further ? Magdalen did not
know. She was resolved, however, that she would tell him
nothing herself, so she merely replied :
" Hester is often out of her head, and when she is she seems
to think that Mrs. Irving meditates some harm to you."
" I discovered that from what she said while you were gone,"
Roger rejoined; and then, looking at the clock, he saw it was
nearly one, and asked Magdalen if she would not like him to
watch while she slept.
If he knew of the loose plank, or had a thought of the will,
he gave no sign of his knowledge ; he only seemed anxious
about Magdalen, and afraid that she would over-exert herself,
and when she refused to sleep, he insisted upon sitting with
her and sharing her vigils.
" It must be tedious to watch alone," he said, and then he
144 THE LOOSE BOARD IN THE GARRET.
brought the large chair he was accustomed to read in, and made
Magdalen sit in it, and found a pillow for her head, and bade
her keep quiet and try to rest.
It was pleasant to be cared for, especially as she was tired and
worn, and Magdalen sat very still, with her head upon the
pillow and her face in the shadow, until her eyelids began to
droop and her hands to slide down into her lap, and when
Roger asked if it was time for the medicine, he received no
answer, for Magdalen was asleep.
" Poor child," he said, as he stood looking at her. " She
has grown pale and thin with nursing Hester. I must get some
one to take her place, and persuade Hester to be reasonable for
once. Magda must not be allowed to get sick if I can help it.
How very beautiful she is, with the long eyelashes on her cheek
and her hair rippling away from her forehead ! I wonder are
all young girls as beautiful in their sleep as Magda."
Roger was strangely moved as he stood looking at the tired
sleeping girl.- Little by little, day by day, week by week, she
had been growing into his heart, until now she filled every niche
and corner of it, and filled it so completely, that to have torn
hei from it would have left it bleeding and desolate. She was
no! his daughter now, nor his ward, nor his sister. She was
Magda, his princess, his queen, whose bright eyes and clear,
ringing voice thrilled him with a new sense of happiness, and
made him long to clasp her in his arms and claim her for his
own in the only way she could ever satisfy him now. And he
did not greatly fear what her answer might be, for he had noted
the bright flush which always came to her cheek, and the kind
ling light in her starry eyes when he appeared suddenly before
her. He did not believe he was indifferent to her, and as he
sat by her until the gray dawn broke, he resolved that ere long
he would end his suspense, and know from her own lips if she
could love him enough to be his wife. Gradually, as her slum
ber grew more profound, the pillow slipped, and her head
dropped into a position which looked so uncomfortable, that
Roger ventured to lift it up and place it more easily against
THE LOOSE BOARD IN THE GARRET. 14$
the back of the chair. An hour later and Magdalen woke
with a start, exclaiming when she saw the daylight through the
shutters and Hester's medicine untouched upon the table,
" Why didn't you wake me ? Hester has not taken her medi
cine, and the doctor will blame me."
" Hester is just as well without it," Roger answered. " She
has slept quietly every moment, and sleep will do her more
good than drugs. My word for it she will be better when she
wakes ; but, Magda, I shall get her a nurse to-day, and relieve
you. I cannot let you grow pale and thin. You are looking
like a ghost now. Come with me into the open air, which
you need after this close room."
He wrapped a. shawl around her, and taking her hood from
the table in the hall tied it upon her head and then led her out
upon the wide piazza, where the fresh breeze from the river
was blowing, and where he walked up and down, with h'er hand
on his arm, until the color came back to her cheeks, and her
eyes had in them their old, restless brightness, as she stood by
him and looked off upon the hills just growing red in the light
of the rising sun.
It was too early yet for many flowers, but the April winds
had melted the snow from off the Millbank grounds, and here
and there patches of green grass were beginning to show, and
the golden daffodil was just opening its leaves upon the borders
of the garden walk. Millbank was nothing to what it would be
a few weeks later, but it was handsome even now, and both
Roger and Magdalen commented upon its beauty, while the
former spoke of some improvements he had in contemplation,
and should commence as soon as the ground was settled. A
fountain here, and a terrace there for autumn flowers, and
another winding walk leading to the grove toward the mill he
meant to have, he said, and a pretty little summer-house down
by the brook, like one he had seen in England.
And as he talked of the summer-house by the brook, with its
rustic seats and stands, the sun passed into a bank of clouds,
the wind began to freshen and blow up from the riyer in raw,
7
145 THE BEGINNING OF TROUBLE.
chilling gusts, which made Magdalen shiver, and brought to
her mind last night's adventure in the garret where the loose
plank was. And with thoughts of that plank there crept over
her a deeper chill, a feeling of depression, as if the brightness
of Millbank was passing away forever, and that the change was
somehow being wrought by herself.
CHAPTER XIX.
THE BEGINNING OF TROUBLE.
|ESTER was better. Her long sleep had done her
good, and when she awoke it was evident that hei
fever was broken and the crisis of her disease passed.
She was perfectly rational, and evidently retained no recollec
tion of what she had said of the garret and Mrs. Walter Scott.
Indeed, she was very civil to that lady, who, on her way to
breakfast, came in to see her, looking very bright and fresh in
her black wrapper, trimmed with scarlet, and her pretty little
breakfast cap set on the back of her head. Good fare, which
she did not have to pay for, pure country air, and freedom
from all care, had had a rejuvenating effect on Mrs,. Walter
Scott, and for a woman of forty-seven or thereabouts, she was
remarkably handsome and well preserved. This morning she
complained of feeling a little languid. She could not have
slept as well as usual, she said, and she dreamed that some one
came into her room, or tried to come in, and when she woke
she was sure she heard footsteps at the extremity of the hall.
" It was Roger, most likely," Hester rejoined. " Like the
good boy he is, he got up about twelve, or thereabouts, and
stayed up the rest of the night with me and Magdalen."
"Oh-h," Mrs. Irving replied, and ner eyes had in them a
puzzled look as she left Hester's room and repaired to the
breakfast-table.
THE BEGINNING OF TROUBLE. 147
" Hester tells me that you spent the night with her, or with
Magdalen, which was it ? " she said to Roger playfully, as
she leisurely sipped her cup of coffee.
There was no reason why Magdalen should have colored
scarlet as she did, or why Roger should stammer and seem so
confused as he replied, " Yes, Hester was very restless, and
Magdalen very tired, and so I stayed with them."
" And proved a very efficient watcher, it seems ; for Hester
is better and Magdalen as blooming as a rose," was Mrs.
Irving' s next remark, as she shot a quick, curious glance at
Magdalen, whose burning cheeks confirmed her in the suspicion
which until that morning had never entered her mind.
Magdalen cared for Roger, and Roger cared for Magdalen,
and at last she had the key to Magdalen's refusal of her son.
Mrs. Irving had heard from Frank of his ill success, and
while expressing some surprise, had told him not to despair,
and had promised to do what she could for the furtherance of
his cause. It was no part of her plan to speak to Magdalen
then upon the subject, but she was more than usually kind and
affectionate in her manner towards the girl, hoping that by this
means the mother might succeed where the son had failed.
Now, however, an unlooked-for obstacle had arisen, and for once
Mrs. Walter Scott was uncertain what to do. She had never
dreamed that Roger might fancy Magdalen, he was so much
older and seemed to care so little for women ; but she was
sure now that he did, and the hundred thousand dollars she
had looked upon as eventually sure seemed to be fading from
her grasp. There were wrinkles in her forehead when she left
the breakfast table, and her face wore a kind of abstracted
look, as if she were intently studying some new device or plan.
It came to her at last, and when next she was alone with
Frank, she said, " I have been thinking that it might be well
for you to get Roger's consent for you to address Magdalen."
" Roger's consent ! " Frank repeated, in some surprise. " 1
should say Magdalen's consent was of more consequence than
Roger's."
148 THE BEGINNING OF TROUBLE.
11 Yes, I know," and the lady smiled meaningly. " You said
to me once that you loved Magdalen well enough to take hei
on any terms, and wait for the affection she withholds from you
now."
" Yes, I said so ; but what of it ? " Frank asked ; and his
mother replied, " I think I know Magdalen better than you
do. She has implicit confidence in Roger's judgment, and an
intense desire to please him. Let her once believe he wishes
her to marry you, and the thing is done. At least, it is worth
the trial, and I would speak to Roger without delay and get his
consent. Or stay," she added, as she reflected that Frank
would probably make a bungle and let out that Magdalen had
refused him once, " I will do it for you. A woman knows so
much better what to say than a man."
Frank had but little faith in his mother's scheme, and he was
about to tell her so, when Magdalen herself came in. She had
just returned from accompanying Roger as far as the end of
the avenue on his way to his office. He told her that a
walk in the bracing air would do her good, and had taken her
with him to the gate which was the entrance to the Millbank
grounds. There they had lingered a little, and Roger had
seemed more lover-like than ever before, and Magdalen's eyes
had shone on him like stars and kept him at her side long after
he knew he ought to be at his office, where some of his men
were waiting for him. At last, warned by the striking of the
village clock of the lateness of the hour, he said a final good-
by, and Magdalen returned to the house, flushed with excite
ment and radiant with happiness, which showed itself in her
eyes and face, and in her unusual graciousness towards Frank.
Now that she began herself to know what it was to love, and
hav terrible it would be to lose the object of her love, she pitied
Frank so much, and never since that night in the library had
she seemed to him so much like the Magdalen of old as she
did, when, with her large straw hat upon her arm, she stood
talking with him a few moments, mingling much of her old
coquetry of manner with what she said, and leaving him at last
THE BEGINNING OF TROUBLE. 149
perfectly willing that his mother should do anything which
would further his cause with Magdalen.
That night, when dinner was over and Magdalen was with
Hester, who was recovering rapidly, Mrs. Walter Scott took her
balls of worsted and her crocheting, and knocking softly at the
door of the library, where she knew Roger was, asked if she
might come in. He thought it was Magdalen's knock, and
looked a little disappointed when he found who his visitor was.
But he bade her come in, and bringing a chair for her near to
the light, asked what he could do for her.
" I want to talk with you about Frank and Magdalen," Mrs.
Irving said. " You must of course have seen the growing
affection between the young people ? "
Mrs. Walter Scott pretended to be very busy counting her
stitches, but she managed to steal a side glance at her compan
ion, who fairly gasped at what he had heard, and whose fingers
fluttered nervously among the papers on the table, on one of
which he kept writing, in an absent kind of way and in every
variety of hand, the name of Magdalen. He had not noticed
the growing affection between the young people ; that is, he
had seen nothing on Magdalen's part to warrant such a con
clusion. Once, just after his return from Europe, he had thought
his nephew's attentions very marked, and a thought had crossed
his mind as to what might possibly be the result. But all this
was past, as he believed, and his sister's intelligence came
upon him like a thunderbolt, stunning him for an instant, and
making him powerless to speak. Those were fierce heart-pangs
which Roger was enduring, and they showed themselves upon
his face, which was very pale, and the corners of his mouth
twitched painfully, but his voice was steady and natural as he
said at last,
"And Magdalen, does she have you reason to believe
she would return a favorable answer to Frank's suit ? "
Mrs. Irving was sure now that what she had suspected was
true, and that nothing but a belief in Magdalen's preference for
another would avail with him, so she replied unhesitatingly,' .
ISO THE BEGINNING OF TROUBLE.
" Certainly I do. I have suspected for years that she wa?
strongly attached to Frank, and her manner towards him fully
warrants me in that belief. She is the soul of honor, and nevef
professes what she does not feel."
"Ye-es," Roger said, with something between a sigh and a
long-drawn breath, assenting thus to what his sister said, and
trying to reconcile with it Magdalen's demeanor toward himself
of late.
If she was attached to Frank, and had been for years, \\liy
that sudden kindling of her eyes, and that lighting up of her
whole face whenever he was with her, and why that sweet
graciousness of manner towards him which she had of late
evinced ? Was Magdalen a coquette, or was that the way of
girls ? Roger did not know, he had never made them a study,
never been interested in any girl or woman except Magdalen ;
and now, when he must lose her, he began to feel that he had
loved her always from the moment when he took her as his
child and first held her baby hands in his, and laid her soft
cheek against his own. She was his, he had a better right to
her than Frank, and he wrote her name all over the sheet of
paper on the table, and thought of all the castles he had built
within the last few weeks, castles of the time when Magdalen
would be really his and he could lavish upon her the love and
tender caresses he Avould be coy of giving any one who was not
his wife. Roger was naturally very reserved, and in his in
tercourse with Magdalen he had only shown her glimpses of the
deep, warm love he felt for her. He held peculiar notions
about such things, and he was sorry now that he did, sorry that
he had not improved his opportunities and won her for his own
before Frank appealed to him, as he had done through his
mother, and thus sealed his lips forever. He was thinking of
r.ll this, and was so absorbed in it that he forgot his sister was
there watching him narrowly, but veiling her watchfulness with
her apparent interest in her worsted work, which became
strangely tangled and mixed, and required her whole attention
to unravel and set right. But she could not sit still all the
THE BEGINNING OF TROUBLE. I$l
evening and let Roger fill that sheet of foolscap wich " Magda
len ; " she must recall him to the point at issue, and so she said
at last,
" Frank will do nothing without your sanction, and what he
wants is your permission, as Magdalen's guardian, for him to
address her. Can he have it ? "
Then Roger looked up a moment, and the pencil which had
been so busy began to trace a long black line through every
name as if he thus would blot out the sweetest dream of his
life.
" Have my permission to address Magdalen ? Yes cer
tainly, if he wants it. I had thought yes, I had hoped I
had supposed "
Here Roger came to a full stop, and then, as the only thing
he could do, he added,
"I thought I had heard something about a Miss Grey of
New York, and that probably has misled me. Was there noth
ing in that report ? "
" Nothing," Mrs. Irving replied. " Frank knew her in New
Haven and met her abroad, and so it was only natural he should
call upon her in New York. There is nothing in that rumor ;
absolutely nothing. Frank's mind was too full of Magdalen for
him to care for a hundred Miss Greys. Poor foolish boy, it
brings my own youth back to me to see him so infatuated. I
must go to him now, for I know how anxiously he is waiting
for me. Thank you for the favorable answer I can give him."
She hurried from the room and out into the hall, never stop
ping to heed the voice which called after her,
" Helen, oh, Helen ! "
Roger did not know what he wanted to say to her. His call
was a kind of protest against her considering the matter settled
as wholly as she seemed to think it was. He could not give
Magdalen up so easily, he must make one effort for himself,
and so he had tried to call his sister back, but she did not
hear him, and went on her way, leaving him alone with his
great sorrow.
1 52 THE BEGINNING OF TROUBLE.
Frank was in his own room, lazily reclining in his easy chair
and about finishing the second cigar in which he had indulged
since dinner. He took his third when his mother came in, foi
he saw that she had something to tell him, and he could listen
so much better when he was smoking. With a faint protest
against the atmosphere of the room, which was thick with the
fumes of tobacco, Mrs. Walter Scott began her story, telling him
that he had Roger's consent to speak to Magdalen as soon as
he liked, but not telling him of her suspicions that Roger, too,
would in time have spoken for himself, if his nephew had not
first taken the field. It was strange that such a possibility had
never occurred to Frank. He, too, had a fancy that Roger was
too old for Magdalen, that he was really more her father than
her lover, and he never dreamed of him as a rival.
" I wish you could arrange it with Magdalen as easily as you
have with Roger," he said ; and his mother replied, " She will
think better of it another time. Girls frequently say no at
first."
" But not the way Magdalen said it," Frank rejoined. " She
was in earnest. She meant it, I am sure."
" Try her with Roger's consent. Tell her he wishes it ; not
that he is willing, but that he wishes it. You will find that
argument all-powerful," Mrs. Irving said.
Being a woman herself she knew how to work upon another
woman's feelings, and she talked to and encouraged her son
until he caught something of her hopefulness, and saw himself
the fortunate possessor of all the glorious beauty and sprightli-
ness embodied in Magdalen, who little dreamed of what lay
before her, and who next morning, at the breakfast table, won
dered at Frank's exhilaration of spirits and Roger's evident
depression. He was very pale, and bore the look of cne who
had not slept ; but he tried to be cheerful, and smiled a faint,
sickly kind of smile at Magdalen's lively badinage with Frank,
whom she teased and coquetted with something after her olden
fashion, not because she enjoyed it, but because she saw there
was a cloud somewhere, and would fain dispel it. She never
THE BEGINNING OF TROUBLE. 153
joked with Roger as she did with Frank ; but this morning,
when she met him in the hall, where he was drawing on his
gloves preparatory to going out, she asked him what was the
matter, and if he had one of his bad headaches coming on.
" H:s throat was a little sore," he said ; "he did not sleep
much last night, but the walk to the village would do him good."
Magdalen had taken a long scarf from the hall-stand, and
holding it toward him, said, " It's :old this morning, and my
teeth fairly chattered when I went out on the piazza, for my
run with old Rover. Please wear this round your throat, Mr.
Irving. Let me put it on for you."
There was a soft light in her eyes and a look of tender in
terest in her face, and Roger bent his head before her and let
her wind the warm scarf round his neck and throw the fringed
ends over his shoulder. Roger was tall, and Magdalen stood
on tiptoe, with her arms almost meeting round his neck as she
adjusted the scarf behind, and her face came so near to his
that he could feel her breath stir his hair just as her presence
stirred the inmost depths of his heart, tempting him to take her
in his arms and beg of her not to heed Frank's suit, but listen
first to him, who had the better right to her. But Roger was a
prudent man ; the hall was not the place for love-making, so
he restrained himself, and only took one of Magdalen's hands
in his and held it while he thanked her for her thoughtfulness.
" You are better than a physician, Magda. I don't know
what I should do without you. I hope you will never leave
Millbank."
So much he did say, and his eyes had an earnest, pleading
look in them, which haunted Magdalen all the morning, and
made her very happy as she flitted about the house, or dashed
off one brilliant piece after another upon her piano, which
seemed almost to talk beneath her spirited touch.
Meanwhile, Roger and Frank were alone in the office. The
brisk wind which was blowing in the morning had brought on
an April shower of sleet and rain, and there was not much
prospect of visitors or clients. Roger sat by his desk, pretend-
7*
154 THE BEGINNING OF TROUBLE.
ing to read, while Frank at his table was doing just what Rogei
had done the previous night, viz., writing Magdalen's name on
slips of paper, and adding to it once the name of Irving, just to
see how it would look ; and Roger, who got up for a book
which was over Frank's head, saw it, and smiled sadly as he
remembered that he, too, had written "Magdalen Irving," just
as Frank was doing. There was a little mirror over the table,
where Frank had placed it for his own use ; for he was vain oi
his personal appearance, and his hair and collar and necktie
needed frequent fixing. Into this mirror Roger glanced and
then looked down upon his nephew, who at that moment
seemed a boy compared with him. Frank's light hair and skin,
and whitish, silky mustache, gave him a very youthful appear
ance and made him look younger than he was, while Roger
had grown old within the night. There were no gray hairs, it
is true, among his luxuriant brown locks ; but he was haggard
and pale, and there were dark circles beneath his eyes, and he
felt tired and worn and old, too old to mate with Magdalen's
bright beauty. Frank was better suited to her in point of age,
and Frank should have her if she preferred him. Roger
reached this conclusion hastily, and then, by way of strength
ening it, pointed playfully to the name on the paper, and asked,
" Have you spoken to her yet ? "
Frank was glad Roger had broached the subject, and he
began at once to tell what he meant to do and be, if Magdalen
would but listen favorably to him. He would study so hard,
and overcome his laziness and his expensive habits, and be a
man, such as he knew he had not been, but such as he felt he
was capable of being with Magdalen as his leading star. He
had not spoken to her yet, he said, but he should do so that
night, and he was glad to have Roger's approval, as that would
surely bias Magdalen's decision. Frank grew very enthusiastic,
and drove his penknife repeatedly into the table, and ran his
fingers through his hair, and pulled up his collar and looked in
the glass ; but never glanced at Roger, to whom every word he
THE BEGINNING OF TROUBLE. 155
altered was like a stab, and whose face was wet with perspira
tion as he listened and felt that his heart was breaking.
" I'd better go away for a day or two, until the matter is
settled, for if I stay I might say that to Magdalen which would
hardly be fair to say, after Frank's confiding in me as he has,"
Roger thought ; and, after the mail came in, and he had some
pretext for doing so, he announced his intention of going to
New York in the afternoon train. " I shall not go to the
house/' he said, " as I have some writing to do ; so please tell
your mother where I have gone, and that I may not return
until day after to-morrow."
With all his efforts to seem natural, there was something
hurried and excited in his manner, which Frank observed and
wondered at, but he attributed it to some perplexity in business
matters, and never suspected that it had anything to do with
him and his prospective affairs.
Roger talked but little that morning, but busied himself at
his own desk, until time for the train, when, with some direc
tions to Frank as to what to do in case certain persons called,
he left his office and went on his way to New York.
After Roger's departure, Frank grew tired of staying alone.
The day had continued wet and uncomfortable, and few had
dropped in at the office, and these for only a moment. So,
after a little, he started for Millbank, resolving, if a good oppor
tunity occurred, to speak to Magdalen again on the subject
uppermost in his mind. He did not see his mother as he en
tered the house, but he met a servant in the hall and asked for
Magdalen.
"Miss Lennox was in Mrs. Floyd's room," the servant said,
and Frank went there to find her.
" I sent her up garret to shet a winder and hain't seen her
sense," Hester said in answer to his question. " She's some-
wheres round, most likely. Did you_ want anything par
ticular ? "
" No, nothing very particular," was Frank's reply, as he left
the room and continued his search for Magdalen, first in the
156 WHAT MAGDALEN FOUND IN THE GARRET.
parlors, and then in the little room at the end of the uppei
hall, which had been fitted up for a fernery.
Not finding her there and remembering what Hester had
said about the garret, he started at last in that direction, though
he had but little idea that she was there. If she had come
down, as he supposed, she had left the door open behind her,
and he was about to shut it, when a sound met his ear, which
made him stop and listen until it was repeated. It came again
ere long, a sound half way between a moan and a low, gasp
ing sob, and Frank ran swiftly up the stairs, for it was Magda
len's voice, and he knew now that Magdalen was in the garret.
CHAPTER XX.
WHAT MAGDALEN FOUND IN THE GARRET.
AGDALEN had not forgotten " the loose plank," but
since the night of her adventure in the garret she had
never been near that part of the building, though
sorely tempted to do so every day and hour of her life. It
seemed to her as if some powerful influence was urging her on
toward the garret, while a still more powerful influence to
which she gave no name was constantly holding her back.
She had puzzled over the loose plank, and dreamed of it, and
speculated upon it, and wondered if there was anything under
it, and if so, was it , she never quite said what, even to her
self, for it seemed to her that she should in some way be
wronging Roger if she breathed the name of will. Of one
thing, however, she felt certain ; if there was a paper secreted
in the garret, old Hester knew of it, and had had a hand in
hiding it ; and once she thought of quizzing Aleck to see if he
too knew about it. She could not have done much with him,
for had he known of the will, he would, if questioned with
WHAT MAGDALEN FOUNL IN THE GARRET. 157
regard to it, have been so deaf that everybody in the house
would have heard the conversation. Aleck was not fond of
talking, and in order to avoid it, had a way, as Hester said, of
affecting to be deafer than he was, and so was usually left in
peace. He always heard Roger, and generally Magdalen ; but
to the rest of the household he was as deaf as a post unless it
suited him to hear. It was useless to question him, and so
Magdalen kept her own counsel for two weeks after that mem
orable night when Roger had shared her vigils, and from which
time Hester's recovery had been rapid.
She was able now to sit up all day, but had not yet been to
the kitchen, and when she asked Magdalen to go and shut the
garret window which she had left open in the morning and into
which she was sure the rain was pouring, Magdalen expressed
a good deal of surprise that she should have ventured into the
garret, and asked why she went there.
" I wanted to look over them clothes in the chest ; I knew
they needed airin'," Hester said, and Magdalen accepted the
explanation and started for the garret.
It was raining fast, and as she opened the door which led up
the stairs, a gust of wind blew down into her face, and she
heard the heavy rain drops on the roof. The window was open
as Hester had said, and Magdalen shut it, and then stood a
moment looking off upon the river and the hills over which the
April shower was sweeping in misty sheets. To the right lay
the little village of Belvidere, where Roger's office was. She
could see the white building nestled among the elms in one
corner of the common, and the sight of it made her heart beat
faster than its wont, and brought before her the scene of the
morning when Roger had held her hand in his, and looked so
kindly into her eyes. She could feel the pressure of his broad,
warm hand even now, and she felt her cheeks grow hot beneath
the look which seemed to beam upon her here in the gloomy
garret where there was only rubbish, and rats, and barrels, and
chests, and loose planks under the roof. She started, almost
guiltily, when she remembered the latter, and turned her face
I 53 WHAT MAGDALEN FOUND IN THE GARRET.
resolutely from that part of the room, lest she should go that wai
and see for herself what was hidden there. Hester had said, " 1
went to air the clothes in the old chest," and Magdalen turned
to the chest and looked at it, carelessly at first, then more
closely, and finally went down on her knees to examine some
thing which made her grow cold and faint for a moment.
It was nothing but a large cobweb, but it covered the entire
fastening of the chest, stretching from the lid down across the
keyhole, and showing plainly that the chest had not been open
in weeks. It could not be opened without disturbing the cob
web, for Magdalen tried it, and saw the fleecy thing torn apart
as she lifted the lid. There was a paper package lying on top
of the linen, and from a rent in one corner Magdalen saw a bit
of the dress she had worn to Millbank. It was years since she
had seen it, and at the sight of it now she felt a thrill of pain,
and turned her head away. There was too much of mystery
and humiliation connected with that little dress for her to care
to look at it ; and she shut the lid quickly, and said to herself,
as she turned away :
" Hester has not opened the chest to-day. What, then, was
she here for ? "
Then, swift as lightning, the answer came :
" She was here to look after whatever is hidden under that
loose plank, and probably to remove it."
Yes, that was the solution of the mystery. If there tiadbeen
anything under the floor, it had been transferred to some other
hiding-place, and, woman-like, Magdalen began to feel a little
sorry that she had lost her chance for knowing what was there.
" There can be no harm in looking now, if it is really gone,"
she said; and following some impulse she did not try to resist,
she went toward that part of the garret, putting a broken chair
out of her way, and bending down beneath the slanting rafters.
It was raining hard, and she went back a step or two, and
glanced at the window against which the storm was beating.
She was not afraid there, in broad daylight but a strange feel
ing of awe and dread began to creep over her, mingled with
WHAT MAGDALEN FOUND IN THE GARRET. 159
a firmer determination to explore that spot under the floor.
She did not believe she should find anything, but she musl
look, she must satisfy herself, let the consequence be what
it might. She did not think of Roger, nor the will, nor Frank,
but, strange to say, a thought of Jessie crossed her mind,
Jessie, the drowned woman, who seemed so near to her that
she involuntarily looked over her shoulder to see if a spectre
were there. Then she bent low under the beams, went
nearer to the loose plank, had her hands upon it, and knew
that it did not fit as perfectly as on that night when she first
discovered it. It had been moved. Somebody had been
there recently, and, trembling with excitement, Magdalen
grasped the plank, and drew it up from its position, shrinking
a little from the dark opening which looked so like a grave.
Gradually, as she saw clearer, she could distinguish the lath
and plastering, with bits of chips and shavings and sawdust,
and signs that the rats lived there. Then, leaning forward, she
peered down under the floor, looking to the north, looking to
the east, then to the south, and lastly to the west, where,
pushed back as far as possible from sight, was a little box,
the cover of which was tied firmly down with a bit of white
Marseilles braid, such as Magdalen was trimming her dress
with a few days before in Hester Floyd's room. She had
missed about half a yard, which could not at the time be
found, but she had found it now, and she grew diz/.y and
faint a'j he reached for the box, and brought it out to the
daylight.
Whatever the mystery was, she had it in her hands, and she
sat down upon a chair to recover her breath, and decide what
she should do.
" Put it back where you found it," was suggested to her; but
she could not do that, and seemingly without an effort on her
part her fingers nervously untied the hard knot, then slowly
unwound the braid, which she examined to see if it was soiled,
and if there was not enough for the pocket of her sack, if she
decided to have one.
l6o WHAT MAGDALEN FOUND IN THE GARRET.
She thought there was, and she laid it on her lap and then
opened the lid !
There were two packages inside, and both were wrapped in
thick brown paper, which Magdalen removed carefully, and
without the least agitation now. Her excitement had either
passed or was so great that she did not heed it, and she was
conscious of no emotions whatever as " she sat there removing
the paper wrappings from what seemed to be a letter, an old,
yellow, soiled letter, directed to " Master Roger L. Irving," in
a handwriting she did not know. She did not open the letter,
but she read the name and whispered it to herself, and thought
by some strange accident of that morning by the river when
Roger had spoken of working for her with his hands, and of her
helping him in case he should lose Millbank. Why she should
recall that incident she could not tell any more than she could
guess that she held in her hands that which would eventually
lead to just such an alternative as Roger had suggested.
She put the letter down, and took the other package and
removed its wrappings and turned it to the light, uttering a cry
of terror and surprise at what was written there. She must read
it, she would read it and know the worst, and she opened the
worn document, which was dated back so many years, and read
it through while her fingers seemed to grow big and numb, and
she felt her arms prickle to her shoulders. Once she thought
of paralysis, as the strange sensation went creeping through her
whole system, and-she was conscious of feeling that she merited
some such punishment for the idle curiosity which had resulted
so disastrously.
She read every word that was written on the paper, and un
derstood it, too, that is, understood what the dead old man
had done, but not why he had done it. That was something
for which she could find no excuse, no reason. Doubtless the
letter directed to Roger contained the explanation, if there was
one ; but that was sacred to her, that was Roger's alone. She
could not meddle with that ; she would give it to him just as
she had found it.
W r HA T MA G.DAL EN FO UND IN THE CARRE T. 1 6 1
" Poor wronged Roger ; it will kill him," she moaned ; " and
to think that I should be the instrument of his ruin."
She was rocking to and fro in her distress, with her hands
locked together around her knees, and her head bowed in her
lap. What could she do ? What should she do ? she asked
herself, and something answered again, " Put it where you found
it, and keep your own counsel."
Surely that advice was good, and Magdalen started to follow
it, when suddenly there came back to her the words, " If I be
lieved it, I would move heaven and earth to find it."
Roger had spoken thus on that summer morning, which
seemed so long ago. Roger was honest ; Roger was just ;
Roger would bid her take that dreadful paper to him, though
total ruin was the result.
Twice Magdalen started for the dark opening under the
roof and as often stopped suddenly, until at last, overcome
with excitement and anguish, she crouched down upon the
floor, and moaned piteously, " Oh, Roger, Roger, if you must
be ruined, I wish it had fallen to the lot of some other one
to ruin you. Was it for this you brought me here ? for this
you have been so kind to me ? Oh, Roger, I cannot live to
see you a beggar. Why was it done ? What was it for ? "
The words she uttered were not intelligible, and only her sob
bing moans met Frank's ear and sent him up the steep stairway
to where she sat with her face buried in her lap and the fatal
paper clutched firmly in her hand.
" Magdalen, what is it ? What has happened to you ? "
Frank asked, and then Magdalen first became aware of his
presence.
Uttering a low scream she struggled to her feet, and turned
toward him a face the expression of which he never forgot, it
was so full of pain and anguish, of terror and mute entreaty.
There was no escape now, for he was there with her, the
heir, the supplanter of poor Roger. Heaven would not suffer
her to hide it as she might have done if left alone a little longer.
It had sent Frank to prevent the wrong, and she must do the
1 62 FRANK AND THE WILL.
right in spite of herself. Magdalen thought all this during
the moment she stood confronting Frank, then reaching
toward him the soiled yellow paper, she whispered hoarsely :
" Take it, Frank. It is yours, all yours ; but oh, be merciful
to Roger."
Mechanically Frank took the paper from her, and the nexl
moment she was on her knees before him trying to articulate
something about " Roger, poor Roger," but failing in the effort.
The sight of that paper in Frank's hands, and knowing that
with it he held everything which Roger prized so dearly, took
sense and strength away, and she fainted at his feet.
MAGDALEN HAD FOUND THE WILL !
CHAPTER XXI.
FRANK AND THE WILL.
| RANK knew she had found the will, but he did not at
all realize the effect which the finding of it would have
upon his future. He had not read it like Magdalen,
he did not know that by virtue of what was recorded there,
he, and not Roger, was the heir of Millbank. He only knew
that Magdalen lay unconscious at his feet, her white forehead
touching his boot, and one of her hands clutching at his knee
where it had fallen when she raised it imploringly toward him,
with a pleading word for Roger. To lift her in his arms and bear
her to the window, which he opened so that the wind and rain
might fall upon her face and neck, was the work of an instant ;
and then, still supporting her upon his shoulder, he rubbed and
chafed her pale fingers and pushed her hair back from her face,
and bent over her with loving, anxious words, which she did
not hear and would scarcely have heeded if she had. Gradu
ally as the rain beat upon her face she came back to conscious-
FRANK AND THE WILL. 163
ness, and with a cry tried to free herself from Frank's embrace.
But he held her fast, while he asked what was the matter,
what had she found or seen to affect her so powerfully ?
" Don't you know ? Haven't you read it ? " she gasped ; and
F'rank replied, " No, Magdalen, I have not read it. My first
care was for you, always for you, darling."
She freed herself from him then, and struggling to her feet
stood before him with dilating nostrils and flashing eyes. She
knew that the tone of his voice meant love, love for her who
had refused it once, aye, who would refuse it a thousand times
more now than she had before. He could not have Millbank
and her too. There was no Will on earth which had power
to take her from Roger and give her to Frank, and by some
subtle intuition Magdalen recognized for a moment all she was
to Roger, and felt that possibly he would prefer poverty with
her to wealth without her; just as a crust shared with him
would be sweeter to her than the daintiest luxury shared with
Frank, who had called her his darling and who would rival
Roger in everything. Magdalen could have stamped her foot
in her rage that Frank should presume to think of love then
and there, when he must know what it was she had found for
him, what it was he held in his hand. And here she wronged
him ; for he did not at all realize his position, and he looked
curiously at her, wondering to see her so excited.
"Are you angry, Magdalen?" he asked. " What has hap
pened to affect you so ? Tell me. I don't understand it at
all."
Then Magdalen did stamp her foot, and coming close to
him, said, " Don't drive me mad with your stupidity, Frank
Irving. You know as well as I that I have found what when a
child you once asked me to search for, you to whom Roger
was so kind, you, who would deal so treacherously with Roger
in his own house; and I promised I would do it, I, who
was ten times worse than you. I was a beggar whom Rogei
took in, and I've wounded the hand that fed me. I have
found the will ; but, Frank Irving, if I had guessed what
1 64 FRANK AND THE WILL.
it contained I would have plucked out both my eyes before
they should have looked for it. You deceived me. You said
it gave you a part, only a part. You told me false, and I
hate you for it."
SheAvas mad now with her excitement, which increased as she
raved on, and she looked so white and terrible, with the fire
flashing out in gleams from her dark eyes, that Frank involun
tarily shrank back from her at first, and kept out of reach of
the hands which made so fierce gestures toward him as if they
would do him harm. Then as he began to recover himself,
and from her words get some inkling of the case, he drew her
gently to him, saying as he did so, " Magdalen, you wrong me
greatly. Heaven is my witness that I always meant to give
you the same impression of the will which I received from my
mother, though really and truly I never had much idea that
there was one, and am as much astonished to find there is as
you can be. I have not read it yet, and I am not responsible
for what there is in it. I knew nothing of it, had nothing to do
with it ; please don't blame me for what I could not help."
There was reason in what he said, and Magdalen saw it, and
softened toward him as she replied, "Forgive me, Frank, if in
my excitement I said things wjiich sounded harshly, and blamed
you for what you could not help. But, oh ! Frank, I am so
sorry for Roger, poor Roger. Say that you won't wrong him.
Be merciful ; be kind to him as he has been to you."
Frank's perceptions were not very acute, but he would have
been indeed a fool if in what Magdalen said he had failed to
detect a deeper interest in Roger than he had thought existed.
He did detect it, and a fierce pang of jealousy shot through his
heart as he began to see what the obstacle was which stood
between himself and Magdalen.
" I do not understand why you should be so distressed about
Roger, or beg of me to be merciful," he said ; but Magdalen
interrupted him with a gesture of impatience.
" Read that paper and you will know what I mean. You
FRANK AND THE WILL. 1 6$
will see that it makes Roger a beggar, and gives you all his for
tune. He has nothing, nothing comparatively."
Frank understood her now. He knew before that the lost
will was found, and he supposed that possibly he shared equally
with Roger, but he never dreamed that to him was given all,
and to Roger nothing ; and as Magdalen finished speaking he
opened the paper nervously and read it through, while she sat
watching him, her eyes growing blacker and brighter and more
defiant, as she fancied she saw a half-pleased expression flit
across his face when he read that he was the lawful heir of
Millbank. He had been defrauded of his rights for years, had
murmured against his poverty and his dependence, and thought
hard things of the old man in his grave who had left him only
five thousand dollars. But that was over now. Poverty and
dependence were things of the past. The old man in his grave
had willed to Frank, his beloved grandchild, all his property
except a few legacies similar to those in the older will, and the
paltry sum left to " the boy known as Roger Lennox Irving."
That was the way it was worded, not " My son Roger," but
" the boy known as Roger Lennox Irving." To him was be
queathed the sum of Five Thousand dollars, and the farm
among the New Hampshire hills known as the " Morton "
place. That was all Roger's inheritance, and it is not strange
that Frank sat for a moment speechless. Had he shared
equally with Roger he would not have been surprised ; but why
he should have the whole and Roger nothing, he did not un
derstand. The injustice of the thing struck him at first quite
as forcibly as it did Magdalen, and more to himself than her,
he said, " There must be some mistake. My grandfather would
never have done this thing in his right mind. Where did you
find it, Magdalen ? "
He did not seem elated, as she feared he might. She had
done him injustice, and with far more toleration than she had
felt for him at first, Magdalen told him where she had found it
and why she chanced to look there, and pointed to the signa
tures of Hester and Aleck Floyd as witnesses to the will..
1 66 FRANK AND THE WILL.
"Hester hid it," she said, "because she knew it was unjust,
and it was the fear of its being found which troubled her so
much."
"That is probable," Frank rejoined; "but still I can see no
reason for my grandfather's cutting Roger off with a mere pit
tance. It is cruel. It is unjust."
"Oh, Frank," Magdalen cried, and the tears which glittered
in her eyes softened the fiery expression they had worn a few
moments before. " Forgive me ; I was harsh towards you at
first, but now I know you mean to do right. You will, Frank.
You certainly will do right."
Magdalen had recovered her powers of speech and she talked
rapidly, begging Frank to be generous with Roger, to leave
him Millbank, to let him stay in the beautiful home he loved
so much. " Think of all he has done for you," she said, clasp
ing her hands upon his arm and looking at him with eyes from
which the tears were dropping fast. " Were you his son he
could hardly have done more ; and he has been so kind to me,
me who have requited his kindness so cruelly. Oh, Roger,
Roger, I would give my life to spare him this blow ! "
She covered her face with her hands, while Frank sat regard
ing her intently, his affection for her at that moment mastering
every other emotion and making him indifferent to the great
fortune which had so suddenly come to him. Love for Mag
dalen was the strongest sentiment of which he was capable, and
it was intensified with the suspicion that Roger was preferred
to himself. He could interpret her distress and concern for
his uncle in no other way. Gratitude alone could never have
affected her as she was affected, and Frank's heart throbbed
with jealousy and fear and intense desire to secure Magdalen
for himself. There had been a momentary feeling of exultation
when he thought of his poverty as a thing of the past, but Mag
dalen's love was worth more to him than a dozen Millbanks,
and in his excitement no sacrifice seemed too great which would
secure it.
" Oh, Roger, Roger, I would give my life to spare him this
FRANK AND THE WILL. 1 67
blow ! " Magdalen had cried ; and with these words still ringing
in his ears, Frank said to her at last, " Magdalen, you need not
give your life ; there is a far easier way by which Roger can be
spared the pain of knowing that Millbank is not his. He never
need to know of this will ; no one need to know of it but our
selves, you and me, Magdalen. We will keep the secret to
gether, shall we ? "
Magdalen had lifted up her head, and was listening to him
with an eager, wistful expression in her face, which encouraged
him to go on.
" But, Magdalen, my silence must have its price, and that
price is yourself !"
She started from him then as if he had stung her, but soon
resumed her former attitude, and listened while he continued :
" I asked you once, and you refused me, and I meant to try
and abide by your decision, but I cannot give you up ; and
when I found that Roger favored my suit and would be glad if
you could give me a favorable answer, I resolved to try again,
and came home this very afternoon with that object in view."
Frank stopped abruptly, struck with the look of anguish
and pain and surprise which crept into Magdalen's eyes as he
spoke of " Roger's favoring his suit."
" Roger consent ; oh no, not that. Roger never wished
that," Magdalen exclaimed, in a voice full of bitter disappoint
ment. " Did Roger wish it, Frank ? Did he say so, sure ? "
Few men, seeing Magdalen moved as she was then, would
have urged their own claims upon her ; but Frank was different
from most men. He had set his hopes on Magdalen, and he
must win her, and the more obstacles he found in his way the
more he was resolved to succeed. He would not see the love
for Roger which was so apparent in all Magdalen said and did.
He would ignore that altogether, and he replied, "Most cer
tainly he wishes it, or he would not have given his consent for
me to speak to you again. I talked with him about it the last
thing this morning before he started for New York. Did I tell
you he had gone there ? He has, and expects it to be settled
168 FRANK AND THE WILL.
before h : s return. I am well aware that this is not the time 01
place for love-making, but your great desire to spare Roger from
a knowledge of the will wrung from me what otherwise I would
have said at another time. Magdalen, I have always loved you,
fiom the morning I put you in your candle-box and knelt be
fore you as my princess. You were the sweetest baby I ever
saw. You have ripened into the loveliest woman, and I want
you fur my wife. I have wanted money badly, but now that
] have it, I will gladly give it all for you. Only say that you
will be mine, and I'll burn this paper before your eyes, and
swear to you solemnly that not a word regarding it shall ever
pass my lips. Shall I do it?"
Magdalen was not looking at him now. When he assured
her of Roger's consent to woo her for himself, and that he
"expected it to be settled before his return," she had turned her
face away to hide the bitter pain she knew was written upon it.
She had been terribly mistaken. She had believed that Roger
cared for her, and the knowing that he did not, that he could
even give his consent for her to marry Frank, was more than
she could bear, and she felt for a moment as if every ray of
happiness had, within the last hour, been stricken from her life.
" Shall I do it ? only speak the word, and eveiy trace of the
will shall be destroyed."
That was what Frank said to her a second time, and then
Magdalen turned slowly toward him, but made him no reply.
She scarcely realized what he was asking, or what he meant
to do, as he took a match from his pocket and struck it
across the floor. Gradually a ring of smoke came curling up
and floated toward Magdalen, who sat like a stone gazing fix
edly at the burning match, which Frank held near to the paper.
" Tell me, Magdalen, will you be my wife, if I burn the
will ? " he asked again ; and then Magdalen answered him,
" Oh, Frank, don't tempt me thus. How can I ? Oh, Roger,
Roger ! "
She was beginning to waver, and Frank saw it, and too much
excited hinasulf to know what he was doing, held the match so
FRANK AND THE WILL. 169
near the paper that it began to scorch, and in a moment more
would have been in a blaze. Then Magdalen came to herself,
and struck the match from Frank's hand, and snatching the
paper from him, said, vehemently, " You must not do it.
Roger would not suffer it, if he knew. Roger is honorable,
Roger is just. / found the paper, Frank. / will carry it to
Roger, and tell him it was I who ruined him. I will beg for
his forgiveness, and then go away and die, so I cannot witness
his fall."
She had risen to her feet, and was leaving the garret, but
Frank held her back. He could not part with her thus ; he
could not risk the probable consequences of her going to
Roger, as she had said she would. But one result could follow
such a step, and that result was death to all Frank most de
sired. Millbank weighed as nothing when compared with Mag
dalen, and Frank made her listen to him again, and worked
upon her pity for Roger until, worried and bewildered, and
half- crazed with excitement, she cried out, "I'll think about
it, Frank. I will love you, if I can. Give me a week in
which to decide ; but let me go now, or I shall surely die."
She tore herself from him, and was hurrying down the stairs
with the will grasped in her hands, when suddenly she stopped,
and, offering it to Frank, said to him, " Put it under the floor
where I found it. Let it stay there till the week is up."
There was hope in what she said, and Frank hastened to do
her bidding, and then went softly down the stairs, and passed
unobserved through the hall out into the rain, which seemed so
grateful to him after his recent excitement. He did not care
to meet his mother just then, and so he quietly left the house,
and walked rapidly down the avenue toward the village, intend
ing to strike into the fields and go back to Millbank at the
usual dinner-hour, so as to excite no suspicions.
To say that Frank felt no elation at the thought of Millbank
belonging to him, would be wrong ; for, as he walked along,
he was conscious of a new and pleasant feeling of importance,
8
I/O FRANK AND THE WILL.
mingled with a feeling that he was very magnanimous, too, and
was doing what few men in his position would have done.
" All mine, if I choose to claim it," he said to himself once,
as he paused on a little knoll and looked over the broad acres
of the Irving estate, which stretched far back from the river
toward the eastern hills. " All mine, if I choose to have it so."
Then he looked away to the huge mill upon the river, the
shoe-shop farther on, and thought of the immense revenue they
yielded, and then his eye came back to Millbank proper, the
handsome house, embowered in trees, with its velvety lawn and
spacious grounds, and its ease and luxury within. "All his,"
unless he chose to throw it away for a girl, who did not love
him, and who, he believed, preferred Roger and poverty and
toil, to luxury and Millbank and himself. Had he believed
otherwise, had no suspicion of her preference for Roger entered
his mind, he might have hesitated a moment ere deciding to
give up the princely fortune which had come so suddenly to
him. But the fact that she was hard to win only enhanced her
value, and he resolutely shut his eyes to the sacrifice he was
making for her sake, and thought instead how he would work
for her, deny himself for her, and become all that her husband
ought to be.
" She shall love me better than she loves Roger. She shall
never regret her choice if she decides for me," he said, as he
went back to the house, which he reached just as dinner was
announced.
Mrs. Walter Scott had not seen him when he first came home
in the afternoon, but she saw him leave the house and hurry
down the avenue, while something in his manner indicated an
unusual degree of perturbation and excitement. A few mo
ments later she found Magdalen in her own room, lying upon
the sofa, her face as white as marble, and her eyes wearing
so scared a look that she was greatly alarmed, and asked what
was the matter.
" A headache ; it came on suddenly," Magdalen said, while
her lip quivered and her eyes filled with tears, which ran down
FRANK AND THE WILL. Ijl
her cheeks in torrents, as Mrs. Irving bent to kiss her, smooth
ing her forehead and saying to her, " Poor child, you look as if
you were suffering so much. I wish I could help you. Cau
I?"
" No, nobody can help me, nobody. Oh, is it a sin to wish
I had never been born?" was Magdalen's reply, which con
firmed Mrs. Walter Scott in her suspicion that Frank had some
thing to do with her distress.
Frank had spoken again and been refused, and they might lose
the hundred thousand after all. Mrs. Walter Scott could not
afford to lose it. She had formed too many plans which were
all depending upon it to see it pass from her without an effort
to keep it, and bringing a little stool to Magdalen's side, she
sat down by her and began to caress, and pity, and soothe her,
and at last said to her, " Excuse me, darling, but I am almost
certain that Frank has had more or less to do with your head
ache. I know he has been here ; did you see him ? "
Magdalen made no reply, only her tears fell faster, and she
turned her face away from the lady, who continued, in her
softest, kindest manner, " My poor boy, I know all about it ;
can't you love him ? Try, darling, for my sake as well as his.
We could be so happy together. Tell me what you said to
him."
" No, no, not now. Please don't talk to me now. I am so
miserable," was Magdalen's reply, and with that Mrs. Walter
Scott was obliged to be content, until she found herself alone
with her son at the dinner table.
Dismissing the servant the moment dessert was brought in,
she asked him abruptly " what had transpired between him
and Magdalen to affect her so strangely."
Frank's face was very pale, and he betrayed a good deal of
agitation as he asked in turn what Magdalen herself had said.
He had a kind of intuition that if his mother knew of the
will, no power on earth could keep her quiet. He believed
she liked Magdalen, but he knew she liked money better ; and
he was alarmed lest she should discover his secret, and be the
1/2 MRS. WALTER SCOTT AND THE WILL.
instrument of his losing what seemed more and more desirabk
as one obstacle after another was thrown in his ivay.
Mrs. Irving repeated all that had passed beiween herself and
Magdalen, and then Frank breathed more freely, and told on
his part what he thought necessary to tell.
" Magdalen had been a good deal excited," he said, " and
had asked for a week in which to consider the matter, and he
had granted it. And mother," he added, " please let her alone,
and not bother her with questions, and don't mention me to
her above all things. 'Twill spoil everything."
Frank had finished his pudding by this time, and without
waiting for his mother's answer he left the dining room and
went at once to his own chamber, where he passed the entire
evening, thinking of the strange discovery which had been
made, wondering what Magdalen's final decision would be, and
occasionally sending a feeling of longing and regret after the
fortune he was giving up.
CHAPTER XXII.
MRS. WALTER SCOTT AND THE WILL.
IJOGER came from New York the next evening. He
could not stay from Millbank any longer. He had
made up his mind to face the inevitable. He would
make the best of it if Magdalen accepted Frank, and if she did
not, he would speak for himself at once. Roger was naturally
hopeful, and something told him that his chance was not lost
forever, that Frank was not so sure of Magdalen. He could
not believe that he had been so deceived or had misconstrued
her kind graciousness of manner toward himself. A thousand
little acts of hers came back to his mind and confirmed him in
the belief that unless she was a most consummate coquette, he
MRS. WALTER SCOTT AND THE WILL. 1/3
was not indifferent to her. On reaching Belvidere, . he went
straight to Millbank without stopping at the office. He was
impatient to see Magdalen, but she was not on the steps to
meet him as was her custom when he returned from New York
or Boston, and only Mrs. Walter Scott's bland voice greeted
him as he came in.
" Magdalen was sick with one of her neuralgic headaches,"
she said, " and had not left her room that day."
Roger would not ask her if it was settled. He would rather
put that question to Frank, who soon came in and inquired
anxiously for Magdalen. A person less observing than Roger
could not. have failed to see that the Frank of to-day was not
the same as the Frank of yesterday. He did not mean to ap
pear differently, but he could not divest himself wholly of the
feeling that by every lawful right he was master where he had
been so long a dependent, and there was in his manner an air
of assurance and independence, and even of patronage, toward
Roger, who attributed it wholly to the wrong source, and when
his sister left the room for a moment, he said, " I suppose I
am to congratulate you, of course ? "
Frank wanted to say yes, but the lie was hard to utter, and
he answered, " I think so. She wishes time to consider. Girls
always do, I believe."
Roger knew little of girls, he said, and he tried to smile and
appear natural, and asked who had called at the office during
his absence, and if his insurance agent had been to see about
the mill and the shoe-shop.
Frank answered all his questions, and made some suggestions
of his own to the effect that if he were Roger he would insure
in another company, and do various other things differently.
" I am something of an old fogy, I reckon, and prefer fol
lowing in my father's safe track," Roger said, with a laugh, and
then the conversation ceased and the two men separated.
Magdalen's headache did not seem to abate, and for several
days she kept her room, refusing to see any one but Hester
and Mrs. Walter Scott, who vied with each other in their at
174 MRS. WALTER SCOTT AND THE WILL,
tentions to her. Mrs. Walter Scott did a good deal of tet.dei
nursing during those few days, and called Magdalen by every
pet name there was in her vocabulary, and kissed her at least
a dozen times an hour, and carried messages which she never
sent to Frank, who was in a state of great excitement, not only
with regard to Magdalen, but also the Will, thoughts of which
drove him nearly frantic. Every day of his life he mounted
the garret stairs, and groping his way to the loose plank, went
down on his knees to see that it was safe. The Will had a
wonderful fascination for him ; he could not keep away from it,
and one morning he took it from the box, and carrying it to
the window, sat down to read it again, and see if it really did
give everything to him. For the first time then he noticed
the expression, "To the boy known as Roger Lennox Ir
ving."
It was a very singular way to speak of one's child, he
thought, and he wondered what it could mean, and why his
grandfather had, at the very last, made so unjust a will; and he
became so absorbed in thought as not to hear the steps on the
stairs, or see the woman who came softly to his side and stood
looking over his shoulder.
Magdalen had, at last, asked to see Frank. She had made
up her mind, and insisted upon being dressed, and meeting him
in her little sitting-room, which opened from her chamber.
" Do you feel quite equal to the task ? " Mrs. Walter Scott
had said, kissing and caressing the poor girl, whose face was
deathly pale, save where the fever spots burned upon her
cheeks. " You don't know how beautiful you look," she con
tinued, as she wrapped the shawl around Magdalen, and then,
with another kiss, went in quest of Frank.
No one had seen him except Celine, who remembered hav
ing met him in the little passage leading to the garret stairs.
" He was there yesterday and the day before," she said, and
then passed on, never dreaming of all which was to follow those
few apparently unimportant words.
"That is a strange place for Frank to visit every day," Mrs.
MRS. WALTER SCOTT AND THE WILL. 1/5
Walter Scott thought, and, curious to know why he was there,
she, too, started for the garret. She always stepped lightly,
and her soft French slippers scarcely made a sound as she went
up the stairs. Frank's back was toward her, and she ad
vanced so cautiously that she stood close behind him before he
was aware of her presence. She saw the soiled paper he held
in his hand, read a few words, and then uttered a cry of exulta
tion, which started Frank to his feet, where he stood confront
ing her, his face as white as marble, and his eyes blazing with
excitement. His mother was scarcely less pale than himself,
and her eyes were fixed on his with an unflinching gaze.
" Ah ! " she said, and in that single interjection was em
bodied all the cruel exultation and delight and utter disregard
for Roger, and defiance of the world, which the cold, hard wo
man felt.
Anon there broke about her mouth a peculiar kind of smile,
which showed her glittering teeth, and made Frank draw back
from her a step or two, while he held the paper closer in his
hand, and farther away from her. She saw the motion, and
there was something menacing in her attitude as she went close
to him, and whispered,
"I was right, after all. There was another Will, which
somebody hid. Where did you find it ? "
" Magdalen found it," Frank involuntarily rejoined, mentally
cursing himself for his stupidity when it was too late.
"Magdalen found it ? And is that what ails her ? Let me
see it, please."
For a moment Frank was tempted to refuse her request, but
something in her face compelled him to unfold the paper and
hold it while she read it through.
" Why, Frank, it gives you everything" she exclaimed, with
joy thrilling in every tone, as she clutched his arm, and looked
into his face. " I never supposed it quite as good as this."
" Mother," Frank said, drawing back from her again, " are
you a fiend to exult so over Roger's ruin ? Don't you see it
gives him a mere nothing, and he the only son ? "
1/6 MRS. WALTER SCOTT AND THE WILL,
All the manhood of Frank's nature was roused by his
mother's manner, and he was tempted for a moment to tear
the will in shreds, and thus prevent the storm which he felt wa?
rising over Millbank.
" There may be a doubt about the 'only son,' " Mrs. Wal
ter Scott replied. " A father does not often deal thus with his
only surviving son. What do you imagine that means ? " and
she pointed to the words, " the boy known as Roger Lennox
Irving."
Frank knew then what it meant ; knew that in some way a
doubt as to Roger's birth had been lodged in his grandfather's
mind, but it found no answering chord in his breast.
" Never will I believe that of Roger's mother. He is more
an Irving than I am, everybody says. Shame on you for cred
iting the story, even for a moment, and my curse on the one
who put that thought in the old man's heart, for it was put
there by somebody."
He was cursing her to her face, and he was going on to say
still more when she laid her hand over his mouth, and said,
"Stop, my son. You don't know whom you are cursing,
nor any of the circumstances. You are no judge of Jessie
Morton's conduct. Far be it from me to condemn her now
that she is dead. She was a silly girl, easily influenced, and
never loved your grandfather, who was three times her age.
We read that the parents' sin shall be visited upon the children ,
and if she sinned, her child has surely reaped the conse
quences, or will when this Will is proved. Poor Roger ! I, too,
am sorry for him, and disposed to be lenient ; but he cannot
expect us to let things go on as they have done now that every
thing is reversed. How did Magdalen happen to find it ? "
She was talking very gently now, by way of quieting Frank,
who told her briefly what he knew of the finding of the Will,
and then, little by little as she adroitly questioned him, he let
out the particulars of his interview with Magdalen, and Mrs.
Walter Scott knew the secret of Magdalen's distress. Her face
was turned away from Frank, who did not see the cold, remorse-
MRS. WALTER SCOTT AND THE WILL. IJJ
less expression which settled upon it, as she thought of Mag
dalen's pitting herself against the Millbank fortune. Magdalen's
value was decreasing fast. The master of Millbank could surely
find a wife more worthy of him than the beggar girl who had
been deserted in the cars, and that Magdalen Lennox should not
marry her son was the decision she reached at a Abound, and
Frank must have suspected the nature of her thoughts, as she
sat nervously tapping her foot upon the floor, and looking off
through the window, with great wrinkles in her forehead and
between her eyes.
" Mother," he said, and there was something pleading as well
as reproachful in his voice, " I did not mean that you should
know of this, and now that you do, I must beg of you to keep
your knowledge to yourself. I shall lose Magdalen if you do
not, and I care more for her than a hundred fortunes."
His mother turned fully toward him now and said, sneer-
ingly, " A disinterested lover, truly. Perhaps when you promised
to destroy the Will you forgot the hundred thousand which, if
Roger remained master here, would come to you with Magdalen,
and you made yourself believe that you were doing a very un
selfish and romantic thing in preferring Magdalen and poverty to
Millbank."
" Mother," Frank cried, " I swear to you that a thought of
that hundred thousand never crossed my mind until this mo
ment. My love for Magdalen is strong enough to brave pov
erty in any form for her sake."
"And you really mean to marry her?"
She put the question so coolly that Frank gazed at her in
astonishment, wondering what she meant.
Of course he meant to marry her if she would take him ; he
would prefer her to a thousand Millbanks. " And mother," he
idded, " you shall not tell her thatyvu know of the Will until
after to-morrow. She is to give me her answer then. Promise,
or I will destroy this cursed paper before your very eyes."
He made a motion as if he would tear it in pieces, when,
1/8 ROGER AND THE WILL.
with a. sudden gesture, his mother caught it from him and held
it fast in her own hands.
" The Will is not safe with you," she said. " I will keep it
for you. I shall not trouble Magdalen, but I shall go at once
to Roger. I cannot see you throw away wealth, and ease, and
position for a bit of sentiment with regard to a girl whose par
entage is doubtful, to say the least of it, and who can bring you
nothing but a pretty face."
She had put the Will in her pocket. There was no way of
getting it from her, except by force, and Frank saw her depart
without a word, and knew she was going to Roger. Suddenly
it occurred to him that Roger might not have left the office yet,
and he started up, exclaiming, " I am the one to tell him first,
if he must know. I can break it to him easier than mother.
I shall not be hard on Roger."
Thus thinking, Frank started swiftly across the fields in the
direction of Roger's office, hoping either to meet him, or to find
him there, and trying to decide how he should break the news
so as to wound his uncle as little as possible, and make him
understand that he was not in fault.
CHAPTER XXIII.
ROGER AND THE WILL.
JHE office was closed, the shutters down, and Roger
gone. Frank had come too late, and he swiftly re
traced his steps homeward, hoping still to be in time
to tell the news before his mother. But his hopes were vain.
Roger had entered the house while Frank was in the garret,
and Mrs. Walter Scott heard him in his room as she passed
through the hall after her interview with her son. But she was
too much agitated and too flurried to speak to him just then.
ROGER AND THE WILL. 1 79
She must compose herself a little, and utterly forgetful of Mag*
dalen, who was waiting for Frank, and growing impatient at his
delay, she went to her own room and read the Will again to
make sure that all was right and Frank the lawful heir. She
could not realize it, it had come so suddenly upon her ; but she
knew that it was so, and she bore herself like a queen when
she at last arose, and started for Roger's room. It was the Mrs.
Walter Scott of former days resurrected and intensified who
swept so proudly through the hall, just inclining her head to the
servant whom she met, and thinking, as she had once thought
before, how she would dismiss the entire household and set up
a new government of her own. There had been some uncer
tainty attending the future when she made this decision before,
but now there was none. She held the document which made
her safe in her possessions ; she was the lady of Millbank, and
there was a good deal of assurance in the knock, to which Roger
responded " Come in."
He was in his dressing-gown, and looking pale and worn just
as he had looked ever since his return from New York. Beside
him in a vase upon the table was a bouquet, which he had ar
ranged for Magdalen, intending to send it to her with her dinner.
And Mrs. Walter Scott saw it and guessed what it was for, and
there flashed into her mind a thought that she would make mat
ters right between Roger and Magdalen ; she would help them
to each other, and save Frank from the possibility of a mesal
liance. But Mrs. Walter Scott was a very cautious woman ;
she always kept something in reserve in case one plau should
fail, and now there came a thought that possibly Roger might
contest the Will and win, and if he did, it might be well to re
consider Magdalen and her hundred thousand dollars, so she
concluded that for the present it would be better not to throw
Magdalen overboard. That could be done hereafter, if neces
sary.
She was very gracious to Roger, and took the seat he offered
her, and played with her watch-chain, wondering how she should
begin. It was harder than she had anticipated, telling a
I SO ROGER AND THE WILL.
man like Roger that all he had thought his, belonged to an*
other-; and she hesitated, and grew cold and hot and withal a
little afraid of Roger, who was beginning to wonder why she was
there, and what she wanted to say.
" Can I do anything for you, Helen ? " he asked, just as he
had once before, when she came on an errand which had caused
him so much pain.
Then she had come to tear Magdalen from him ; now she was
there to take his fortune, his birthright away ; and it is not strange
that, cruel as she was, she hesitated how to begin.
" Roger," she said, in reply to his question, " I am here on a
most unpleasant errand, but one which, as a mother whose
first duty is to her son, I must perform. You remember the
WILL which at your father's death could not be found."
She was taking it from her pocket, and Roger, who was quick
of comprehension, knew before she laid the worn paper upon
the table, that the lost Will was found ! With trembling haste
he snatched it up, and she made no effort to restrain him. She
had faith in the man she was ruining. She knew the Will was
safe in his hands ; he would neither destroy nor deface it. He
would give it its due consideration, and she sat watching him
while he read it through, and pitying him, it must be confessed,
with all the little womanly feeling she had left. She would have
been a stone not to have pitied one whose lips uttered no sound
as he read, but quivered and trembled, and grew so bloodless
and thin, while his face dripped with the perspiration which
started from every pore and rolled down his chin in drops. She
thought at first they were tears, but when he lifted his eyes to
hers as he finished reading, she saw that they were dry, but oh,
so full of pain and anguish and surprise, and wounded love and
grief, that his father should have disinherited him for such a
cause. He knew what the clause " the boy known as Roger
Lennox Irving" implied, and that hurt him more than all the
rest.
Why had his father believed such a thing of his mother, and
who had told him the shameful story ? Leaning across the
ROGER AND THE WILL. iSl
table to his sister he pointed to the clause, and moving hi
finger slowly under each word, said to her in a voice she would
never have recognized as his, "Helen, who poisoned my
father's mind with that tale ? "
Mrs. Walter Scott did not know of the letter in Magdalen's
possession, or how much Hester Floyd had overheard years
before, when, with lying tongue, she had hinted things she
knew could not be true, and made the old man mad with
jealousy. She did not think how soon she would be confronted
with her lie, and she answered, " I do not know. It is the first
intimation I have heard of Squire Irving' s reason for changing
his Will."
She had forgotten her language to Lawyer Schofield the night
after the funeral when the other Will was the subject of debate ;
but Roger remembered it, and his eyes rested steadily on her
face as he said, "You do not know? You never heard it
hinted that my mother was false, then ? "
"Never," she felt constrained to say, for there was something
in those burning eyes which threatened her with harm if by
word or look she breathed aught against the purity of poor
Jessie Morton.
" Who found this Will, and where ?" Roger asked her next,
and with a mean desire to pay him for that look, Mrs. Walter
Scott replied, " Magdalen found it. She has hunted for it at
intervals, ever since she was a child and heard that there was
one."
But she repented what she had said when she saw how deep
her blow had struck.
" Magda found it ; oh, Magda, I would a thousand times
rather it had been some one else."
That was what Roger said, as with a bitter groan he laid his
head upon the table, while sob after sob shook his frame and
frightened his sister, who had never dreamed of pain like this.
Tearless sobs they were, for Roger was not crying ; he was
writhing in anguish, and the sobs were like gasping moans, so
terrible was his grief. He remetabered what Magdalen had
1 82 ROGER AND THE WILL.
told him once of looking for the Will when she was a child, and
remembered how sorry she had seamed. Had she deliberately-
deceived him, and, after he had told her that it was supposed
to give Frank nearly everything, had she resumed her search,
hoping to find and restore to her lover his fortune ? Then he
thought of that night with Plester, and the cobweb in Magdalen's
hair. She had been to the garret, according to her own confes
sion, and she had looked for the missing will then and " at
intei vals " since, until she had found it and sent it to him by
Mrs. Walter Scott, instead of bringing it herself?
And he had loved her so much, and thought her so innocent
and artless and true, his little girl through whom he had been
so terribly wounded. If she had come herself with it and given
it into his hands and told him all about it, he would not have
felt one half so badly as to receive it from another, and that
other the cruel, pitiless woman whose real character he recog
nized as he had never done .before. He had nothing to hope
from her, nothing to hope from Frank, nothing from Mag
dalen. They were all leagued against him. They would en
joy Millbank, and he would go from their midst a ruined, heart
broken man, shorn of his love, shorn of his fortune, and shorn
of his name, if that dreadful clause, " the boy known as Roger
Lennox Irving," really meant anything. He knew it was false ;
he never for a moment thought otherwise ; but it was recorded
against him by his own father, and after Magdalen, it was the
keenest, bitterest pang of all.
Could that have been stricken out and could he have kept
Magdalen, he would have given all the rest without a murmur.
As the will read, it was right that Frank should come into
his inheritance, and Roger had no thought or wish to keep him
from it. He did not meditate a warfare against his nephew, as
his sister feared he might. He had only given way for a few
moments to the grief, and pain, and humiliation which had come
so suddenly upon him, and he lay, with his face upon the table,
until the first burst of the storm was over, and his sobs changed
to long-drawn breaths, and finally ceased entirely, as he lifted
ROGER AND THE WILL. 183
up his head and looked again at the fatal document before
him.
Shocked at the sight of his distress, his sister had at first tried
to comfort him. With a woman's quick perception she had
seen that Magdalen was the sorest part of all, and had said tc
him soothingly :
"It was by accident that Magdalen found it. She was great
ly disturbed about it."
This did not tally with her first statement, that " Magdalen
had sought for it at intervals," and Roger made a gesture for
her to stop. So she sat watching him, and trembling a little,
as she began dimly to see what the taking of Millbank from
Roger would involve.
" Excuse me, Helen," he said, with all his old courtesy of
manner, as he wiped the sweat drops from his beard. " Ex
cuse rne if, for a moment, I gave way to my feelings in your
presence. It was so sudden, and there were so many sources
of pain which met me at once, that I could not at first control
myself. It was not so much the loss of my fortune. I could
bear that "
"Then you do not intend to contest the will?" Mrs. Walter
Scott said.
It was a strange question for her to ask then, and she blushed
as she did it ; but she must know what the prospect was, while
underlying her own selfish motives was a thought that if Roger
did not mean to dispute the right with Frank, she would brave
the displeasure of her son, and then and there pour balm into
the wound, by telling Roger of her belief that he was, and
always had been, preferred to Frank by Magdalen. But she
was prevented from this by the abrupt entrance of Frank him
self. He had heard that his mother was with Roger, and had
hastened to the room, seeing at a glance that the blow had
been given ; that Roger had seen the will ; and for a moment
he stood speechless before the white face and the soft blue eyes
which met him so wistfully as he came in. There was no re
proach in them, only a dumb kind of pleading as if for pity,
1 84 ROGER AND THE WILL.
which touched Frank's heart to the very core, and brought him
to Roger's side.
Roger was the first to speak. Putting out his hand to Frank,
he tried to smile, and said :
" Forgive me, boy, for having kept you from your own so
long. If I had believed for a moment that there was such a
will, I would never have rested day or night till I had found it
for you. I wish I had. I would far rather I had found it than
than "
He could not say "Magdalen," but Frank knew whom he
meant, and, in his great pity for the wounded man, he was ready
to give up everything to him but Magdalen. He must have
her, but Roger should keep Millbank.
" I believe that I am more sorry than you can be that the
will is found," he said, still grasping Roger's hand. "And I
want to say to you now that I prefer you should keep the place
just as you have done. There need be no change. Only give
me enough to support myself and and "
He could not say Magdalen either, for he was not so sure of
her, but Roger said it for him.
" Support yourself and Magdalen. I know what you mean,
my boy. You are very generous and kind, but right is right.
When I thought Millbank mine, I kept it. Now that I know
it is not mine, I shall accept no part of 'it ', however small."
He spoke sternly, and his face began to harden. He was
thinking of the clause, " the boy known as Roger Lennox
Irving." He could take no part of the estate of the man who
had dictated those cruel words. He was too proud for that ;
he would rather earn his bread by the sweat of his brow than
be beholden to one who could believe such things of his mother.
Frank saw the change in his manner, and anxious to propitiate
him, began again to urge his wish that Roger would, at least,
allow him to divide the inheritance in case the will was proved,
but Roger stopped him impatiently.
" It is not you, my boy, whose gift I refuse. If you cannot
understand me, I shall not now explain. I've lived on you foi
ROGER AND THE WILL. 185
years. I can never repay that, for I feel as if all my energies
were crippled, so I will let that obligation remain, but must
incur no other. As to proving the will," and Roger smiled
bitterly when he saw how eagerly his sister listened, and re-
membered the question she had asked him just as Frank came
in, and which he had not yet answered, " As to proving the
will, you will have no trouble there. I certainly shall make
none. You will find it very easy stepping into your estate."
Mrs. Walter Scott drew a long breath of relief and sank into
her chair, in the easy, contented, languid attitude she always
assumed when satisfied with herself and her condition. She
roused up, however, when Roger went on to say :
" One thing I must investigate, and that is, who hid this will,
and why. Have you any theory ? " and he turned to his sister,
who replied, "I have always suspected Hester Floyd. She
was a witness, with her husband."
" Why did you always suspect her, and what reason had you
for believing there was a later will than the one made in my
favor ? " Roger asked, and his sister quailed beneath the search
ing glance of his eyes.
She could not tell him all she knew, and she colored scarlet
and stammered out something about Mrs. Floyd's strange man
ner at the time of the Squire's funeral, nearly twenty years ago.
" Frank, please go for Hester," Roger said. ll We will hear
what she has to say."
Frank bowed in acquiescence, and, leaving the room, was
soon knocking at Hester Floyd's door.
1 86 HESTER AND THE WILL.
CHAPTER XXIV.
HESTER AND THE WILL.
JESTER was sitting by her fire knitting a sock "ol
Roger, and Aleck was with her, smoking his pipe in he
corner, and occasionally opening his small, sleepy eyes
to look at his better half when she addressed some remark to
him. They were a very quiet, comfortable, easy-looking couple
as they sat there together in the pleasant room which had been
theirs for more than forty years, and their thoughts were as far
as possible from the storm-cloud bursting over their heads, and
of which Frank was the harbinger.
" Mrs. Floyd, Mr. Irving would like to see you in the
library," Frank said a little stiffly, and in his manner there was
a tinge of importance and self-assurance unusual to him when
addressing the head of Millbank, Mrs. Hester P'loyd.
Hester did not detect this manner, but she saw that he was
agitated and nervous, and she dropped a stitch in her knitting
as she looked at him and said, " Roger wants me in the
library ? What for ? Has anything happened that you look
white as a rag ? "
Frank was twenty-seven years old, but there was still enough
of the child about him to make him like to be first to commu
nicate news whether good or bad, and to Hester's question he
replied, " Yes. The missing will is found."
Hester dropped a whole needle full of stitches, and she was
whiter now than Frank as she sprang to Aleck's side and shook
him so vigorously that the pipe fell from his mouth, and the
stolid, stupid look left his face for once as she said : " Do you
hear, Aleck, the will is found ! The will that turns Roger
out-doors."
Aleck did not seem so much agitated as his wife, and after
gazing blankly at her for a moment, he slowly picked up his
HESTER AND THE WILL. 1^7
pipe and said, with the utmost nonchalance, " You better go
and see to't. You don't want me along."
She did not want him ; that is, she did not need him ; and
with a gesture of contempt she turned from him to Frank, and
said, " I am ready. Come."
There was nothing of the deference due to the heir of Mill,
bank in her tone and manner. Frank would never receive
that from her, and she flounced out into the hall, and kept a
step or two in advance of the young man, to whom she said,
" Who is with Roger ? Anybody ? "
As she came nearer to the library she began to have a little
dread of what she might encounter, and visions of lawyers and
constables, armed and equipped to arrest her bodily, flitted un
easily before her mind ; but when Frank replied, " There is no
one there but mother," her fear vanished, and was succeeded
by a most violent fit of anger at the luckless Mrs. Walter
Scott.
" The jade ! " she said. " I always mistrusted how her
snoopin' around would end. If I'd had my way, she should
never have put foot inside this house, the trollop."
" Mrs. Floyd, you are speaking of my mother. You must
stop. I cannot allow it."
It was the master of Millbank who spoke, and Hester turned
upon him fiercely.
" For the Lord's sake, how long since you took such airs ?
I shall speak of that woman how and where I choose, and you
can't help yourself."
By this it will be seen that Hester was not in the softest of
moods as she made her way to the library, but her feelings
changed the moment she stood in the room where Roger was.
She had expected to find hkn hot, excited, defiant, and ready,
like herself, to battle with those who would take his birthright
from him. She was not prepared for the crushed, white-faced
man who looked up at her so helplessly as she came in, and
tried to force a smile as he pointed to a chair at his side, and
said,
1 88 HESTER AND THE WILL.
" Sit here by me, Hester. It is you and I now. You and
I alone."
His chin quivered a little as he held the chair for her to si?
down, and then kept his hand on her shoulder as if he felt bettei.
stronger so. He knew -he had her sympathy, that every pulsa
tion of her heart beat for him, that she would cling to him
through weal and woe, and he felt a kind of security in having
her there beside him. Hester saw the yellow, soiled papei
spread out before him, and recognized it at a glance. Then
she looked across the table toward the proud woman who sat
toying with her rings, and exulting at the downfall of poor
Roger. At her Hester glowered savagely, and was met by a
derisive smile, which told how utterly indifferent the lady was to
her and her opinion. Then Hester's glance came back, and
rested pityingly on her boy, whose finger now was on the will,
and who said to her,
" Hester, there was another will, as Helen thought. It is
here before me. It was found under the garret floor. Do you
know who put it there ? "
He was very calm, as if asking an ordinary question, and
his manner went far toward reassuring Hester, who, by this
time, had made up her mind to tell the truth, and brave the
consequences.
" Yes," she replied. " I put it there myself, the day your
father died."
" I told you so," dropped from Mrs. Walter Scott's lips ; but
Hester paid no heed to her.
She was looking at Roger, fascinated by the expression of his
eyes and face as he went on to question her.
" Why did you hide it, and where did you find it ? "
" It was lying on the table, where Aleck found him dead,
spread out before him, as if he had been reading it over, as I
know he had, and he meant to change it, too, for he'd asked
young Schofield to come that night and fix it. Don't you re
member Schofield said so ? "
Roger nodded, and she continued :
HESTER AND THE WILL. 1 89
" And I know by another way that he meant to change it.
Twas so writ in his letter to you."
" His letter to me, Hester ? There was nothing like that
in the letter," Roger exclaimed ; and Hester continued :
" Not in the one I gave to you, I know. That he must
have begun first, and quit, because he blotched it, or some
thing. Any ways, there was another one finished for you, and
in it he said he was goin' to fix the will, add a cod-cil or some
thing, because he said it was unjust."
" Why did you withhold that letter from me, Hester, and
where is it now ?"
Roger spoke a little sternly, and glad of an excuse to turn
his attention from herself to some one else, Hester replied,
" It was in the same box with t'other paper, and I s'pose
she's got it who snooped till she found the will."
She glanced meaningly at Mrs. Walter Scott, who deigned
her no reply, but who began to feel uneasy with regard to the
letter of which she had not before heard, and whose contents
she did not know.
Neither Roger nor Frank wished to mix Magdalen up with
the matter, if possible to avoid it, and no mention was made of
her then, and Hester was suffered to believe it was Mrs. Walter
Scott who had found the will.
"You read the letter, Hester. Tell me what was in it,"
Roger said.
And then Hester's face flushed, and her eyes flashed fire, as
she replied,
" There was in it that which had never or* to be writ. He giv
the reason why he made this will. He was driv to it by some
body who pisoned his mind with the biggest, most impossible
slander agin the sweetest, innocentest woman that ever drawed
the breath."
Roger was listening eagerly now, with a fiery gleam in his
blue eyes, and his nostrils quivering with indignation.
Mrs. Walter Scott was listening, too, her face very pale,
19 HESTER AND THE WILL.
except where a bright spot of red ' burned on her cheeks, and
her lips slightly apart, showing her white teeth.
Frank was listening also, and gradually coming to an under
standing of what had been so mysterious before.
Neither of the three thought of interrupting Hester, who had
the field to herself, and who, now that she was fairly launched,
went on rapidly :
'' I'll make a clean breast of it, bein' the will is found, which
I never meant it should be, and then them as is mistress here
now can take me to jail as soon as they likes. It don't matter,
the few days I've got left to live. I signed that fust Will, me
and Aleck, twenty odd year ago, and more, and I knew pretty
well what was in it, and that it was right, and gin the property
to the proper person ; and then I thought no more about it till
a few months before he died, when Aleck and me was called in
agin to witness another will, here in this room, standin' about
as I set now, with the old gentleman where that woman is,
Aleck where you be, and Lawyer Schoueld where Mr. Franklin
stands. I thought it was a queer thing, and mistrusted some-
thin' wrong, particularly as I remembered a conversation I
overheard a week or so before about you, Roger, and your
mother, compared to who, that other woman ain't fit to live in
the same place ; and she won't neither, she'll find, when we all
get our dues."
Both Roger and Frank knew she referred to Mrs. Walter
Scott, who, if angry glances could have annihilated her, would
have done so. But Hester was not afraid of her, and went on,
not very connectedly, but still intelligibly, to those who were
listening so intently :
" She pisoned his mind with snaky, insinuatin' lies, which she
didn't exactly speak out, as I heard, but hinted at, and made me
so mad that I wanted to throttle her then, and I wish I had
bust into the room and told her it was all a lie, as I could prove
arid swear to ; for, from the day Jessie Morton married Squire
Irving until the summer she went to Saratoga, when you,
Roger, was quite a little shaver, she never laid eyes on that
HESTER AND THE WILL. IQI
man, who was her ruin afterward. I know it is so, and so does
others, for I've inquired ; and if the scamp was here, he'd tell
you so, which I wish he was, and if I knew where to find him,
I'd go on my hands and knees to get his word, too, that what
this good-for-nothing snake in the grass told was a lie ! "
Human nature could endure no more, and Mrs. Walter Scott
sprang to her feet, and turning to her son, asked,
" If he, a man, would sit quietly, and hear his mother so
abused ? "
" You have a right to stop her," she said, as she saw Frank
hesitate. " A right to turn her out of the house."
" I'd like to see him do it," Hester rejoined, her old face
aglow with passion and fierce anger.
" Hush, Hester, hush," Roger said, in his quiet, gentle way ;
" and you, Helen, sit down and listen. If I can bear this, you
certainly can."
The perspiration was rolling from his face in great drops a
second time, and something like a groan broke from his lips as
he covered his eyes with his hands and said, " My mother, oh,
my mother, that'I should hear her so maligned."
" She wan't maligned," Hester exclaimed, misinterpreting the
meaning of the word. "It was a lie, the whole on't. She
never left this house except for church or parties, and only
three of them, one to Miss Johnson's, one to Squire Schofield's,
and one to Mrs. Lennox's, and a few calls, from the time she
came here till after you was born ; I know, I was here, I was
your nurse, I waited on her, and loved her like my own from the
moment she cried so on my neck and said she didn't want to
come here. She was too young to come as his wife. She was
nothin' but a child, and when she couldn't stan' the racket any
longer she run away."
Roger was shaking now as with an ague fit. Here was some
thing which Hester could not deny. Jessie had run away and
left him, her baby boy. There was no getting smoothly over
that, and he shivered with pain as the old woman went on :
"I don't pretend to excuse her, though there's a good deal
1 92 HESTER AND THE WILL.
to be said on both sides, and it most broke her heart, as a body
who see her as I did that last night at home would know."
" Hester," Roger said, and his voice was full of anguish,
" why must you tell all this. It surely has nothing to do with
the matter under consideration, and I would rather be spared,
if possible, or at least hear it alone."
" I must tell it," Hester rejoined, " to show you why I hid
the will, and why he made it, and how big a lie that woman
told him."
There was the most intense scorn in her voice every time
she said " that woman," and Mrs. Walter Scott winced under
it, but had no redress then ; her time for that would be by and
by, she reflected, and assuming a haughty indifference she was
far from feeling she kept still while Hester went on :
" The night she went away she undressed her baby herself;
she wouldn't let me touch him, and all the time she did it she
was whispering, and cooing, and crying-like over him, and she
kissed his face and arms, and even his little feet, and said once
aloud so I in the next room heard her, ' My poor darling, my
pet, my precious one, will you ever hate your mother ? ' "
" Hester, I cannot hear another word of that. Don't you
see you are killing me ? " Roger said, and this time the tears
streamed in torrents down his face, and his voice was choked
with sobs.
Hester heeded him now, and there were tears on her wrin
kled face as she laid her hand pityingly on his golden brown
hair and said, " Poor boy, I won't harrer you any more. I'll
stick to the pint, which is that your mother, after you was
asleep, and just afore I left her for the night, came up to me in
her pretty coaxin' way, and told me what a comfort I was to
her, and said if anything ever was to happen that Roger should
have no mother, she would trust me to care for him before all
the world, and she made me promise that if anything should hap
pen, I would never desert Roger, but love him as if he was my
own, and consider his interest before that of any one else. I
want you to mind them words, ' consider his interest before
HESTER AND THE WILL. 193
any one else,' for that's the upshot of the whole thing. I
promised to do it. I swore I would do it, and I've kep' my
word. Next morning she was gone, and in a week or so was
drownded dead off Cape Hattrass, where I hope I'll never go,
for there's allus a hurricane there when there ain't a breath
no wheres else. I sot them words down. I've read 'em every
Sunday since as regular as my Bible, and that fetches me to
the mornin' the Squire was found dead.
" That woman had been here a few months before, workin'
on his pride and pisenen' his mind, till he was drove out of his
head, and you not here, either, to prove it was a lie by your
face, which, savin' the eyes and hair, is every inch an Irving.
He acted crazy-like, and mad them days, as Aleck and me
noticed, and he made another will, after that woman was gone
to Boston, and a spell after she went home for good. Aleck
went up in the mornin' to make a fire here in this very room,
and, sittin' in his chair, he found the Squire stark dead, and
cold and stiff, and he come for me who was the only other body
up as good luck would have it, and I not more'n half dressed.
There was the will, lyin' open on the table, as if he had been
readin' it, and I read it, and Aleck, too ; 'twas this same will,
and my blood biled like a caldron kittle, and Aleck fairly
swore, and we said, what does it mean ? There was a letter
on the table, too, a finished letter for Roger, and I read it, and
found the reason there. The Squire's conscience had been a
smitin' him ever since he did the rascally thing, and at last he'd
made up his mind to add a cod-cill, and he seemed to have a
kind of forerunner that he should never see Roger agin, and so
he tried to explain the bedivelment and smooth it over and all
that, and signed himself, ' Your affectionate father.' "
" Did he, Hester ? Did he own me at last ? " Roger's voice
rang through the room like a bell, its joyful tones thrilling even
Mrs. Walter Scott, who was growing greatly interested in Hes
ter's narrative, while Frank stood perfectly spellbound, as if
fearful of losing a word of the strange story.
"Yes, I'm pretty sure he did," Hester said, in reply to
9
194 HESTER AND THE WILL.
Roger's question. "Any way, he said he had forgiven youl
mother, and he would leave her letter with his, for you, in case
he never see you, and I gin you your mother's, but kept his,
because that would have told you about the will, which I
meant to hide. We both thought on't to once, Aleck and me,
but I spoke first, bein' a woman, and mentioned the promise to
consider Roger's interest before any body's else, and Jessie
seemed to be there with us, and haunted me, with the great
blue eyes of hern, till I made up my mind, and took the pesky
thing and the letter, and put 'em away safe up in the garret
under the floor, where I'd had a piece sawed out a spell before,
so as to put pisen under there for the rats. Then I moved an
old settee over the place, and chairs and things, so that it would
look as if nobody had been there for ages. He must have be
gun another letter first and blotched it, for the sheet lay there,
and I took it as a special Providence and kept it for Roger, as
his father's last words to him. I knew t'other will was not de
stroyed, for I'd seen it not long before, and I found it in his
writing desk, sealed up like a drum, and left it there, and then
she came with her lofty airs, and queened it over us, as if she
thought she was lord of all ; but her feathers drooped a bit
when the will was read, and she thought the old Harry was
in it, and hinted, and snooped, and rummaged the very first
night, for I found her there, with her night gownd on, and more
than forty papers stickin' in her hair, though why she thought
'twas there, is more than I know ; but she's hunted the garret
ever since by turns, and I moved it twice, and then carried it
back, and once she set Magdalen at it, she or he, it's little mat
ter which."
Magdalen was a sore point with Roger, and he shuddered,
when her name was mentioned, and thought of the letter, and
wondered if she had it, and would ever bring it to him.
" I was easy enough when that woman wasn't here," Hester
continued, " and I did think for a spell, she'd met with a
change, she was so soft and so velvety and so nice, that butter
couldn't melt in her mouth if it should try. Maybe she's for-
HESTER AND THE WILL. 1 95
got what she spmng from, but I knew the Browns, root and
branch ; they allus was a peekin', rummagin' set, and her uncle
peeked into a money drawer once. She comes honestly by hei
snoopin' that found the will."
Mrs. Walter Scott had borne a great deal of abuse from
Hester, and borne it quietly after her appeal to Frank, but now
she could keep still no longer, and she half rose from her chair,
and exclaimed :
" Silence, old woman, or I will have you put out of the house,
and I hold Frank less than a man if he will hear me so abused.
I never found the will. It was Magdalen Lennox who found
it, just where you told her it was when you were crazy."
" Magdalen found it, and brought it to you instead of burnin'
it up ! " old Hester exclaimed, raising her hands in astonishment,
and feeling her blood grow hot against the poor girl. " Mag
dalen found it, after all he has done for her ! She's a viper
then ; and my curse be "
She did not finish the sentence, for both Roger and Frank
laid a hand upon her mouth, and stopped the harsh words she
would have spoken.
"You don't know the circumstances. You shall not speak
so of Magdalen," Roger said, while Frank, glad of a chance to
prove that he was a man even if he had allowed his mother to
be abused, said sternly : " Mrs. Floyd, I have stood quietly by
and heard my mother insulted, but when you attack Magdalen
I can keep still no longer. She must not be slandered in my
presence. I hope she will be my wife."
Hester gave a violent start, and a sudden gleam of intelli
gence came into her eyes, as she replied, " Oh, I see now. She
wasn't content to have you alone, and I don't blame her for
that. It would be a sickening pill to swaller, you and that
woman too but she must take advantage of my crazy talk, and
find the will which makes her lover a nabob. That's what I
call gratitude to me and Roger, for all we've done for her.
Much good may her money and lover do her ! "
Thus speaking, Hester rose from her chair and went toward
196 HESTER AND THE WILL.
Roger, who had sat as rigid as a stone while she put into words
what, as the shadow of a thought, he had tried so hard to fight
down.
" I'm done now," she said. " I've told all I know about the
will. I hid it, Aleck and me, and I ain't sorry neither, and I'm
ready to go to jail any minit the new lords see fit to send me."
She started for the door, but came back again to Roger, and,
laying her hand on his hair, said soothingly, and in a very dif
ferent tone from the one she had assumed when addressing
Frank or his mother : " Don't take it so hard, my boy. We'll
git along somehow. I ain't so very old. There's a good deal
of vim in me yet, and me and Aleck will work like dogs for
you. We'll sell the tavern stand, and you shall have the hull it
fetches. Your father give us the money to buy it, you know."
Roger could not fail to be touched by this generous unself
ishness, and he grasped the hard-wrinkled hand, and tried to
smile, as he said : " Thank you, Hester, I knew you would not
desert me ; but I shall not need your little fortune. I can.
work for us all."
It was growing dark by this time, and the bell had thrice sent
forth its summons to dinner. As Roger finished speaking, it
rang again, and, glad of an excuse to get away, old Hester said,
" What do they mean by keepin' that bell a dingin' when they
might know we'd something on hand of more account than
victuals and drink. I'll go and see to't myself."
She hurried out into the hall, and Frank shut the door after
her, and then came back to the table, and began to urge upon
Roger the acceptance of a portion, at least, of the immense
fortune, which a few hours before he had believed to be all his
own. But Roger stopped him short.
" Don't, Frank," he said. " I know you mean it now, and,
perhaps, would mean it always, but so long as that clause stands
against me, I can take nothing from the Irvings."
He pointed to the words " the boy known as Roger Lennox
Irving," and Frank rejoined, " It was a cruel thing for him to
do."
HESTER AND THE WILL. 1 97
" Yes ; but a far wickeder, crueller thing, to poison his mind
with slanders, until he did it," Roger replied, as he turned to
his sister, and said, " Helen, I hold you guilty of my ruin, if
what Hester has told us be true ; but I shall not reproach
you ; I will let your own conscience do that."
Mrs. Irving tried to say that Hester had spoken falsely, that
she had never worked upon the weak old man's jealousy of his
young wife ; but she could not quite utter so glaring a false
hood, knowing or believing, as she did, that Magdalen had the
letter, which might refute her lie. So she assumed an air of
lofty dignity, and answered back that it was unnecessary to
continue the conversation, which had been far more personal
than the questoins involved required, neither was it needful
to prolong the interview. The matter of the will was now be
tween him and Frank, and, with his permission, she would
withdraw. Roger simply inclined his head, to indicate his
willingness for her to leave, and, with a haughty bow, she swept
from the room, signalling to Frank to follow. But Frank did
not heed her. He tarried for a few moments, standing close to
Roger, and mechanically toying with the pens and pencils upon
the table. He did not feel at all comfortable, nor like a man
who had suddenly become possessed of hundreds of thousands.
He felt rather like a thief, or, at best, an usurper of another's
rights, and would have been glad at that moment had the will
been lying in its box under the floor, where it had lain so many
years. Roger was the first to speak.
" Go, Frank," he said ; " leave me alone for to-night. It is
better so. I know what you want to say, but it can do no
good. Things are as they are, and we cannot change them,
I do not blame you. Don't think I do. I always liked you,
Frank, always, since we were boys together, and I like you still ;
but leave me now. I cannot bear any more."
Roger's voice trembled, and Frank could see through the fast
gathering darkness how white his face was and how he wiped
the sweat-drops from his forehead and lips, and wringing his
hand nervously, he, too, went away, and Roger was alone.
193 MAGDALEN AND ROGER.
CHAPTER XXV.
MAGDALEN AND ROGER.
jjAGDALEN had waited for Frank until she grew sa
nervous and restless that she crept back to hex couch,
and, wrapping her shawl about her, lay down among
the pillows, still listening for Frank's footsteps and wondering
that he did not come. She had made up her mind at last.
After days and nights of throbbing headache and fierce heart-
pangs and bitter tears, she had come to a decision. She would
die so willingly for Roger, if that would save Millbank for him.
She would endure any pain or toil or privation for him, but she
could not sin for him. She could not swear to love and honor
one, when her whole being was bound up in another. She
could not marry Frank, but she hoped she might persuade him
to let Roger keep Millbank, while he took the mill and the
shoe-shop, and the bonds and mortgages. He would surely
listen to that proposition, and she had sent for him to hear her
decision, and then she meant next day to take the will from its
hiding place, and carry it to Roger, with the letter she guarded
so carefully. This was her decision, and she waited for Frank
until two hours were gone and the spring twilight began to
creep into the room, and still no one came near her. She
heard the dinner-bell, and knew it was not answered, and then,
as the minutes went by, she became conscious of some un
usual stir in the house among the servants, and grasping the
bell-rope at last, she rang for Celine, and asked where Mrs.
Irving was.
" In the library with Mr. Irving and Mr. Frank and Hester.
They are talking very loud, and don't pay any attention to the
dinner bell," was Celine's reply, and Magdalen felt as if she was
going to faint with the terrible apprehension of evil which
swept over her.
" That will do. You may go," she said to Celine ; and then,
MAGDALEN AND ROGER. 1 99
the moment the girl was gone, she rose from the couch, an?
knotting the heavy cord around her dressing gown, and adjust
ing her shawl, went stealthily out into the hall, and stealing
softly down the stairs, soon stood near the door of the library
It was closed, but Hester's loud tones reached her as she
talked of the will, and with a shudder she turned away, whisper
ing to herself:
" Too late ! He'll never believe me now."
Then a thought of Aleck crossed her mind. She did not
think he was in the library; possibly he was in Hester's room;
at all events she would go there, and wait for Hester's return.
An outside door stood open as she passed through the rear hall
which led to Hester's room, and she felt the chill night air blow
on her, and shivered with the cold. But she did not think of
danger to herself from the exposure. She only thought of
Roger and what was transpiring in the library, and she entered
Hester's room hurriedly, and uttered a cry of joy when she saw
Aleck there. He was not smoking now. He was sitting
bowed over the hearth, evidently wrapped in thought, and he
gave a violent start when Magdalen seized his arm, and asked
him what had happened.
He heard her, though she spoke in a whisper, and turning his
eyes slowly toward her, replied :
" Somebody has found the will, and Roger is a beggar."
" Oh, Aleck, I wish I was dead," Magdalen exclaimed, and
then sank down upon the floor at the old man's feet, sobbing
in a piteous kind of way, and trying to explain how she had
found it first, and how she would give her life if she never had
done so.
In the midst of her story Hester came in, and Magdalen
sprang up and started toward her, but something in the expres
sion of the old woman's face stopped her suddenly, and grasp
ing the back of a chair, she stood speechless, while Hester gave
vent to a tirade of abuse, accusing her of ruining Roger, taunt
ing her with vile ingratitude, and bidding her take herself and
200 MAGDALEN AND ROGER.
her lover back to where she came from, if that spot could be
found.
Perfectly wild with excitement Magdalen made no effort to
explain, but darted past Hester out into the hall, where the
first person she encountered was Frank, who chanced to be
passing that way. She did not try to avoid him ; she was too
faint and dizzy for that, and when asked what was the matter,
and where she was going, she answered :
" To my room. Oh, help me, please, or I shall never reach
it."
He wound his arm around her, and leaning heavily upon
him she went slowly down the hall, followed by Hester Floyd,
who was watching her movements. Not a word was spoken
of the will until her chamber was reached; then, as Frank
parted from her, he said :
" I think you know that Roger has the will ; but I did not
give it to him. I would have kept it from him, if possible, and
it shall make no difference, if I can help it."
He held her hand a moment ; then suddenly stooped and
kissed her forehead before she could prevent the act, and
walked rapidly away, leaving her flushed and indignant and
half fainting, as she crept back to the couch. No one came
near her to light her lamp. No one remembered to bring her
food or drink. Everybody appeared to have forgotten and for
saken her, but she preferred to be alone, and lay there in the
darkness until Celine carne in to ask what she would have.
" Nothing, only light the lamp, please," was her reply.
Then, after a moment, she asked :
"Are the family at dinner?"
"Yes ; that is, Mrs. Irving and Mr. Frank. Mr. Irving is in
the library alone," Celine said.
And then Magdalen sat up and asked the girl to gather up
her hair decently, and give it a brush or two, and bring her a
clean collar, and her other shawl.
Magdalen was going to the library to see Roger, who sat
just where Frank had left him, with his head bowed upon tha
MAGDALEN AND ROGER. 2O1
fatal paper which had done him so much harm. The blow had
fallen so suddenly, and in so aggravating a form, that it had
stunned him in part, and he could not realize the full extent of
his calamity. One fact, however, stood out distinctly before
his mind, " Magdalen was lost forever ! " Frank had said openly
that she was to be his wife ! She had come to a decision.
She would be the mistress of Millbank, without a doubt. But
he who had once hoped to make her that himself, would be fai
away, a poor, unknown man, earning his bread by the
sweat of his brow. Roger did not care for that contingency.
He was willing to work ; but he felt how much easier toil
would be if it was for Magdalen's sake that he grew tired and
worn. He was thinking of all this when Magdalen came to
his door, knocking so softly that he did not hear at first ; then,
when the knock was repeated, he made no answer to it, for he
would rather be left alone. Ordinarily, Magdalen would have
turned back without venturing to enter ; but she was desper
ate now. She must see Roger that night, and she resolutely
turned the door-knob and went into his presence.
Roger lifted up his head as she came in, and then sprang to
his feet, startled by her white face and the change in her ap
pearance since he saw her last. Then she had stood before
ftiiiv in the hall, winding the scarf around his neck, her face
glowing with health and happiness and girlish beauty, and her
eyes shining upon him like stars. They were very bright now,
unnaturally so he thought, and there was a glitter in them which
reminded him of the woman in the cars who had left her baby
with him.
" Magdalen," he said, as he went forward to meet her. " I
did not think you had been so sick as your looks indicate.
Let me lead you to the sofa."
He laid his hand on her shoulder, but she shook it off and
sank into a chair close beside the one he had vacated.
" Don't touch me yet, Roger, oh Roger," she began, and
Roger's heart gave a great leap, for never before had she called
him thus to his face. " Excuse me for coming here to-night.
9*
202 MAGDALEN AND ROGER.
I know it is not maidenly, perhaps, but I must see you, and
tell you it was all a horrible mistake. I did not know what I
was doing. Hester talked so much about that loose board in
the garret and something hidden under it, that once, a week ago
or more, it seems a year to me, I went up to shut a window ;
my curiosity led me to look under the floor, and I found it,
Roger, and read it through, and Frank came and surprised me,
and then the secret was no longer mine, and I oh, Mr. Ir
ving, I wanted to keep it from you, till till I cannot explain
the whole, and I don't know at all how it came into your hands.
Can you forgive me, Roger ? I could have burned it at once
or had it burned, but I dared not. Would you have liked me
better if I had destroyed it ? "
She stopped speaking now, and held her hands toward
Roger, who took them in his own and pressed them with a fer
vor which brought the blood back to her cheeks and made her
very beautiful as she sat there before him.
" No, Magda," he said, " I am glad you did not destroy it.
I would rather meet with poverty in its direct form than know
that you had done that thing ; for it would have come to light
some time, and I should have felt that in more ways than one I
had lost my little girl."
He was speaking to her now as he had done when she was a
child, and one of his hands was smoothing her soft hair ; but he
was thinking of Frank, and there was nothing of the lover in
his caress, though it made Magdalen's blood throb and tingle
to her finger tips, for she knew he did not hate her as she had
feared he might.
" The will should never have been hidden," he said.
"Hester did very wrong. Do you know the particulars ?"
" I know nothing except that I found it and you have it,"
Magdalen replied, and briefly as possible Roger told her the
substance of Hester's story, smoothing over as much as possi
ble Mrs. Irving' s guilt, because she was to be Magdalen's
mother-in-law.
Before he spoke of the letter left by his father, Magdalen
MAGDALEN AND ROGER. 203
had taken it from her pocket and held it in her hand. He
knew it was the missing letter, but did not offer to take it until
his recital was ended, when Magdalen held it to him and said,
" This is the letter ; it was in the box, and I kept it to give to
you myself in case you should ever know of the will. I have
not read it. You do not believe I would read it," she added
in some alarm, as she saw a questioning look in his face.
Whatever he might have suspected, he knew better now, and
he made her lie down upon the sofa, and arranged the cushions
for her head, and then, standing with his back to her, opened
the letter, and read that message from the dead. And as he
read, he grew hard and bitter toward the man who could be so
easily swayed by a lying, deceitful woman. He knew Magda
len was watching him, and probably wondering what was in
the letter, and knew, too, that she could not fully believe in
his mother's innocence without more proof than his mere asser
tion. Of all the people living he would rather Magdalen
should think well of his mother, and after a moment's hesitancy
he turned to her, and said :
" I want you to see this, Magda, I want you to know why
I was disinherited, and then you must hear my poor mother's
letter, and judge yourself if she was guilty."
He turned the key in the door, so as not to be interrupted,
and then came back to Magdalen, who had risen to a sitting
posture, and who took the letter from his hand while he ad
justed the shade so that the glare of the lamp would not shine
directly in her eyes as she read it.
204 'SQUIRE IRVING' S LETTER.
CHAPTER XXVI.
'SQUIRE IRVING'S LETTER.
T was dated the very night preceding the morning
when Squire Irving had been found dead by Aleck
Floyd, and it commenced much like the one which
Roger had guarded so religiously as his father's last message
to him :
"MlLLBANK, April.
"My DEAR BOY, For many days I have been haunted
with a presentiment that I have not much longer to live. My
heart is badly diseased, and I may drop away any minute, and
as death begins to stare me in the face, my thoughts turn toward
you, the boy whom I have been so proud of and loved so much.
You don't remember your mother, Roger, and you don't know
how I loved her, she was so beautiful and artless, and seemed
so innocent, with her blue eyes and golden hair. Her home
was among the New Hampshire hills, a quarter of a mile or so
from the little rural town of Schodick, whose delightful scenery
and pure mountain air years ago attracted visitors there during
the summer months. Her father was poor and old and infirm,
and his farm was mortgaged for more than it was worth, and
the mortgage was about to be foreclosed, when, by chance, I
became an inmate for a few weeks of the farmhouse. I was
stopping in Schodick, the hotel was full, and I boarded with
Jessie's father. He had taken boarders before, one a young
man, Arthur Grey, a fast, fashionable, fascinating man, who
made love to Jessie, a mere child of sixteen. Her letter,
which I inclose, will tell you the particulars of her acquaint
ance with him, so it is not needful that I go over with them.
I knew nothing of Arthur Grey at the time I was at the farm
house, except that I sometimes heard him mentioned as a
reckless, dashing young man. I was there during the months
of August and September. I had an attack of heart disease,
'SQUIRE IRVIN&S LETTER. 2OH
and Jessie nursed me through it, her soft hands and gentle
ways and deep blue eyes weaving around me a spell I could
not break. She was poor, but a lady every whit, and I loved
her better than I had ever loved a human being before, and I
wanted her for my wife. As I have said, her father was old
and poor, and the farm was mortgaged to a remorseless credi
tor. They would be homeless when it was sold, and so I
bought Jessie, and her father kept his home. I know now
that it was a great mistake ; know why Jessie fainted when the
plan was first proposed to her, but I did not suspect it then.
Her father said she was in the habit of fainting, and tried to
make light of it. He was anxious for the match, and shut his
eyes to his daughter's aversion to it.
"I brought her to Millbank in December, and within the
year you were born. I heard nothing of Arthur Grey. I only
knew that Jessie was not happy ; satins and pearls and dia
monds could not drive that sad, hungry look from her eyes,
and I took her for a change to Saratoga, and there she met the
villain again, and as the result she left Millbank to go with him
to Europe. In a few days she was drowned, and her letter
written on the ' Sea Gull ' was sent to me by that accursed man
who, when she tried to escape him, followed her to the ship
bound for Charleston. I believe that part, and a doubt of
your legitimacy never entered my heart until Walter's wife put
it there. I had made my will, and given nearly all to you,
when Helen, who was here a few months ago, began one day
to talk of Jessie, very kindly, as I remember, and seemed try
ing to find excuses for what she called her sin, and then said
she was so glad that I had always been kind to the poor inno
cent boy who was not to blame for his mother's error. I
came gradually to understand her, though she said but little
which could be repeated, but I knew that she doubted your
legitimacy, and she gave me reason to doubt it too, by hinting
that Arthur Grey had been seen in Belvidere more than once
after Jessie's marriage. Her husband, Walter, was her inform
ant ; but she had promised secrecy, as he wished to spare me,
206 ' 'SQUIRE IR VI NO'S LETTER.
and so she could not be explicit. But I had heard enough tc
drive me mad with jealousy and rage, and I made another will,
and gave you little more than the Morton farm, which, when
Jessie's father died, as he did the day when you were born, 1
bought to please your mother. I was wild with anger when I
made that will, and my love for you has ever since kept tug
ging at my heart, and has prevented me from destroying the
first will, as I twice made up my mind to do. To-day I have
read your mother's letter again, and I have forgiven Jessie at
last, though Helen's insinuations still rankle in my mind. But
I have repented of leaving you so little, and have sent for
young Schofield to change my last will, and make you equal
with Frank.
" Perhaps I may never see you again, for something about
my heart warns me that my days are numbered, and what I do
for you must be done quickly. Heaven forgive me if I wronged
your mother, and forgive me doubly, trebly, if in wronging her
I have dealt cruelly, unnaturally by you, my darling, my pride,
my boy, whom I love so much in spite of everything ; for I do,
Roger, I certainly do, and I feel even now that if you were
here beside me, the sight of your d^ar face would tempt me to
burn the later will and reacknowledge the first.
" Heaven bless you, Roger. Heaven give you every pos
sible good which you may crave, and if in the course of your
life there is one thing more than another which you desire, I
pray Heaven to give it to you. I wish Schofield was here
now. There is a dreadful feeling in my head, a cold, prickling
sensation in my arms, and I must stop, while I have power to
sign myself,
" Yours lovingly and affectionately,
"WILLIAM H. IRVING."
This was the letter, and the old man must have been bat
tling with death as he wrote it, and with the tracing of Roger's
name the pen must have dropped from his nerveless fingers,
and his spirit taken its flight to the world where poor, wronged
'SQUIRE IRVING' S LETTER. 2O?
Jessie had gone before him. The fact that she was innocent
did not prevent her child from receiving the punishment of her
seeming guilt, and at first every word of his father's letter had
been like so many stabs, making his pain harder than ever to
bear. Magdalen comprehended it in full, and pitied him now
more than she had before.
" Oh, I am so sorry for you, Mr. Irving ; sorrier than I was
about the will," she said, moving a little nearer to him.
He looked quickly at her, and guessing of what he was
thinking, she rejoined :
" Don't imagine for a moment that I distrust your mother.
I know she was innocent and I hate the woman who breathed
the vile slander against her."
" Hush, Magda, that woman is Frank's mother," Roger said,
gently, and Magdalen replied :
" I know she is, and your sister-in-law. I did not think of
the relationship when I spoke, or suppose you would care."
She either did not or would not understand him, and she
went on to speak of Jessie and the man who had been her
ruin.
" Grey," she repeated, " Arthur Grey ! It surely cannot be
Alice's father?"
Roger did not know. He had never thought of that. " I
never saw him," he said, " and never wish to see him or his.
I could not treat him civilly. There is more about him here
in mother's letter. She loved him with a woman's strange
infatuation, and her love gives a soft coloring to what she has
written. I have never shown it to a human being, but I want
you to read it, Magda, or rather let me read it to you."
He was not angry with her, Magdalen knew, and she felt as
if a great burden had been lifted fi'om her as she listened to the
letter written thirty years before.
2O8 JESSIE'S LETTER.
CHAPTER XXVII.
JESSIE'S LETTER.
T was dated on board the " Sea Gull " and began as
follows :
" My husband : It would be mockery for me to put the
word dear before your honored name. You would not be
lieve I meant it when I have sinned against you so deeply and
wounded your pride so sorely. But oh, if you knew all which
led me to what I am, you would pity me even if you condemned,
for you were always kind, too kind by far to a wicked girl
like me. But I am not so bad as you imagine. I have left
you, I know, and left my darling baby, and he is here with me,
but by no consent of mine. I am not going to Europe. I am
going to Charleston, where Lucy is, and shall mail this letter
from there. Every word I write will be true, and you must be
lieve it and teach Roger to believe it, too, for I have not sinned
as you suppose, and Roger need not blush for his mother
except that she deserted him. I am writing this quite as much
for him as for you, for I want him to know something of his
mother as she was years ago, when she lived among the Scho-
dick hills, in the dear old house which I have dreamed about so
often, and which even here on the sea comes up so vividly
before me, with the orchard where the mountain shadows fell so
early in the afternoon, and the meadows where the buttercups
and clover-blossoms grew. Oh, I grow sick, and faint, and
dizzy when I think of those happy days and contrast myself as
I was then with myself as I am now. I was so happy, though
I knew what poverty meant ; but that did not matter. Children,
if surrounded by loving friends, do not mind being poor, and I
did not mind it either until I grew old enough to see how it
troubled my father. My mother, as you know, died before I
could remember her, and my aunt Mary, my father's only
JESSIE'S LETTER. 2CX)
sister, and cousin Lucy's mother, took her place and cared fo
me.
" The summer before you came to us, I met Arthur Grey.
He was among the visitors who boarded at the hotel. He was
said to be very rich, very aristocratic, very fastidious. You
never saw him, and cannot understand the strange fascination
there was about him, or how his manner, when he chose to be
gracious, was calculated to win upon a simple girl like me. I
met him, and, ere I was aware of it, he taught me how to love
him. He became an inmate of our house at last, and thus our
growing fondness for each other was hidden from the public,
which would have said that I was no match for him. I know
that he loved me. I never doubted that for a moment. De
ception can assume many garbs, but never the guise he wore
when he won my girlish love. He asked me to be his wife one
autumn night, when the Indian summer haze was on the hills,
and the mountain tops were gorgeous with scarlet and gold. I
had never dreamed that a human being could be as happy as I
was when, with him at my side, I walked back across the fields to
our home. The very air around seemed full of the ecstatic joy
I felt as I thought of a life spent with him. He wished me to
keep our betrothal a secret for a time, he said, as he did not
care to have his mother and sisters know of it just then. They
were at the hotel for a few weeks, and I used to see them at
church ; and their cold, haughty manner impressed me disagree
ably, just as it did every one who came in contact with them.
I should not live with them, Arthur said. I should have a
home of my own on the Hudson. He had just bought a resi
dence there, and he described it to me until I knew every tree,
and shrub, and winding walk upon the place.
' " Then he went away, and the dreary winter came, and his
letters, so frequent at first, began to come irregularly, but were
always loving and tender, and full of excuses for the long delay.
Once I heard of fierce opposition from his mother and sister,
and a desire on their part to persuade him into a more brilliant
marriage. But I trusted him fully until the spring, when after
2IO JESS 'IE S LETTER.
a longer interval of silence than usual there came a letter from
his mother, who wrote at her son's request, as he was ill and
unable to write himself. I was still very dear to him, she said,
but considering all things he thought it better for us both tha t
the engagement should be broken. I had been brought up sd
differently, that he did not believe I would ever be happy in the
society in which he moved, and it was really doing me a kind
ness to leave me where I was ; still, if I insisted, he was in honor
bound to adhere to his promise, and should do so.
" I pass over the pain, and bitter disappointment, and dread
ful days, when, in the shadow of the woods where I had walked
so often with him, I laid my face in the grass and wished that I
could die. I did not write him a word, but I sent him back
his letters, and the ring, and every memento of those blissful
hours ; and the few who knew of my engagement guessed that
it was broken, and said it had ended as they expected.
"Then you came, just when my heart was so sore, and you
were kind to father, and sought me of him for your wife, and he
begged me to consider your proposal, and save him his home
for his old age. Then I went again into the shadow of those
woods, and crept away behind a rock, under a luxuriant pine,
and prayed that I might know what was right for me to do.
My father foum : , me there one day and took me home, and
said I need nor marry you. He would rather end his days in
the poorhouse xhan see me so distressed. But the sight of his
dear old face growing so white, and thin, as the time for the
foreclosure drevv near, was more than I could bear, and it
mattered little what I did in the future ; so I went to you and
said ' I will be your wife, and do the best I can ; but you must
be patient with me. I am only a little girl.'
" I ought to have told you of Arthur, but I did not, and so
trouble came of it. We were married in the morning, and went
to Boston, and then back for a few days to Schodick, where
there was a letter for me, from Arthur. It was all a terrible
deception : J.e had had a long, long illness, and his mother,
3. cruel, artful woman, took advantage of it and wrote me
JESSIE'S LETTER. 211
that cruel letter. Then, when my package reached her, and
she found there was no word of protest in it, she gave it to him,
and worked upon him in his weak condition until he believed
me false, and the excitement brought on a relapse which lasted
longer and was more dangerous than his first illness had been
As soon as he was able to hold his pen, he wrote to me again ;
but his mother managed to withhold the letter, and so the time
went on until, by chance, he discovered the deception, but- it
was too late. I was your wife. I am your wife now, and so
I must not tell you of that terrible hour of anguish in my room
at home, when cousin Lucy, who was then at our house, found
me fainting on the floor with the letter in my hand. I told her
everything, for we were to each other as sisters ; but with that
exception, no living being has ever heard my story. I asked
her to send him a paper containing the notice of my marriage,
and that was all the answer I returned to his letter.
" Then you took me to Millbank, and I tried to do my duty,
even though my heart was broken. After Roger came, I was
happier, and I appreciated all your kindness, and the pain was
not so hard to bear, till we went to Saratoga that summer,
where I met him again.
" He loved me still, and we talked it over together, some
times when you were sleeping after dinner, and nights when you
were playing billiards. There is so much of that kind of thing
at Saratoga that one's sense of right and wrong is easily blunted
there, and I was so young ; still this is no excuse. I ought not
to have listened for a moment, especially after he began to talk
of Italy and a cottage by the sea, where no one would know us.
I was his in the sight of Heaven, he said. I was committing sin
by living with you. I was more his wife than yours, and he
made me believe that if once I left you, a divorce could easily
be obtained, and then there would be nothing in the way of our
marriage. I caught at that idea and listened to it, and from
that moment my fate was sealed. But I never contemplated
anything but marriage with him, when at last I consented to
leave you. I wanted to take Roger, and went on my knees to
212 JESSIE'S LETTER.
him, begging that I might have my baby, but he would not con-
sent. A child would be in the way, he said, and I must choose
between him and my boy. His influence over me was so great
that I would have walked into the fire with him then, had he
willed it so.
" I left Millbank at night, intending to meet Arthur in New
York, and go at once to the steamer bound for Liverpool, but
on the way thoughts of my baby sleeping in his crib, with that
smile on his lips when I kissed him last, came to save me, and
at New Haven I left the train and took the boat for New York,
and went to another hotel than the one where he was waiting
for me. I scarcely knew what I meant to do, except to avoid
him, until, as I sat waiting for a room, I heard some people
talking of the ' Sea Gull,' which wasto leave the next day for
Charleston. Then, I said, ' Heaven has opened for me that
way of escape. I dare not go back to Millbank. My husband
would not receive me now. Lucy is in Charleston. She
knows my story. I will go to her,' and so yesterday, when the
' Sea Gull' dropped down the harbor, I was in it, and he was there
too ; but I did not know it till we had been hours upon the
sea, and it was too late for me to go back. He had wondered
that I did not come according to appointment, and was walking
down Broadway when he saw me leave the hotel, and called a
carriage at once and followed me to the boat, guessing that it
was my intention to avoid him. I have told him of my resolve,
and when Charleston is reached, we shall part forever.
" This is the truth, my husband, and I want you to believe
it. I do not ask you to take me back. You are too proud
for that, and I know it can never be, but I want you to think
as kindly of me as you can, and when you feel that you have
forgiven me, show this letter to Roger, if he is old enough to
understand it. Tell him to forgive me, and give him this lock
of his mother's hair. Heaven bless and keep my little boy, and
grant that he may be a comfort to you and grow up a good and
noble man. Perhaps I may see him sometime. If not, my
blessing be with him always."
JESSIE'S LETTER. 21 J
" This is all of mother's letter, but there is a postscript from
him. Shall I read that, too ? " Roger asked, and Magdalen said
yes ; and then, as he held the letter near to her, she saw the
bold, masculine handwriting of Arthur Grey, who had written .-
"SQUIRE IRVING DEAR SIR It becomes my painful duty
to inform you that not long after the inclosed letter fro;n your
wife was finished, a fire broke out and spread so fast that all
hope of escape except by the life-boats was cut off. Your
wife felt from the first a presentiment that she should be
drowned, and brought the letter to me, asking that if I escaped,
and she did not, I would forward it at once to Millbank. I
took the letter and I tried to save her, when the sea ingulfed us
both, but a tremendous wave carried her beyond my reach, and
I saw her golden hair rise once above the water and then go
down forever. I, with a few others, was saved as by a miracle,
picked up by a vessel bound for New York, which place I
reached yesterday. I have read Jessie's letter. She told me
to do so, and to add my testimony to the truth of what she had
written. Even if it were not true, it would be wrong to refuse
the request of one so lovely and dear to me as Jessie was, and
I accordingly do as she bade me, and say to you that she has
written you the truth.
" I have the honor, sir, to be
"Your obedient servant,
"ARTHUR GREY."
Not a word of excuse for himself, or regret for the part he
had had in effecting poor Jessie's death. He could scarcely
have written less than he did, and the cold, indifferent wording of
his message struck Magdalen just as it did Roger. She had wept
over poor Jessie's story, and pitied the young, desolate crea
ture who had been so cruelly wronged. And she had pitied
Arthur Grey at first, and her heart had gone out after him with
a strange, inexplicable feeling of sympathy. But when it came
to Saratoga and Italy, and all the seductive arts he must have
used to tempt Jessie from her husband and child, and when she
214 y ESSIE'S LETTER.
heard the message he had sent to the outraged husband, her
blood boiled with indignation, and she felt that if she were to
see him then, she must curse him to his face. While Rogei
had been reading of him, her mind had, for some cause, gone
back to that Saturday afternoon, in the graveyard, when she
met the handsome stranger whose courteous manners had so
fascinated her, and who had been so interested in everything
pertaining to the Irving family. Suddenly it came to her that
this was Arthur Grey, and, with a start, she exclaimed : " I
have seen that man, I know I have. I saw him at youi
father's grave years and years ago."
Roger looked inquiringly at her as she explained the circum
stances of her interview with the stranger, telling of his ques
tions with regard to Mrs. Irving and his apparent interest in
her, and when she had finished her story, he said, " Is it your
impression that he was ever in Belvidere before ? "
" I know he never was," Magdalen replied. " He told me
so himself, and I should have known it without his telling, he
seemed so much a stranger to everything and everybody."
Roger knew that every word his sister had breathed against
his mother was a lie, but Magdalen's involuntary testimony
helped to comfort and reassure him as nothing else had done.
The clause which read " the boy known as Roger Lennox Ir
ving " did not especially trouble him now. though he could not
then forgive the father who had wronged him so, and when
he thought of him there came back to his face the same
sad, sorry look it had worn when Magdalen first came in,
and which while talking to her had gradually passed away.
She detected it at once, and connecting it with the will
said to him again, " Oh, Mr. Irving, it would have been better
if I had never come here. I have only brought sorrow and
ruin to you."
" No, Magda," Roger replied, "it would not have been bet
ter if you had never come here. You have made me very
happy, so happy that " he could not get any further for some
thing in his throat which prevented his utterance.
JESSIE'S LETTER, 21$
She had brought him sorrow, and yet he would not for the
world have failed of knowing how sweet it was to love her even if
she could not be his. If he could have kept her and taken hei
with him to his home among the hills, he felt that he would have
parted willingly with his fortune and beautiful Millbank. But
that could not be. She belonged to Frank ; everything was
Frank's, and for an instant the whole extent of his calamity
swept over him so painfully that he succumbed to it, and laying
his face upon the table sobbed just as piteously as he had done
in the first moment of surprise and pain when he heard that
both fortune and name were gone. Magdalen could not under
stand all the causes of his distress. She did not dream that every
sob and eve.-y tear wrung from the strong man was given more
to her than to the fortune lost, and she tried to comfort him as
best she could, thinking once to tell him how willingly she would
toil and slave to make his new home attractive, deeming no
self-denial too great if by its means he could be made happier
and more comfortable. But she did not dare do this until she
knew whether she was wanted in that home among the Schodick
hills where he said he was going. Oh, how she wished he
would give some hint that he expected her to go with him ; but
he did not, and he kept his face hidden so long that she came
at last to his side, and laid her hand on his shoulder and bent
over him with words of sympathy. Then, as he did not look
up, she knelt beside him, and her hand found its way to his, and
she called him Roger again, and begged him not to feel so
badly.
"You will drive me mad with remorse," she said, "for I
know I have done it all. Don't, Roger, it breaks my heart to
see you so distressed. What can I do to prove how sorry I
am ? Tell me and I will do it, even to the taking of my life."
It did not seem possible that this girl pleading thus with him
could be another's betrothed, and for a moment Roger lost
all self-control, and forgetting Frank and his rights snatched
her to his arms and pressing her to his bosom rained kiss after
kiss upon her forehead and lips, saying to her, " My darling, my
2l6 THE WORLD ANL THE WILL.
darling, you have been a blessing and a comfort to me all your
life, but there's nothing you can do for me now. Once I
hoped oh, Magda, my little girl, that time is far in the past ;
I hope for nothing now. I am not angry with you. I could
not be so if I would. I bless you for all you have been to me.
I hope you will be happy here at Millbank when I am gone ;
and now go, my darling. You are shivering with cold and the
room is very damp. God bless you, Magda."
He led her out into the hall, then closed the door upon her,
and went back again to his solitude and his sorrow, while Mag
dalen, bewildered and frightened and wearied out, found her
way as best she could to her own room, where a few moments
later Ol'ue found her fainting upon the floor.
CHAPTER XXVIII
THE WORLD AND THE WILL.
|HE world, or that portion of it represented by Belvi-
dere, did not receive it kindly, and when the new heir
appeared in the street on the day succeeding the events
narrated in the last chapter, he was conscious of a certain air of
constraint and stiffness about those whom he met, and an evi
dent attempt to avoid him. It was known all over town by
that time, for Roger had made no secret of the matter, and an
hour after Magdalen left him, he had sent for all the servants,
and told them briefly of his changed condition. He entered
into no particulars ; he merely said :
" My father saw fit to make a later will than the one found
at the time of his death. In it he gave Millbank and all its
appurtenances to Frank, as the child of his eldest son, my
brother Walter. This later will, of whose existence I did not
know, has recently been fcund, and by virtue of it everything
THE WORLD AND THE WILL.
goes to Frank, who is the rightful owner of Millbank, or will b?
when the will is proved. You have served me faithfully, some
of you for years, and I shall never forget your unvarying kind
ness and fidelity. The amount of wages due each of you 1
shall venture to pay from money kept for that purpose. My
nephew will allow me to do that, and then, so far as I am con
cerned, you are at liberty to seek new situations. Our relations
as employer and servant are at an end. I do not wish you to
talk about it, or to express your sympathy for me. I could not
bear it now, so please do not trouble me."
This last he said because of the murmur of discontent and
surprise and dissatisfaction which ran through the room when
those assembled first learned that they must part with theii
master, whom they had loved and respected so long.
" We will not leave you, Mr. Irving. We will go where you
go. We will work for you for less wages than for anybody else,"
was what the house servants said to him, and what many of his
factory and shop hands said when next day he met them in front
of the huge mill where they were congregated.
He had told his servants not to talk of his affairs, but they
did not heed him ; while Hester Floyd, whom no one could con
trol, discussed the matter freely, so that by noon the little town
was rife with rumors of every kind, and knots of people gathered
at the corners of the street, while in front of the cotton mill a
vast concourse had assembled even before the bell rang for
twelve, and instead of going home to the dinner they would
hardly have found prepared that day, they stood talking of the
strange news, which had come to them in so many different
forms. That there had been some undue influence brought to
bear upon Squire Irving, they knew ; and that the mother of
the new heir was the guilty party who had slandered the Squire's
unfortunate young wifej they also knew ; and many and loud
were their imprecations against the woman whose proud
haughty bearing had never impressed them favorably, and whom
they now disliked with all the unrestrained bitterness common
to their class.
10
2l8 THE WORLD AND THE WILL.
All had heard of Jessie Irving, and a few remembered her as
she was when she first came among them, in her bright, girlish
beauty, with those great, sad blue eyes, which always smiled
kindly upon her husband's employes when she met with them.
As people will do, they had repeated her story many times, and
the mothers had blamed her sorely for deserting her child, while
a few envious ones, when speaking of " the grand doings at
Millbank," had hinted that the original stock was "no better
than it should be," and that the Irving name was stained like
many others.
But "this was all forgotten now. Jessie Irving was declared
a saint, and an angel, and a martyr, while nothing was too
severe to say against the woman who had maligned her, and
influenced the jealous old Squire to do a thing which would de
prive the working classes in Belvidere of the kindest, most con
siderate, and liberal of masters. The factory hands could not
work after they heard of it, and one by one they stole out upon
the green in front of the large manufactory, where they were
joined by other hands from the shoe shop, until the square was
full of excited men and boys, and girls, the murmur of their
voices swelling louder and louder as, encouraged by each other,
they grew more and more indignant toward the " new lords," as
they called Frank and his mother, and more enthusiastic in
their praises of Roger.
One of their number proposed sending for him to come him
self and tell them if what they had heard was true, and to hear
their protest against it ; and three of the more prominent men
were deputed to wait upon him.
There was no mistaking the genuine concern, and sympathy,
and sorrow written on their faces, when Roger went out to
meet them, and the sight of them nearly unmanned him again.
He had been very calm all the morning ; had breakfasted with
his sister and Frank, as usual ; had said to the latter that it
would be well enough to send for Lawyer Schoiield, who was
not now a resident of Belvidere, but was practising in Spring
field; and had tried to quiet old Hester, who was giving loose
THE WORLD AND THE WILL. 2ig
rein to her tongue, and holding herself loftily above the " per
tenders," as she called them. He had also remembered Mag
dalen, and sent her a bouquet of flowers by Celine, who repre
sented her as feverish and nervous, and too tired to leave hei
bed. Roger did not gather from Celine's report that she was
very ill, only tired and worn ; so he felt no particular anxiety
for her, and devoted himself to standing between and keeping
within bounds the other members of his household, and in so
doing felt a tolerable degree of quiet, until the men came up
from the mill, when the sight of their faces, so full of pity, and
the warm grasp of their friendly hands, brought a sudden rush
of tears to his eyes, and his chin quivered a little when he first
spoke to them.
" We've heard about it, Mr. Irving," the speaker said, " and
we don't like it, any of us, and we hope it is not true, and we
are sent by the others who are down on the green, and who
want you to come and tell us if it is true, and what we are to
do."
Mrs. Walter Scott, sitting by her chamber window, saw the
three men walk down the avenue, with Roger in their midst,
and saw, too, in the distance the crowd congregated in front of
the mill, and felt for a moment a thrill of fear as she began to
realize, more and more, what taking Millbank from Roger
meant. She would have felt still more uneasy could she have
seen the faces of the crowd, and their eager rash for Roger
when he appeared.
The women and the young girls were the first to pounce
upon him, and were the most voluble in their words of sorrow,
and surprise, and indignation, while the men and boys were not
far behind.
Bewildered and too much overcome at first to speak, Roger
stood like some father in the midst of his children, from whom
he is soon to be separated. He had been absent from them
for years, but his kindness and generosity had reached them
across the sea. They had lighter tasks, and higher wages,
and more holidays, and forbearance, and patience than any class
220 THE WORLD AND THE WILL.
of workmen for miles and miles around, and they knew it all
came from Roger's generosity, and the exceeding great kindness
of his heart, and they were grateful for it.
A few, of course, had taken advantage of his goodness, and
loitered, and idled, and complained of their hard lot, and talked
as if to work at all were a great favor to their employer. But
the majority had appreciated him to the full, and given him
back measure for measure, working for his interest, and serving
him so faithfully, that few manufactories were as prosperous or
yielded so large an income as those in Belvidere. And now
these workmen stood around their late master, with their sad
faces upturned, listening for what he had to say.
" It is all true," he said. " There was another will, made by
my father a few months before he died."
Here a few groans for Squire Irving were heard from a knot
of boys by the fence, but these were soon hushed, and Roger
went on :
"This will Hester Floyd saw fit to hide, because she thought
it unjust, and so for years "
He did not get any further, for his voice was lost in the
deafening cheers which went up from the groaning boys for
Hester Floyd, whom they designated as a trump and a brick,
hurrahing with all their might, " Good for her. Three cheers
and a tiger for Hester Floyd."
The cheers and the tiger were given, and then the boys
settled again into quiet, while Roger tried to frame some rea
sonable excuse for what his father had done. But they would
not listen to that, and those nearest him said, " It's no use, Mr.
Irving. We've heard the reason and we know whom to thank
for this calamity, and there's not one of us but hates her for it.
We can never respect Mrs. Walter Irving."
The multitude caught the sound of that name, and the boys
by the fence set up a series of most unearthly groans, which
were in no wise diminished when they saw coming toward them
Frank, the heir, and their new master, if they chose to serve
him. Frank's face was very pale, and there was something
THE WORLD AND THE WILL. 221
like fear and dread upon it when he met the angry glances of
the crowd, and heard the groans and hisses with which they
greeted him. Making his way to Roger's side, he whispered,
" Speak to them for me. They will listen to you when they
would only insult me. Tell them I am not in fault."
So it was Roger who spoke for Frank, explaining matters
away, and trying to make things as smooth as possible.
" My nephew is not to blame," he said. " He had nothing
to do with the will. He knew nothing of it, and was as much
surprised as you are when he found there was one."
" Yes, and would have burned it, too ; tell them that," Frank
said, anxious to conciliate a people whose enmity he dreaded.
Roger repeated the words, which were received with incredu
lity.
"Stuff!" "Bosh!" "Can't make me swaller that!"
"Don't believe it ! " and such like expressions ran through the
crowd, till, roused to a pitch of wild excitement, Frank sprang
upon a box and harangued the multitude eloquently in his own
defence.
"It is true," he said. "I did try to burn the will, and
would have done so if it had not been struck from my hand.
I held a lighted match to it, and Roger will tell you that a part
of it is yellow now with the smoke and flame."
" Yellow with time more like," a woman said, while a son of
Erin called out, " Good for you, Misther Franklin, to defmd
yourself, but plase tell us who struck the match from yer
hand."
" An' sure who would be afther doin' the mane thing but his
mither, bad luck to her," interrupted another of Ireland's sons,
and Frank rejoined, " It was not my mother. Roger will tell
you that it was some one whom you love and respect, and who
was just as desirous that the will should be destroyed as I was,
but who did not think it right and dared not do it. I am sor
rier about it than you are, and I've tried to make Roger keep
Millbank, and he refuses. I can no more help being the heir
than I could help being born, and I do not want to be blamed
222 THE WORLD AND THE WILL.
I want y our good will more than anything else. I have not
Roger's experience, nor Roger's sense ; but I'll do the very best
I can, and you must stand by me and help me to be what
Roger was."
Frank was growing very eloquent, and his pale, boyish face
lighted up and his eyes kindled as he went on telling what he
meant to be if they would only help him instead of hindering
and disliking him, until the tide began to set in his favor and
the boys by the fence whispered to each other :
"Let's go in for white-hair, jest for fun if nothing more, he
talks reasonable, and maybe he'll give us half holidays when
the circus is in town. Mr. Irving never done that."
" Yes, but he let us go to see the hanimals, and gin Bob
'Untley a ticket," said a red-faced English youth.
But the circus clique carried the day, and there rose from
that part of the green a loud huzza for " Mr. Franklin Irving,"
while the faces of the older ones cleared up a little, and a few
spoke pleasantly to Frank, who felt that he was not quite so
obnoxious to the people as he had been. But they kept aloof
from him, and followed their late master even to the gates of
Millbank, assuring him of their readiness to go with him and
work for him at lower rates than they were working now. And
Roger, as he walked slowly up the avenue, felt that it was worth
some suffering and trial to know that he stood so high in the
estimation of those who had been employed by him so long.
All over town the same spirit prevailed, pervading the higher
circles, and causing Mrs. Johnson to telegraph to Springfield
for Lawyer Schofield, who she hoped might do something,
though she did not know what. He came on the next train,
and went at once to Millbank and was closeted with Roger for
an hour and looked the ground over and talked with Hester
Floyd and screamed to Aleck through an ear trumpet and
said a few words to Frank and bowed coldly to Mrs. Walter
Scoti, and then went back to the group of ladies assembled in
Mrs. Johnson's parlor, and told them there was no hope. The
will was perfectly good. Frank was the rightful heir, and
POOR MA CD A. 223
Roger too proud to receive anything from him more than he
had received. And then his auditors all talked together, and
abused Mrs. Walter Scott and pitied Roger and spoke slight
ingly of Frank, and wondered if there was any truth in the
rumor that Magdalen was to marry him. They had heard so,
and the rumor incensed them against her, and when Lawyei
Schofield said he thought it very possible, they pounced upon
the luckless girl and in a very polite way tore her into shreds,
without, however, saying a word which was not strictly lady
like and capable of a good as well as of a bad construction.
CHAPTER XXIX.
POOR MAGDA.
JOBODY paid any attention to her on the morning fol
lowing her visit to the library, except Celine, and
Frank and Roger. The latter had sent her a bou
quet which he arranged himself, while Frank, remembering that
this was the day when she was to give him her answer, had
asked if she would see him, and Celine, through whom the
message was sent, had brought him word that " Miss Lennox
was too sick to see any one." Then Frank had begged his
mother to go to her and ascertain if she were seriously ill, and
that lady had said she would, but afterward found it convenient
to be so busy with other matters, that nursing a sick, girl who
was nothing to her now except a person whom she must if pos
sible remove from her son's way, was out of the question. She
did not care to see Magdalen just then, and she left her to the
care of Celine, who carried her toast and tea about nine
o'clock and urged her to eat it. But Magdalen was not hun
gry, and bade the girl leave her alone, as she wanted rest more
than anything. At eleven Celine went to her again and found
224 POOR MAGDA.
her sleeping heavily, with a flush on her cheeks, and her head
occasionally moving uneasily on the pillow. Celine was not
accustomed to sickness, and if her young mistress was sleeping
she believed she was doing well, and stole softly from the room.
At one she went again, finding Magdalen still asleep, but het
whole face was crimson, and she was talking to herself and roll
ing her head from side to side, as if suffering great pain. Then
Celine went for Mrs. Walter Scott, who, alarmed by the girl's
representations, went at once to Magdalen. She was awake
now, but she did not recognize any one, and kept moaning and
talking about her head, which she said was between two planks
in the garret, where she could not get it out. Mrs. Walter
Scott saw she was very sick, and though she did not pet or ca
ress or kiss the feverish, restless girl, she did her best to soothe
and quiet her, and sent Celine for the family physician, who
came and went before either Roger or Frank knew that danger
threatened Magdalen.
" Typhoid fever, aggravated by excitement and some sudden
exposure to cold," was the doctor's verdict. "Typhoid in its
most violent form, judging from present symptoms ; " and then
Mrs. Walter Scott, who affected a mortal terror of that kind of
fever, declared her unwillingness to risk her life by staying in
the sick room, and sent for Hester Floyd.
The old woman's animosity against Magdalen had cooled a
little, and when she heard how sick she was she started for her
at once.
" She missed me through a fever, and I'd be a heathen to
neglect her now, let her be ever so big a piece of trumpery,"
she said to herself as she went along the passage to Magdalen's
room.
But when she reached it, and saw the moaning, tossing girl,
and heard her sad complaints of her head wedged in between
the boards, and her pleadings for some one to get it out, her
old love for the child came surging back, and she bent over
her lovingly, saying to her softly, " Poor Maggie, old Hester
will get your head out, she will, she will there, there isn't
POOR MAGDA 22$
it a bit easier now ? " and she rubbed and bathed the burmn--
O
head, and gave the cooling drink, and administered the little
globules in which she had no faith, giving eight instead of six and
sometimes even ten. And still there was no change for the
better in Magdalen, who talked of the will, which she was trying
to burn, and then of Roger, but not a word of Frank, who was
beside her now, his face pale with fear and anxiety as he saw the
great change in Magdalen, and how fast her fever increased.
Roger was the last to hear of it, for he had been busy in the
library ever since Lawyer Schofield's departure, and did not
know what was passing in the house until Hester went to him,
and said :
" She thinks her head is jammed in between them boards in
the garret lloor, and nobody but you can pry it out. I guess
you had better see her. Mr. Frank is there, of course, as he
or* to be after what I seen in the hall yesterday."
" What did you see ? " Roger asked, and Hester replied :
" I found her in my room when I went from here and I spoke
my mind freely, I s'pose, about her snoopin' after the will when
you had done so much for her, and she gave a scart kind of
screech, and ran out into the hall, where Mr. Frank met her,
and put his arm round her and led her to her own door, and
kissed her as he had a right to if she's to be his wife."
Roger made no reply to this, but tried to exonerate Magda
len from all blame with regard to the will, telling what he
knew about her finding it, and begging Hester to lay aside her
prejudice, and care for Magdalen as she would have done six
weeks ago.
And Hester promised, and called herself a foolish old woman
for having distrusted the girl, and then went back to the sick
room, leaving Roger to follow her at his leisure. Something
in Magdalen's manner the previous night had led him to hope
that possibly she was not irrevocably bound to Frank ; there
might be some mistake, and the future was not half so dreary
when he thought of her sharing it with him. But Hester's
story swept all that away. Magdalen was lost to him, lost
226 POOR MAGDA.
forever and ever, and for a moment he staggered under the
knowledge just as if it were the first intimation he had received
of it. Then recovering himself he went to Magdalen's bedside,
and when at sight of him she stretched her arms towards him
and begged him to release her head, he bent over her as a
brother might and took her aching head upon his broad chest
and held it between his hands, and soothed and quieted her
until she fell away to sleep. Very carefully he laid her back
upon the pillow, and then meeting in Frank's eye what seemed
to be reproach for the liberty he had taken, he said to him in
an aside, " You need not be jealous of your old uncle, boy.
Let me help you nurse Magda as if she was my sister. She
is going to be very sick."
Frank had never distrusted Roger and he believed him now,
and all through the long, dreary weeks when Magdalen lay at
the very gates of death, and it sometimes seemed to those who
watched her as if she had entered the unknown world, he
never lost faith in the man who stood by her xo constantly,
partly because he could not leave her, and partly because she
would not let him go. She got her head at last from between
the boards, but it was Roger who released it for her, and with
a rain of tears, she cried, "It's out; I shall be better now;"
then, lying back among her pillows, she fell into the quietest,
most refreshing sleep she had known for weeks. The fever
was broken, the doctor said, though it might be days before her
reason was restored, and weeks before she could be moved, ex
cept with the greatest care. When the danger was over and
he knew she would live, Roger absented himself from the sick
room, where he was no longer needed. She did not call for
him now ; she did not talk at all, but lay perfectly passive and
quiet, receiving her medicines from one as readily as from an
other, and apparently taking no notice of anything transpiring
around her. But she was decidedly better, and knowing this
Roger busied himself with the settlement of his affairs, as he
wished to leave Millbank as soon as possible.
LEAVING MILLBANK. 22/
CHAPTER XXX.
LEAVING MILLBANK.
T was in vain that Frank protested against the pride
which refused to receive anything from the Irving es
tate. Roger was firm as a rock.
" I may be foolish," he said to Lawyer- Schofield, who was
often at Millbank, and who once tried to persuade him into
some settlement with Frank. " I may be foolish, but I cannot
take a penny more than the terms of the will give to me. I
have lived for years on what did not belong to me. Let that
suffice, and do not try to tempt me into doing what I should
hate myself for. I have been accustomed to habits of luxury,
which I shall find it difficult to overcome ; just as I shall at first
find it hard to settle down into a steady business, and seek for
patronage with which to earn my bread. But I am compara
tively young yet. I can study and catch up in my profession.
I passed a good examination years ago. I have tried by read
ing not to fall far behind the present age. I shall do very
well, I'm sure." Then he spoke of Schodick, where he had
decided to go. " Some men would choose the West as a larger
field in which to grow, and at first I looked that way myself;
but Schodick has great attractions for me. It was my mother's
home. I shall live in the very house where she was born.
You know my father gave me the farm, and though it is rocky
and hilly and sterile, much of it, I would rather go there
than out upon the prairies. I shall be very near the town,
which is growing rapidly, and there is a chance of my getting
in with a firm whose senior member has recently died. If I
do, it will be the making of me, and you may yet hear of Roger
Irving from Schodick as a great man."
Roger had worked himself up to quite a pitch of enthusiasm,
and seemed much like his olden self as he talked of his plans
to Lawyer Schofield, who had never admired or respected him
228 LEAVING MILLBANK.
so much as he did when he saw him putting the best face upon
matters and bearing his reverses so patiently. Everybody knew
now that he was going to Schodick, in New Hampshire, and
that Hester and Aleck were going with him. Both seemed to
have renewed their youth to a most marvellous degree, and
Hester's form was never more erect, or her step more elastic,
than during those early summer days, when, between the times
of her ministering to Magdalen, of whom she still had the care,
she went over the house, selecting here and there articles
which she declared were hers, and with which Mrs. Walter
Scott did not meddle.
Full of her dread of the fever, that lady had scrupulously kept
aloof from Magdalen, and when she began to fear lest the few
for whose opinion she cared should censure her for neglect she
affected symptoms of the disease and stayed in her own room,
where she received the visits of the doctor, in white line wrap
pers elaborately trimmed, and a scarlet shawl thrown across
her shoulders. Frank visited her several times a day, and once,
when his heart was heaviest with the fear lest Magdalen would
die, he went to her for sympathy, and laying his head on the
pillow beside her, wept like a child. There was no pity in her
voice, for she felt none for him, and her manner was cold and
indifferent as she said she apprehended no danger, and added
that she hoped Frank would not commit himself, too far or
allow his feelings to run away with his judgment. He must re
member that Magdalen had never promised to marry him, and
that if one woman could read another she did not believe she
ever would.
"She loves Roger," she said, "and he loves her, and I have
made up my mind to explain to him a few things, and thus pre
vent you from throwing yourself away on a girl whose parent
age is so doubtful."
Then Frank dried his tears, and so far forgot himself as to
swear roundly that so sure as she went to Roger with such a
tale, or in any way interfered between him and Magdalen, just
so sure would he deed every penny of the Irving property to
LEAVING MILLBANK. 229
Roger, and if he refused to take it, he would deed it to Mag-
dalen, and if she refused it too, he would make donations to
every charitable institution in the land, until the whole was
given away, and he was poorer than before the wilj was found.
Mrs. Walter Scott was afraid of Frank in his present defiant
mood, and promised whatever he required, but suggested that
it might be well for him not to assume too much the character
of Magdalen's lover, until her own lips had given him the right
to do so. Frank knew this was good advice, and, to a certain
extent, he followed it ; and when the crisis was past, he, too,
absented himself from the sick-room, and spent his time with
Roger in trying to understand the immense business which was
now his to manage, and which he no more comprehended than
a child.
" It is not well to trust too much to agents and overseers.
Better attend to it yourself," Roger said.
And then he spoke of one agent in particular whom he dis
trusted and had intended to discharge, and advised Frank to
see to it at once, and have but little to do with him. And
Frank promised to do so, remembering the while, with regret,
that between this man and himself there existed the most
friendly relations and perfect sympathy with regard to Jiorses,
Frank's great weakness which only want of money kept in
abeyance.
Like his mother, Frank was disposed to let Hester Floyd
take whatever she chose in the way of bedding and table-linen,
and offered no objections when she laid claim to the spoons and
silver tea-set which had been bought for Jessie, and were marked
with her initials. Spoons and forks of a more modern style, with
only "Irving" marked upon them, were next appropriated by
the greedy old woman, who kept two men busy one entire
day packing boxes for Schodick, N. H. She was going at
once to the old farm-house, which the present tenant had,
for a consideration, been induced to vacate, and her prep
arations went rapidly forward, until, at last, the day but one
came, when, with her boxes and Aleck and Matty, her grand-
230 LEAVING MILLS ANK.
niece, who went as maid of all work, she was to start foi the
Schodick hills, while Roger went West for a few weeks, thus
leaving the old lady time to get things " straightened out and
tidied up " before he came. This had been Frank's idea, con
veyed to Roger in the form of a suggestion that a little travel
would do him good, and his home in Schodick seem a great
deal pleasanter if he found it settled than if he went to it when
all was disorder and confusion. All the better, kindlier qual
ities of Frank's nature were at work during those last days, and
even Hester brought herself to address him civilly, and thank
him cordially when, to her numerous bundles and boxes, he
added a huge basket of the choicest wines in the cellar.
" To be sure, he was only offering to Roger what was already
his own," she said ; " but then it showed that what little milk of
human kindness he had wasn't sourer than swill, as his mother's
was."
Roger had seen to the packing of but one article, and this he
had done by himself and then carried it to the back stoop where
the other baggage was waiting. Hester saw the long, narrow
box and wondered what it was. Frank saw it too, guessed
what it was, went to the garret to reconnoitre, and then knew
that it was the cradle candle-box, in which Magdalen had been
rocked. It had stood for years in a corner of the garret, sur
rounded with piles of rubbish and covered with dirt and cob
webs ; but Roger had hunted it out and it was going with him
to his new home, sole memento of the young girl he had loved
so dearly, and who, all through the long bright summer days
when he was so busy, lay quiet and still, knowing nothing, or at
most comprehending nothing, of what was passing around her.
It was a strange state she was in, but the doctor said she
was mending, that the danger was past, and a week or two of
perfect quiet would restore her to a more natural condition.
Had he said otherwise, Roger would not have gone, but now it
was better for him to leave her while she was unconscious of
the pain it cost him to do so ; and on the night before his depart
ure for the West he went to look at her for the last time
LEAVING MI^LBANK. 231
Only Celine was with her and she thoughtfully withdrew, leav
ing him alone with Magdalen, whose pale lips he kissed so
passionately and on whose face he dropped tears of bitter
anguish. Years after, when her eyes were shining upon him full
of love and tenderness and trust, he told her of that parting
scene ; but she knew nothing of it then, and only moved a little
uneasily and muttered something he could not understand.
She had no farewell word for him, and so he kissed her lips and
forehead once more and drew the covering smoothly about her,
and buttoned the cuff of her night-dress, which he saw was
unfastened, and moved the lamp a little more into the shadow,
because he thought it hurt her eyes, and then went out and left
her there alone.
They were astir early at Millbank the next morning, and a
most tempting breakfast, prepared by Hester herself, awaited
Roger in the dining-room. But he could not eat, and, after a
few ineffectual attempts to swallow the rich, golden-colored
coffee, he rose from the table and left the dining-room.
Knowing that he would, of course, come to say good-by to
her, and dreading an interview with him when no one was
present, Mrs. Walter Scott had made a "great effort" to dress
herself, and come down to breakfast. But she panted hard, and
seemed too weak to talk, and kept her hand a good deal on her
left side, where she said she experienced great pain since her ill
ness, and sometimes feared her lungs were affected. With all
her languor and weakness, she could not quite conceal her
elation at the near prospect of being entirely alone in her glory,
and it showed itself in her face and in her eyes, which, never
theless, tried to look so sorry and pitiful when, at last, Roger
turned to her to say good-by.
She had nothing to fear from him now. He had given up
quietly. Success was hers, with riches and luxury. It could
matter little what Roger thought of her. His opinion could
not change her position at Millbank. Still, in her heart she
respected him more than any man living, and would rather ha
232 LEAVING MILLBANK.
thought well of her than ill. So, with that look in her eyes
which they always wore when she wanted to be particularly in
teresting, she held his hand between her own and said,
" I can't let you go without hearing you say that you forgive
me for any wrong you imagine me to have done, and that you
will not cherish hard feelings toward me. Tell me this, can't
you, dear brother 1 "
He dropped her hand then, as if a viper had stung him, and
a gleam of fire leaped to his eyes as he replied :
"Don't call me brother, now, Helen. That time is past.
You have wronged me fearfully, and but for you I should never
have met this hour of darkness. If God can forgive me for all
my sins against Him, I surely ought to try and forgive you, too.
But human flesh is weak, and I cannot say that I feel very
kindly towards you, for I do not."
He had never said so much to her before, and the proud
woman winced a little, but tried to appear natural, and, for
appearance sake, went with him to the door, and stood watch
ing the carriage until it left the avenue and turned into the
highway.
In "perfect silence Roger passed through the grounds, so
beautiful now in their summer glory, but as the carriage left the
park behind, he leaned from the window for a last look at his
old home. The sun was just rising and the dew-drops were
glittering on the grass and flowers, while the thousands of roses
with which the place was adorned filled the air with .perfume.
It seemed a second Paradise to the heart-broken man, whose
thoughts went back to the dream he once had of just such a
day as this when he was leaving Millbank. In the dream, how
ever, there was this difference : Magdalen was with him ; her
hand lay in his, her eyes shone upon him, and turned the mid
night into noonday. Now he was alone, so far as she was con
cerned. Magda was not there ; she would never be with him
again, unless she came the wife of Frank, who sat opposite,
with an expression of genuine sympathy on his boyish face.
Frank was sorry that morning, so sorry that he could not talk ;
LEAVING MILLS ANK. 233
but when, as they lost sight of Millbank, Roger groaned aloud
and leaned his head against the side of the carriage, he wen!
over to him, and sitting down beside him took his hand in his
own and pressed it nervously.
There was a crowd of people at the station ; the whole vil
lage, Frank thought, when he saw the moving multitude which
pressed around Roger to say good-by and assure him of their
willingness to serve him. There were mills in Schodick, they
had heard, and shoe shops, too ; and a few were already talking
of following their late master thither.
" It would be worth something to see him round even if they
did not work for him," they said.
And Roger heard all and saw all, and said good-by to all, and
took in his arms the little baby boy named for him ten months
before, and said playfully to the mother, "He shall have the first
cow I raise on my farm."
And then the train came round the river bend and the crowd
fell back, and Frank went with Roger into the car and waited
there until the train began to move, when with a bound he
sprang upon the platform, and those nearest to him saw that he
was very white and that there were traces of tears in his eyes.
No one spoke to him, though all made way for him to pass to
his carriage, which drove rapidly back to Millbank, which was
now his beyond a doubt.
Hester Floyd went later in the day, and to the last stood out
against Mrs. Walter Scott, whom she did not deign to notice by
so much as a farewell nod. Over Magdalen she bent lovingly,
trying to make her comprehend that she was going away, but
Magdalen only stared at her a moment with her wide open eyes,
and then closed them wearily, and knew nothing of Hester's
tears or the great wet kiss which was laid upon her forehead.
' She's to b~ the lady of Millbank, I s'pose, but I don't be-
grutch her her happiness with that old sarpent for a mother-in-
law and that white-livered critter for a husband," Hester thought
as sne stole softly from the room and went down to where the
drayman was loading her numerous boxes and bundles. Frank
234 LEAVING MILLBANK.
offered her the use of the carriage to carry herself and Aleck to
the station ; but she declined the offer, and took a fierce kind of
pride in seeing the village hack drive up to the side door. "She
as't no odds of nobody," she said, and tying on her six years'
old straw bonnet, and pinning her brown shawl with a darning-
needle, she saw deposited in the hack her old-fashioned work-
basket and her satchel and bird cage and umbrella, and her
bandbox tied up in a calico bag, and her palm-leaf fan. and
Aleck, and Matty, who carried two beautiful Malta kittens in a
basket as her own special property. Then, with a quick, sudden
movement, and an indifference she was far from feeling, she
shook the hands of all her fellow-servants over whom she had
reigned so long, and hoping they would never find a "wus"
mistress than she had been, sprang into the hack with an
alacrity which belied her seventy summers, and was driven to
the depot.
From her window Mrs. Walter Scott watched the fast reced
ing vehicle, and felt herself breathe freer with every revolution
of the wheels. When Roger went, a great weight had been
ifted from her spirits, but so long as old Hester Floyd remained
she could not feel altogether free ; and now that the good dame
was really out of the house she sat perfectly still until she heard
the whistle of the engine, and saw the white smoke of the train
which carried the enemy away. Then she rose up from her
sitting posture, and her long graceful neck took a prouder arch,
and her step was more firm, her manner more queenly, as she
went directly to the kitchen, and summoning the servants to
her presence told them they were at liberty to leave her employ
within a month, as she should by that time have provided her
self with other help. Very civilly they listened to her, and
when she was through informed her that she need not wait a
month before importing her new coterie of servants, as each
one of them was already supplied with a situation, and was in
tending to leave her that night, with the exception of Celine,
who had promised Mrs. Floyd to stay till Miss Lennox's mind
was restored.
LEAVING MILLBANfC. 235
With a haughty, " Very well, do as you like," Mrs. Waltet
Scott swept out of the kitchen and made the circ.uit ol
the handsome rooms which were now her own. Frank, too,
had watched the hack as it drove away, and listened for the
signal by which he should know that Hester Floyd was gone,
for not till then could he feel perfectly secure in his possessions. .
But as the loud, shrill blast came up over the hills and then died
away amid the windings of the river, there stole over him a
pleasurable sense of proprietorship, and he thought involuntarily
of the familiar lines, " I am monarch of all I survey, my right
there is none to dispute." Frank liked to feel comfortable in
his mind, and as he reviewed the steps by which he had reached
his present position, he found many arguments in his own favor
which tended to silence any misgivings he might otherwise have
experienced. He was not to blame for his grandfather's will,
nor to blame for hiding it. Everybody knew that. Roger
said he was not, and Roger's opinion was worth everything to
him. He had been willing to burn the will, and when he could
not do that, he offered repeatedly to divide with Roger, and was
willing to divide now and always would be. Surely he could
do no more than he had done. He was a pretty good fellow
after all, and he began to whistle "Annie Laurie" and think of
the agent whom Roger had warned him against, and wished it
had been anybody but Noll, who was such a good judge
of horses, and had such a fine high-blood for sale, which he
offered cheap, because he needed a little ready money. As the
war steed scents the battle from afar, and pricks up his ears at
the smell of blood, so Frank felt his love of horse flesh growing
strong within him. There could be no harm in riding over to
sec Holt's horse. He would have to go there any way if he
dismissed the man, as Roger had advised, and he would go at
once and have a bad job off his mind. Accordingly, when lunch
time came Mrs. Walter Scott lunched alone, and when the
dinner hour came she dined alone, and when the stable doors
were closed that night they shut into his new home Firefly, "the
THE HOME IN SCHODICK.
swiftest horse in the county," which Frank had bought foi
eleven hundred dollars.
Holt, the agent, was not dismissed !
CHAPTER XXXI.
THE HOME IN SCHODICK.
j T was a quiet, old-fashioned farm-house, with gables
and projections and large rooms and pleasant fire
places and low ceilings and small windows, looking
some of them toward the village, with its houses of white
nestled among the trees, arid some of them upon the hills,
whose shadows enfolded the farm-house in an early twilight at
night, and in the morning reflected back the warm sunshine
which lay so brightly upon their wooded sides. There was a
kitchen with a door to the north, and a door to the south, and
a door to the east, leading out into the woodshed, and there
were stairs leading to an upper room, and a fire-place "big
enough to roast an ox," Hester said, when, with her basket and
bandbox and umbrella and camlet cloak and bird cage and
kittens and Aleck, she was dropped at her new home and
began to reconnoitre, deciding, first, that the late tenants of
the place were " shiftless critters, or they would never have
lived there so long with only a wooden latch and a wooden
button on the outside door," and second, that they were " dirty
as the rot, or they would never have left them stains on the
buttry shelf, that looked so much like cheese-mould."
Hester was not altogether pleased with the house. It came
a little hard to change from luxurious Millbank to this old
brown farm-house, with its oaken floors and stone hearth and
tiny panes of glass, and for a time the old lady was as home
sick as she could be. But this only lasted until she got well
to work in the cleaning process, which occupied her mind
THE HOME IN SCHODICK. 2tf
so wholly that she forgot herself, and only thought how to
make the house a fitting place for her boy to come to after his
travels West. Roger had given her money with which to
furnish the house, and she had added more of her own, while
Frank, when parting with her, had slipped into her hands one
hundred dollars, saying to her, ''Roger is too proud to take
anything from me, and I want you to use this for the house."
And so it was owing partly to Frank's thoughtfulness and
Hester's generosity that the farm-house, when renovated with
paper and paint, and furnished with the pretty, tasteful furniture
which Hester bought, looked as well and inviting as it did.
The most pains had been taken with Roger's room, the one
his mother occupied when a girl. Hester had ascertained
which it was from an inhabitant of Schodick, who had been
Jessie's friend, and slept with her many a time in the room
under the roof, which looked off upon the pond and up the
side of the steep hills. The prettiest carpet was put down
there, and curtains were hung before the windows, and the bed
made up high and clean with ruffled sheets and pillow-cases,
mementos of Millbank, and Jessie's picture was hung on the
wall, the blue eyes seeming to look sadly round upon a spot
they had known in happier days than those when the portrait
was taken. There were flowers, too, in great profusion, not
costly, hot-house flowers, like those which decked the rooms at
Millbank, but sweet, home-flowers, like those which grow
around the doors and in the gardens of so many happy New
England homes, the fragrant pink and old-fashioned rose
and honeysuckle and heliotrope, with verbenas and the sweet
mignonette.
And here Roger came one pleasant July afternoon, when a
heavy-thunder-storm had laid the dust, and cooled the air, and
set every little bird to singing its blithest notes, and, alas !
soured the rich, thick cream, which Hester had put away for
the few luscious wild strawberries which, late as it was for
them, Mattie had found in the meadow, by the fence, and
picked for Mr. Roger. With the exception of this little draw-
238 THE HOME IN SCHODICK.
back, Hester was perfectly happy, and her face was radiant
when she met her boy at the door, and welcomed him to his
new home, taking him first to his own room, because it looked
the prettiest, ind would give him the best impression.
Roger had been in Schodick once or twice when a boy, but
everything now was new and strange, while, struggle as he
might against it, the contrast between the old home and the
new affected him painfully at first, and it was weeks before he
could settle down quietly, and give his time and attention to
the firm of which he at once became a member. For days and
days he found his chief solace in wandering over the hills where
his mother once had been, and exploring the shadowy woods,
and hunting out the rock under the overhanging pine, where
she had crept away from sight, and prayed that she might die,
when the great sorrow was in her heart, just as it was now in
his. He found the spot at last, just under the shadow of one
great rock and on the ledge of another, where the ground was
carpeted thickly with the red pine of last year's growth, and the
green, tasselated boughs above his head seemed to whisper
softly, and try to comfort him.
Here poor Jessie had knelt, and felt that her heart was
breaking. And here Roger sat, and felt that his heart was
broken.
He had tried not to think much of Magdalen, and during
the novelty and excitement of travelling he had not felt the
bitter pain tugging at his heart as it was tugging now, causing
him to cry out, in his anguish :
"Oh, Magda, my darling! how can I live without you?"
He had his father's letter with him, and he read it again
there in the dim light, and was struck, as he had never before
been, with that clause which said :
" And if, in the course of your life, there is one thing more
than another which you desire, I pray Heaven to grant it to
you ! "
He had read these lines many times, but they never im
pressed him so forcibly as now. It was his father's last invo-
THE HOME IN SCHODICK. 239
cation to Heaven in his behalf. The one thing more than
another which he desired was Magdalen, and why had God
withheld her from him ? Why had He not heard and answered
the father's prayer? Why had He dealt so harshly by the son,
taking from him everything which had hitherto made life
desirable ?
These were hard questions for a creature to ask its Creator.
And Roger felt hard and rebellious as he asked them, with his
face among the cones and withered pines, and from the pitiless
skies above him there came no answer back, for it is not thus
that God will have His children question Him.
Roger could not be submissive then, and for hours he sat
there alone, battling with his sorrow, and never trying to pray
until at the very last, when with a cry such as a wayward child
gives when the will is finally broken, he covered his face with
his hands and prayed earnestly to be forgiven for all the
wicked, rebellious feelings he had cherished, and for strength
to bear whatever the future had in store for him. After that
he never gave way again as he had done before, though he
went often to that rock under the pine, and made it a kind of
Bethel where, unseen by mortal eye, he could tell his troubles
to God, and go away with the burden somewhat lightened.
They heard at the farmhouse that Magdalen was improving
slowly, and then there came a rumor in a roundabout way,
that the day for the bridal was fixed, and that Mrs. Walter
Scott was in New York selecting the bridal trousseau. Roger's
face was very white for a few days after that, and nothing had
power to clear the shadow from his brow, until one morning
there came a letter to Hester Floyd from Magdalen herself,
with the delicate perfumery she always used lingering about it,
and her pretty monogram upon the seal. How Roger pressed
the inanimate thing in one hand and caressed it with the other,
and how fast he carried it to Hester, who was in the midst of
working over her morning's churning, but who put the tray
aside at once and washed her hands, and adjusted her specta
cles, while Roger stood by inwardly chafing at the delay and
240 THE HOME IN SCHODICIC.
ionghig to know what Magdalen had written. It was very
short indeed, and formal and stiff, and did not sound at all like
Magdalen. She was quite well now, and she wanted to thank
Mrs. Floyd for all the care she had taken of her before leaving
Millbank.
" Mrs. Irving tells me you were very kind to me," she wrote,
" and though I have no recollection that you or any one but
Celine came near me, I am grateful all the same, and shall
always remember your kindness to me both then and when I
was a child, and such a care to you ; I am deeply grateful to
all who have done so much for me, and I wish them to know
it, and remember me kindly as I do them. I am going away
soon, and I want to take with me all I brought to Millbank.
I have the locket, but the little dress I cannot find. Mrs.
Irving thinks you took it in the chest. Did you, and if so, will
you please send it to me at once by express, and oblige,
"Yours truly,
" MAGDALEN."
That was the letter. Not one word in it to Roger, except
as the sentence beginning with " I am deeply grateful to all
who have done so much for me," was supposed to refer to him.
She wished him to remember her kindly as she did him, and
she was going away from Millbank, but where, or how, or with
whom, Roger could not tell. Hester knew she was going to
be married, though why " she should want to lug that dud of a
slip round with her finery was more than she could divine," she
said, as she brought down the little spotted crimson dress, and
wrapping it in thick brown paper gave it to Roger to direct.
"Maybe you'll write her a line or two for me; my hand is
too shaky and cramped," she said to Roger, who shook his head
and replied, "You must answer your own letters, Hester;"
but he directed the little parcel to " Miss Magdalen Lennox,
Belvider?," and sent it on its way to Millbank.
MAGDALEN 1 S DECISION. 241
CHAPTER XXXII.
M A G D A L E N'S DECISION.
T was a warm morning in early August when Magda
len came fully to herself and looked around her with
a feeling of wonder and uncertainty as to where she
was and what had happened to her. The last thing she could
remember distinctly was of being cold and chilly, and that the
night wind blew upon her as she groped her way back to her
room. Now the doors and windows were opened, and the
warm summer rain was falling on the lawn outside and sifting
down among the green leaves of the honeysuckle which was
trained across the window. There were flowers in her room,
summer flowers, such as grew in the garden beds, and it
must be that it was summer now, and many weeks had passed
since that dreadful night whose incidents she finally recalled,
knowing at last what had happened in part. She had found
the will, and Mrs. Walter Scott had carried it to Roger, who
was not as angry as she had feared he might be. Nay, he was
not angry at all, and his manner towards her when she went to
him in the library had belied what Frank had said, and her
cheeks flushed and her pulse throbbed with delight as she felt
again the kisses Roger had rained upon her lips and forehead
and hair, and heard his voice calling her " Magda, my dar
ling, my darling." He had done all this on that night which
must have been so long ago, and that meant love, and Frank
was mistaken or wished to deceive her, and she should tell him
so and free herself wholly from him and then wait for Roger to
follow up his words and acts, as he was bound in honor to do.
Of all this Magdalen thought, and then she wondered what had
been done about the will, and if Roger would really go away
from. Millbank ; and if so, would he take her with him or leave
her for awhile and come for her again. That he had gone she
never for a moment suspected. She had been delirious, she
242 MAGDALEWS DECISION.
knew, but not so much so that some subtle influence would
not have told her when Roger came to say good-by. He was
there still. He had arranged those beautiful bouquets which
looked so fresh and bright, and had set those violets just where
she could see them. He had remembered all her tastes, and
would come soon to see her and be so glad when he found
how much better she was. At last there was a step in the hall ;
somebody was coming, but it was not Roger, nor Frank, nor
yet Celine. She had finally been sent away, though she had
stood her ground bravely for a time in spite of Mrs. Walter
Scott's lofty ways and cool hints that Miss Lennox would do
quite as well with a stranger, inasmuch as she did not know
one person from another. She called her Miss Lennox now
altogether. Magdalen would have been too familiar and
savored too much of relationship, real or prospective, and this
the lady was determined to prevent. But she said nothing as
yet. The time for talking had not come, and might never come
if Magdalen only had sense enough to answer Frank in the
negative. He was still anxious, still waiting for that torpor
to pass away and leave Magdalen herself again. In his
estimation she was already his, for surely she could not refuse
him now when everybody looked upon the marriage as a set
tled thing, and he insisted that everything should be done for
her comfort, and every care given to her which would be
given to Mrs. Franklin Irving. And in this his mother dared
not cross him. His will was stronger on that point than her
own, and hence the perfect order in the sick-room, and the
evidences of kind, thoughtful attention which Magdalen had
been so quick to detect. In one thing, however, Mrs. Walter
Scott had had her way. She had dismissed Celine outright,
and put in her place a maid of her own choosing, and it was
her step which Magdalen heard, coming towards her room.
She was not a bad-faced girl, and she smiled pleasantly as she
spoke to Magdalen and said, " You are better this morning,
Miss Lennox."
" Yes, a great deal better. Have I been sick long, and
MAGDALEN'S DECISION. 243
where are they all ? Who are you, and where is Celine ? "
Magdalen asked, and the girl replied, " She left here some two
weeks ago and I came in her place ; I am Sarah King ; can ]
do anything for you ? "
" Nothing but answer my questions. How long have I been
sick, and where are Hester Floyd and Mr. Irving ? "
She meant Roger, but the girl was thinking of Frank, and
replied, "Mr. Irving went to Springfield yesterday, but will be
home to-night, I guess, and so glad to find you better; he has
been so concerned about you, and is in here two or three times
a day."
"Is he?" and Magdalen's face flushed at this proof of
Roger's interest in her.
"Don't you remember anything about it?" the girl asked,
and Magdalen replied, " Nothing ; it is all like a long, disturbed
sleep. Where is Hester, did you say ? "
"You mean Mrs. Floyd, I suppose; she has been gone some
time, to Schodick, or some such place. She went with old
Mr. Irving, Mr. Franklin's uncle, I believe. He is West some
where now, I heard madam say. I have never seen him, nor
Mrs. Floyd."
She meant Roger by old Mr. Irving, and ordinarily Magda
len would have laughed merrily at the mistake, but now she
was too much surprised and pained to give it more than a
thought.
"Roger, Mr. Roger Irving gone, and Hester, too?" she cried.
" When did they go, and why did they leave me here so sick ?
has everybody gone ? Tell me, please, all you know about it."
Sarah knew very little, but that little she told, and then
Magdalen knew that of all the once happy household at Mill-
bank she was left alone. Hester was gone, the old servants
gone, and Roger was gone, too. That was the hardest part of
all, and the tears sprang to her eyes as a feeling of homesick
ness came stealing over her.
" I'd better call Mrs. Irving," Sarah said, puzzled to know
why Magdalen should cry, and she left the room to do so.
244 MAGDALEN'S DECISION.
Fifteen minutes later and Mrs. Walter Scott came in, habited
in white, with puffs and tucks and rich embroidery wherever
there was a place for it, and on her head a jaunty little morn
ing cap of the softest Valenciennes, with a bit of lavender rib
bon to relieve it. She was not all smiles and tenderness now,
and there was about her a studied politeness wholly different
from her old caressing manner toward Magdalen.
"Sarah tells me you are better this morning, and you do look
greatly improved," she said, standing back a little from the bed
and feigning not to see the hand which Magdalen held toward
her.
Magdalen felt the change in a moment and understood the
cause. Mrs. Irving was now the undisputed mistress of Mill-
bank, and she the poor dependant, 'left there on the lady's
hands, a burden and a drag whom nobody wanted. That was
the way Magdalen put it, and her tears fell like rain as she re
plied, " Yes, I am better, but I, I don't understand it at
all, or why I should be left here alone ; why didn't they take me
with them ? "
" I suppose because you were too sick to be moved, though
I knew but little about their movements. Mrs. Floyd was so
very rude and ill-bred that I kept out of her way as much as
possible, and as Roger avoided me, I saw but little of them.
It is not worth while to distress yourself unnecessarily," the
cruel woman went on as she saw how Magdalen cried. " We
have taken every possible care of you and shall continue to do
so until you are well, when, if you, wish to join your friends in
Schodick, we will provide the means for you to do so."
Nothing could be cooler than her tone and manner and
words, and but for her face, which there was no mistaking, Mag
dalen would have doubted her identity with the oily-tongued
woman who used to caress and pet her so much, and to whom
at one time she had paid a kind of child-worship. But it was
the same woman, and she stood a moment longer, looking
coldly at Magdalen, and picking a dried leaf or two from the
vase of flowers on the stand ; then consulting her watch she
MAGDALENE DECISION. 24$
said, " You must excuse me now, as I have an engagement at
ten. Sarah will see that you have everything you want. You
will find her an excellent nurse. I chose her myself from a
dozen applicants for the place. I'll see you again by and by,
I wish you good-morning."
For a few moments Magdalen lay like one stunned ; then, as
she began to reason upon the matter and to understand it more
clearly, her pride came to her aid ; and when at last Sarah went
back to her, she found her with flushed cheeks and a resolute,
determined look in her eyes, which flashed and sparkled with
much of their former fire.
Frank did not return till the next night. There was a horse
race in Springfield and he had Firefly there and put him on the
course and won a bet and made for himself quite a reputation
as a horse-jockey ; and he paid Holt's bills at the Massasoit
House, and sent bottles of champagne to sundry other " good
fellows " who had praised his skill in driving and praised his
horse and nattered him generally. Then he promised to look
at another horse which somebody recommended as unsurpassed
in the saddle,- and took several shares in a new speculation
which was sure to go if " the rich Mr. Irving patronized it,"
and which if it went was sure to pay double. Judge Burleigh,
of Boston, wht was stopping at the Massasoit, had sought him
out and introduced his daughter Bell, a handsome, haughty girl,
who had made fun of his light mustache and boyish face before
she knew who he was, and then been very gracious to him
after. Bell Burleigh was poor and fashionable and extravagant,
and on the lookout for a husband. Frank Irving was rich,
and master of the finest residence in the county, and worth
cultivating, and so she expended upon him every art known to
a thorough woman of the world, and walked with him through
the halls and sat with him in the parlor in the evening, and
went out in the morning to see him drive Firefly round the
course, and had her father ask him to their table at dinner
time, and flattered and courted him until he began to wonder
why other people beside Bell Burleigh had not discovered what
24-6 MAGDALEN 1 S DECISION 1 .
an entertaining and agreeable man he was ! But through it all
he never for a moment wavered in his allegiance to Magdalen.
Bell's influence could not make him do that ; but it inflated hi?
pride and made him less able to bear the humiliation to which
Magdalen was about to subject him.
After her first interview with Magdalen, Mrs. Walter Scott
did not see her again until her son returned, though she sent
twice to know how she was feeling and if she would have any
thing. To these inquiries Magdalen had answered that she
was doing very well and did not want anything more than she
already had, and this was all that had passed between the two
ladies when Frank came home from Springfield. He heard
from Sarah of the change in Magdalen ; but heard, too, that
she could not see him that night, as she had been sitting up
some little time and was very tired. The next day it was the
same, and the next. She was too weak to talk, and would
rather Mr. Irving should wait before she saw him. And so
Frank waited and chafed and fretted and lost his temper with
his mother, who maintained through all the utmost reserve with
regard to Magdalen, feeling intuitively that matters were adjust
ing themselves to her satisfaction. She guessed what the delay
portended, and on the strength of it went once or twice to the
sick room, and was a little more gracious than at first. But
Magdalen was very reserved toward her now, barely answering
her questions, and seeming relieved when she went away.
Frank saw her at last. She was sitting up in her easy chair,
and her face was very pale at first, but flushed and grew crim
son as Frank bent over her and kissed her forehead and called
her his darling, and told her how glad he was to find her better,
and how miserable he had been during the last few days be
cause he could not see her.
" It was naughty in you to banish me so long. Don't you
think so, darling?" he said playfully, as he stooped again to
kiss her.
He was taking everything for granted, and Magdalen gasped
MAGDALEN' 1 S DECISION. 247
for breath as she put up both hands to thrust him aside, foi
she felt as if she were smothering with him so near to her.
" Sit down, Frank," she said, " sit there by the window," and
she pointed to a seat so far from her that more kisses were oul
of the question.
Something in her tone startled him, and he sat where she
bade him sit and then listened breathlessly while she went ovei
the whole ground carefully, and at last, as gently as possible,
for she would not unnecessarily wound him, told him she could
not be his wife.
" I decided that before I knew Roger had the will," she said,
" and I sent for you to tell you so on that dreadful day when
so much happened here. I like you, Frank, and I know you
have been very kind to me, but I cannot be your wife ; I do
not love you well enough for that."
It was in vain that Frank begged her to consider, to take
time to think. She surely did not know what she was doing
when she refused him ; and he thought of Bell Burleigh and
all the llattery he had received in Springfield, and wished Mag
dalen could know how highly some people esteemed him.
Magdalen understood him in part, and smiled a little derisive
ly as she replied : " I know well what I am doing, Frank ; I am
refusing one who, the world would say, was far above me, a
poor girl, with neither home, nor friends, nor name."
"What, then, do you propose to do?" Frank asked, "if, as
you say, you are without home or friends."
" I don't know. Oh, I don't know. Some way will be pro
vided," Magdalen answered sadly, her heart going out in a long
ing cry after Roger.
As if divining the thought, and feeling jealous and angry on
account of it, Frank continued :
" You surely would not go to Schodick now. Even your
love for Roger would not allow you to do so umnaidenly a
thing as that."
He spoke bitterly, for he felt bitterly, and when he saw how
white Magdalen grew, and how she gasped for breath, he wenf
248 MA GDALEW S DE CIS I ON.
on pitilessly, " I think I know what stands between us. You
fancy you love Roger best."
" Hush ! Frank, hush ! " Magdalen cried, and the color came
rushing back into her face. " If I do love Roger best, it is not
to be mentioned between us, and you must respect the feeling.
He does not care for me, or he would not have left me here so
sick, without a word of farewell to be given when I could un
derstand it. Did he leave any message, Frank ? "
Had Magdalen been stronger, she would never have admitted
what she was admitting to Frank, who, still more piqued and ir
ritated, answered her, " None that I ever heard of."
" Or come to see me either ? Didn't he do so much as
that ? "
Frank could have told her of the many nights and days
when Roger never left her side, except as it was absolutely nec
essary ; but he would not even tell her that ; he merely said : " I
dare say he looked in upon you before he left, but I do not
know. He was very busy those last few days, and had a great
deal to do."
Magdalen's lip quivered, but she made a great effort not to
show how much she was pained by Roger's seeming indiffer
ence and neglect. Still, it did show upon her face, for she was
weak, and tired, and worn, and the great tears came dropping
from her eyes, as she thought how mistaken she had been, and
how desolate and alone she was in the great world. And
Frank pitied her at last, and tried to comfort her, but would
not say a word which would give her hope with regard to
Roger. He should not consider her answer as final, he said,
when she begged him to leave her. She would feel differently
by and by, when she saw matters as they really were. She had
no other home but Millbank, as she, of course, would not follow
Roger to Schodick. He placed great emphasis on the word
follow, and Magdalen felt her blood tingle to her finger tips as
he went on to say, that, let her decision be what it might, her
rightful place was there at Millbank, which he wished her to
consider her home, just as she always had done. She surely
MAGDALEN'S DECISION. 240
ought to be as willing to look to him for support as to Roger,
who was in no condition now to enlarge his household, even if
he wished to do it.
He left her then, and went at once to his mother. He had
staked his all on Magdalen, and he must not lose her, for
aside from the great trial it would be to him, there was the
bitter mortification he would be compelled to endure, for he
had suffered the people of Belvidere to believe in his engage
ment, and Magdalen must be won, or at least kept at Mill-
l.ank and in order to do this there must be a perfect under
standing between himself and his mother. And after a half
hour's interview there was a perfect understanding, and Mrs.
Walter Scott knew that if by word or sign she helped Mag
dalen to a knowledge of Roger's love for her, and so sep
arated her from Frank, just so sure would he carry out his
former threat, of deeding Millbank away. That point was
settled, and another too, which was, that Magdalen should be
treated with all the kindness and attention due to an inmate of
the house, and one who might, perhaps, be its mistress.
" But whether she is or not, mother, you've got to come
down from your stilts, and treat her as you did before the con
founded will was found, or, by the Harry, I'll do something
you'll be sorry for."
Frank's recent intercourse with horse-jockeys, and men of
the race-course, had not improved his language ; but he was in
earnest, and his mother promised whatever he required, and
kept her promise all the more readily, because she knew that
do what he would, and plead as he might, Magdalen would nev-
er be his wife.
u*
250 THE BEGINNING OF THE END.
CHAPTER XXXIII.
THE BEGINNING OF THE END.
j]ANTED, A young woman of pleasing address, and
cultivated manners, as companion for a young lady
who suffers greatly from ill health and nervous de
pression. It is desirable that the applicant should be both a
good reader and good musician.
" Address, for four weeks,
" MRS. PENELOPE SEYMOUR,
' St. Denis, New York.'
This advertisement was in the Herald, which Frank laid
upon the table in the room where both his mother and Mag
dalen were sitting. It was four weeks since Magdalen's first
awakening to perfect consciousness after her long illness, and in
that time she had improved rapidly. She went to the table
now, and had ridden two or three times with Mrs. Walter Scott,
between whom and herself there was a kind of tacit under
standing that, so long as they remained together, each was to be
as civil and polite to the other as possible, knowing the while
that each would be glad to be relieved of the other's society.
Frank had made several efforts to ride with Magdalen. He
wanted to exhibit her in town with his new bays, which he had
bought for an enormous sum. But Magdalen always made
some excuse ; and without seeming to do it, Mrs. Walter Scott
helped her to avoid him, so that he had had no opportunity for
seeing her alone, since the interview in her chamber, when she
told him her answer was final, and he had refused to consider it
as such. He had been invited to join a party of young men
from Hartford and Springfield, who were going on a fishing ex
cursion to the Thousand Islands and from thence into Can
ada, if there should prove to be good hunting there, and when
THE BEGINNING OF THE END. 2$ L
he brought the Herald into the sitting-room, he came also to
say good-by to his mother and Magdalen.
" Perhaps I shall be gone six weeks," he said, in reply to his
mother's questions as to his return, and he looked at Magdalen
to see how she would take it.
She was relieved rather than sorry, and he saw it, and felt a
good deal chagrined, as he shook her hand at parting, and re
ceived her kind wishes for a pleasant trip. After he was gone,
she took up the Herald, and ran her eye over its columns, till
she reached the list of " Wanted." She had studied that list
before, for she had it in her mind to find some situation, as
teacher or governess, which would take her from Millbank and
make her independent of every one. She saw the advertise
ment for a young woman, who was " a good reader, and good
musician." She knew she was both, and knew, too, that she
was of "pleasing address" and "cultivated manners." She
did not object to being a companion for an invalid. It would
be easier than a teacher's life, and she would write to "Mrs.
Penelope Seymour" and see what that lady had to say. Ac
cordingly, the very next mail which went to New York from
Belvidere carried a letter of inquiry from Magdalen to Mrs.
Seymour, whose reply came at once ; a short note, written in a
plain, square hand, and directly to the point. There had been
many applications for the situation, but something in Miss
Lennox's manner of expressing herself had turned the scale in
her favor, and Mrs. Seymour would be glad to see her at the
St. Denis, as soon as possible. Terms, five hundred dollars a
year, with a great deal of leisure.
Five hundred dollars a year seemed a vast amount of money
tc Magdalen, who had never earned a penny since the berries
picked for that photograph sent to Roger, and she began at
once to think how she would lay it up, until she had enough to
make it worth giving to Roger, who should not know from
whence it came, so adroitly would she manage. She had in her
own mind accepted the situation, but, before she wrote again to
Mrs. Seymour, it would be proper to lay the case before Mrs.
2$2 THE BEGINNING OF THE END.
Walter Scott, and, for form's sake, ask her advice. That lady
was delighted, for now a riddance from Magdalen was sure
without her intervention, but she kept her delight to herself
and seemed, for several minutes, to be considering. Then she
said something about its not being what her son expected 01
wished, and asked if Magdalen was fully resolved not to marry
Frank.
Magdalen knew this to be a mere ruse, done for politeness'
sake, and she bit her lip to keep from answering hastily.
Her decision was final, she said. She should probably never
marry any one certainly not Frank ; and she could not remain
at Millbank longer than was absolutely necessary. Mrs. Irving
must know how very unpleasant it was, and what an awkward
position it placed her in.
Mrs. Irving did know, and fully appreciated Magdalen's nice
sense of propriety, and she was very gracious to the young
girl, and said she was welcome to stay at Millbank as long as
she liked, but, if she preferred to be less dependent, she re
spected the feeling, and thought, perhaps, Mrs. Seymour's offer
was as good as she would have, and it might be well to accept it.
And so it was accepted, and Magdalen made haste to get
away, before Frank's return. She hunted for the little dress,
impelled by a feeling that somewhere in the wide world,
into which she was going, she might find her mother, and
she would have every possible link by which the identity could
be proven. Mrs. Walter Scott had told her that Hester Floyd
took the chest of linen in which the dress was laid and so she
wrote to Hester the letter we have seen. Once she thought
to send some word direct to Roger, but her pride came up to
prevent that. He had never written to her, or sent to inquire
for her that she knew of, for Frank had not told her of a letter
written on the prairies, in which Roger had inquired anxiously
for her and asked to be remembered. Roger did not care for
her message's, she thought, and she wrote as formally as possi
ble, and then, with a strange inconsistency, expected that Roger
would answer the letter. But only the package came, directed
MRS. PENELOPE SEYMOUR. 253
in his handwriting, and Magdalen could have cried when she
saw there was nothing more. She cut the direction out, and
put it away in a little box, with all the letters Roger had writ
ten her from Europe, and then went steadily on with her prep
arations for leaving Millbank.
It was known, now, in town, that Magdalen was going away,
ard it created quite a sensation among her circle of friends.
Sue was not to marry Frank. She was not as mercenary as
many had believed her to be, and the tide turned in her favor,
and Mrs. Johnson called with her daughter Nellie, now Mrs.
Marsh, of Boston, and all the elite of the town came up to see
her, and without expressing it in words, managed to let her
know how much she had risen in their estimation by the step
she was taking. They could not quite understand it all, but
they spoke encouragingly to her, and invited her to their
houses, whenever she chose to come, and went to the depot
to see her off, on the bright autumnal day when she finally left
Millbank for a home with Mrs. Penelope Seymour.
CHAPTER XXXIV.
MRS. PENELOPE SEYMOUR.
|AGDALEN felt herself growing very nervous and
uneasy as the long train came slowly into New York,
and car after car was detached and drawn away by
horses. She was in the last of all, and was feeling very forlorn
and homesick and half inclined to cry, just as a voice by the
door asked : " Is Miss Lennox, from Belvidere, here?"
There was reassurance in the tone of the voice, and reassur
ance in the expression of the frank, open face of the young
man, who, as Magdalen rose from her seat, came quickly to
her side, and doffing his hat, said : " Miss Lennox, I presume ?
i am Guy Seymour, Aunt Pen's nephew, or as she would tell
254 MRS. PENELOPE SEYMOUR.
you, her husband's nephew, and she has kept me in a constant
state of worry the entire day on your account. I was at the
depot at least an hour before there was any possible hope c\
the train, and as you are an hour behind, that makes two hours
I have waited, so you see I have done my duty. Allow me to
take your satchel and umbrella. You haven't a bandbox, have
you?"
The comical look in the saucy brown eyes,, which turned
upon Magdalen, betrayed the fact that he was quizzing her a
little. But Magdalen did not mind it. She felt a kind of
security with him, and liked him at once in spite of the band
box thrust.
" This way, please ; perhaps you'd better take my arm," he
said, as he made his way through the crowd to a carriage, which
was waiting for him.
When once fairly seated, Magdalen had leisure to study her
vis-h-vis more closely. He was apparently twenty-five or
twenty-six years of age, a young man who had seen a great deal
of fashion and society, and who still retained about him a cer
tain air of frankness and candor and simplicity, which opened
a way for him at once to every stranger's heart. There was
something in the wave of his hair and the cast of his head which
reminded Magdalen of Roger, and made her feel as if she had
found a friend. He was inclined to be quite sociable, and after
exhausting the weather, he said to her, " You are from Belvi-
dere, I believe ? Do you know a Mr. Irving there, the one
who has so recently come into a fortune ? "
Magdalen looked quickly up, and her face was scarlet as she
replied, " I know him, yes. Is he an acquaintance of yours ? "
" I was two years behind him in college, but sophs and sen
iors are as widely apart as the poles. I wonder if he is greatly
improved. I used to think him a kind of a prig."
''' I may as well start with a right understanding at once,"
Magdalen thought, and she answered a little haughtily. " Mr.
Frank Irving is a friend of mine. I have known him ever since
I can remember. Millbank is the only home I have ever had."
MRS. PENELOPE SEYMOUR. 2$$
Magdalen thought her companion came near whistling in his
surprise, and she felt sure that he was regarding her more curi
ously than he had done before, while for some reason he seemed
more attentive and polite, and by the time the St. Denis was
reached, she felt as if she had known him months instead of a
brief half hour.
" You must not mind if you find Aunt Pen a little stiff at
first. She has a great deal of starch in her composition," he
said as he ran up the stairs and down the hall in the direction
of No. .
And stiff, indeed, Magdalen did find Aunt Pen, as the nephew
called her. A little, short, straight, square-backed woman of
sixty or thereabouts, with iron-gray hair, arranged in puffs
around her forehead, a proud, haughty, wrinkled face, and
round bright eyes, which seemed to look straight through Mag
dalen as Guy ushered her into the room.
" Miss Lennox, Auntie Pen," he said, and taking Magdalen
by the arm he led her up to his aunt, who felt constrained to
offer her jewelled hand, but who did it in such a way that Mag
dalen felt the conventional gulf there was between them in the
lady's mind, and winced under it.
" I hope you'll order dinner at once," Guy continued. "The
train was an hour behind, and Miss Lennox is fearfully tired.
I'll ring myself," and he touched the bell rope while Mrs. Sey
mour was saying something about being glad to see Miss Len
nox, and hoping she was not very tired.
Oh how strange and lonely Magdalen felt, when at last she
was alone in her room for a few moments, while she arranged
her hair and made herself more presentable for dinner ! The
windows looked out into i dreary court, and tears sprang to
Magdalen's eyes as she felt the contrast between these dingy
brick walls and that damp, mouldy pavement, and the fresh
green grass and wealth of flowers and shrubbery and forest
trees which for years had been hers to gaze upon. Suppose she
was to live at the St. Denis for years, and to occupy that room
into which the sun never penetrated. And for aught she knew,
256 MRS. PENELOPE SEYMOUR.
such WAS to be her fate. She had made no inquiries as to
where she was to live, whether in city or country, hotel or
private house. Her orders were to come to the St. Denis, and
there she was, and her heart was aching with homesickness, and
a longing to be away, not at Millbank, but with Roger, wherevei
he was. With him was home and happiness and rest, such as
Magdalen felt she should never rind again. But it would not
do now to indulge in feelings like these. There was dinner
waiting for her, as Guy's cheery voice announced outside her
door. " Never mind stopping to dress to-night. It won't pay,
and Aunt Pen don't expect it. She is dressed enough for both,"
he said ; then he went away, and Magdalen heard him whistling
a part of a favorite opera, and felt glad and grateful that at the
very outset of he\r career she had met Guy Seymour to smooth
away the rough places for her as he was doing in more ways
than she knew of, or ever would know. To him she owed it
that she was not left to find her way alone from the depot to the
hotel.
"There is no need of your going for her. People of her class
can always find their way," his aunt had said to him in the
morning, when he asked what time she expected her Yankee
school-mdam to arrive, saying he wished to know so as to have
nothing in the way of his going up to meet her.
To his aunt's suggestion that "people of her class could
usually find their way," he gave one of his pet whistles, and said,
" How do you know she is one of the ' people of her class ? '
And supposing she is, she is a woman, and young and possibly
good looking, and New York is an awful place for a young, good-
looking woman to land in, an entire stranger. So, ma chere
auntie, I shall meet her just as I should want some chap of a
Guy Seymour to meet my sister if I had one. And, auntie, I
beg of you to unbend a little, and try to make her feel at home.
I've no doubt she'll be as homesick as I was the first time I
ever visited you when I was a boy, and cried so hard to go
home that I vomited up that quart of green gooseberries I had
eaten surreptitiously out in the garden. Do you remember it ?
MRS. PENELOPE SEYMOUR. 257
And so kind-hearted Guy had his way, and when he told
Magdalen that his aunt had kept him in a constant worry on
her account, he had reference to a widely different state ol
affairs from what his words implied and what he meant they
should imply. He had been fighting for her all day and insist
ing that if she was a lady she should be treated as a lady, and
when he met her at the depot, he felt that he had been wholly
right in the course he had pursued.
She was a lady, and pretty, too, as nearly as he could judge
through the drab veil which covered her face. The veil was
off when she came out to dinner, and Guy, who met her at the
door and conducted her to the table, started a little to see how
beautiful and graceful she was, and how like a queen she bore
herself toward his aunt, who took her in now, from her black,
shining hair to the sweep and cut of her fashionable travelling
dress.
"That is last spring's style. It must have been made in
New York," was Mrs. Seymour's mental comment, and she felt
a growing respect for one whose dress bore so unmistakably the
New York stamp upon it.
She was dressed in satin, soft, French gray satin, whose
heavy folds stood out from her slender figure and covered up
the absence of hoops, which she never wore. There was a point
lace coiffure on her head and point lace at her throat and wrists,
and diamonds on her fat white hands, and she looked to the
full a lady of the high position and blood which she professed,
and she was very kind to Magdalen, albeit there was a certain
stiffness in her manner which would have precluded the slightest
approach to anything like familiarity had Magdalen attempted
it.
Evidently there was something about Magdalen which riveted
her attention, for she omitted no opportunity for looking at her
when Magdalen did not know it, and at certain turns of the
head and flashes of the large, restless eyes which sometimes
met hers so suddenly, she found herself perplexed and bewil
dered, and wondering when or where she had seen eyes like
2 $8 MRS. PENELOPE SEYMOUR.
these whose glance she did not like to meet, but which never
theless kept flashing upon her, and then turning quickly away.
Guy, too, caught now and then a familiar likeness to something
seen before ; but it was not in the eyes or the turn of the
head, it was more in the expression of the mouth and the
smile which made Magdalen so beautiful, while there was some
thing in the tone of her voice like another voice which in all the
world made the sweetest music for him. He knew of whom
Magdalen reminded him, though the faces of the two were no
more alike than a brilliant rose and a fair, white water-lily.
Still the sight of Magdalen and the silvery ring of her voice
brought the absent one very near to him, and made him still
kinder and more attentive to the young girl whose champion he
had undertaken to be.
" Is it still your intention to leave New York to-morrow, or
will you give Miss Lennox a day in the city for sight-seeing ?
I dare say she would like it better than plunging at once into
that solitude of rocks and hills and running rills," Guy said to
his aunt, who replied : " I had intended to leave to-morrow. I
am beginning to long for the solitude, as you call it, and unless
Miss Lennox is very anxious to see the city "
" Of course she is. Every young girl wants to see the Park
and Broadway and the picture galleries, especially if she has
never been in New York before. But I beg your pardon, Miss
Lennox ; for aught I know you were born here."
Magdalen had been a close listener to the conversation be
tween the aunt and nephew, and gathered from it that her
destination was the country, and she was not to live in the
noisy city, which would seem so dreary to her from contrast
with the gayeties of last winter, when she was there under very
dilferent auspices. She had no desire to see Broadway, or the
Park, or the pictures. She had seen them all, with Roger as
her escort, and they would look so differently now. So to Mr.
Seymour's suggestion that she was possibly born in New York,
she replied :
" I was here last winter, and saw, I think, all there, (s worth
MRS. PENELOPE SEYMOUR. 259
seeing. I would rather go at once to ' the rocks and hills and
running rills.' I feel most at home with nature."
She flashed a bright smile on Guy, who felt his blood tingle a
little, while his aunt thought, " I knew her clothes were made in
New York ; " then to Magdalen she said, " I have many ac
quaintances in the city. Possibly you may have met some ol
them, if you were in society."
She laid great stress upon the last two words, and Magdalen
colored, while Guy, who saw his aunt's drift, said laughingly,
" Don't pray drive Miss Lennox into telling whether she was a
belle or a student, copying some picture, or perfecting herself
in music. You'll be asking next if she knew the Dagons and
Draggons, whom not to know is to be nobody indeed."
He spoke sarcastically now, and Magdalen's face was scarlet,
though she could not help laughing at his allusion to the " Da
gons and Draggons " whom she had met, and so was not lack
ing in that accomplishment. She knew it was very natural that
Mrs. Seymour should wish to know something of her antece
dents, and she said, " I was not here to copy pictures. I
came with friends, and saw, I suppose, what is called society ;
at least I met the Dagons and Draggons, if that is any proof.
I was chaperoned by Mrs. Walter Irving, of whom you may
have heard."
"Mrs. Walter Scott Irving, of Lexington avenue," Mrs. Sey
mour exclaimed ; " I have heard of her. Are you a relative of
hers ? "
"No, madam, not a relative. I was adopted by her hus
band's half brother, Mr. Roger Irving, when I was a very Httle
child. He was as kind to me as if I had been his sister. I
have always lived at Millbank, and always intended to live
there until circumstances occurred which made it desirable for
me to seek a home elsewhere and earn my own livelihood.
There was found a later will than the one proven at the time
of Squire Irving' s death, and by virtue of that will Mr. Roger's
nephew, Frank, came into possession of the estate, and Rogei
went away, while I preferred not to be dependent."
260 MRS. PENELOPE SEYMOUR.
She had told all of her history which it was necessary to tell,
and after a little more conversation she bade her new acquaint
ance good-night and retired to her room.
" Well, Guy, what do you think of her ? " Mrs. Seymour said,
coming to her nephew's side.
" I think she's splendid," he replied ; " but who the deuce is
it she looks like ? She has evidently been as delicately brought
up as Alice herself. It's the finding of that will which has
turned her adrift upon the world, no doubt, and I pity her, for
she is every inch a lady ; and, Aunt Pen, don't for gracious,
sake put on airs with her, as if you were the great Mogul, and
she some Liliputian. Remember from what a height she has
fallen ! Think of her knowing the Dagons and Draggons ! "
He was teazing her now, but however much of a scapegrace
she might think him to be, Auntie Pen was pretty sure to con
sider and follow his advice, and the next morning she was very
polite to Magdalen, and offered of her own accord to stay an
other day in New York if she liked, saying Guy should drive
them to the Park, or wherever she wished to go. But Magdalen
longed to be out of the city, and an hour or two after breakfast
the carriage came round to take them to the train.
Mrs. Seymour had not been very communicative with regard
to Beechwood, the place to which they were going. She had
said merely that it was on the Hudson. That it was her niece
who was the invalid ; that they had been some years abroad ;
that the house was very pleasant ; that for certain reasons they
saw but little company ; and then had asked abruptly if Miss
Lennox was nervous. Guy, who was not to accompany them,
had asked the same question in connection with something he
was saying of Beechwood, but Magdalen did not heed the ques
tion then, or attach to it any importance. She was very anxious
to be off, and was glad when, at last, the car began to move,
and she knew she was leaving New York.
It was a warm, still day in early October, and Magdalen en
joyed the ride along the beautiful river, and was sorry when at
last it came to an end, and she was left standing on the same
MRS. PENELOPE SEYMOUR. 261
platform where, years before, another young girl had stood
looking about her, half sadly, half regretfully, and wishing her-
self away. It was a different carriage now which was waiting
for the travellers, a new, stylish carriage, drawn by two
beautiful horses, which would have driven Frank Irving wild,
and John, the coachman, in high-crowned hat and white
gloves, was very deferential to Mrs. Seymour, and touched his
hat to Magdalen, and saw them both into the carriage, and
then, closing the door, mounted to his seat, and started up the
mountain road^ over which Alice Grey had ridden many a
time, for it was to her that Magdalen was going. She knew it
at last, for as they rode up the mountain side she said to Mrs.
Seymour :
" I do not think you have told me the name of your niece. I
have heard you call her Alice, and that is all I know of her."
" Surely, you must excuse me," Mrs. Seymour replied ; " I
thought I had told you that her name was Alice Grey. You
may have heard of her from Mr. Irving. We met him abroad,
and again in New York."
" Yes, I have heard of her," Magdalen replied, her face
flushing, and her heart beating rapidly as she thought of the
strange Providence which was leading her to one of whom she
had heard so much, and of whom when a little girl she had been
so jealous.
" Hers is a most lovely character, and you are sure to like
her," Mrs. Seymour continued. " She has been sorely tried.
We are all sorely tried. You told me, I think, that you were
not nervous ? "
This was the second time she had put the question to Magda
len, who was not now quite so certain of her nerves as she had
been when the question was asked her before ; but Mrs. Sey
mour did not wait for an answer, for just then they came in
sight of the house, which she pointed out to Magdalen, who
thought of Millbank as she rode through the handsome grounds
and caught glimpses of the river in the distance. The carriage
stopped at last at a side door, and conducting Magdalen into a
262 ALICE AND MAGDALEN.
little reception-room Mrs. Seymour asked the servant who met
them, " where Miss Grey was ? "
Magdalen could not hear the answer, it was so low ; but shd
saw a cloud on Mrs. Seymour's brow and divined that some
thing was wrong.
" Show Miss Lennox to her room, the one next to my
niece's," the lady said, and Magdalen followed the girl to a
large upper room the windows of which looked out upon the
river and the country beyond.
It was very pleasant there, and Magdalen threw off her hat
and shawl and was just seating herself by the window for a bet
ter view of the charming prospect, when there came a gentle
knock at her door, and a sweet musical voice said softly,
" Please, may I come in ? "
CHAPTER XXXV.
ALICE AND MAGDALEN.
IA.GDALEN gave one anxious glance at herself in the
mirror as she sprang up, and then hastened to unbolt
the door and admit Alice Grey. She knew it was
Alice, though she had never imagined her one half so beautiful
as she seemed now in her white dress, with her chestnut hair
falling in soft curls about her face and neck, and her great
dreamy blue eyes, which had something so pitiful and pleading
in their expression. She was very slight and not as tall as
Magdalen, who felt herself a great deal larger and older than
the little, pale-faced girl, whose white cheeks had in them just
the faintest coloring of pink as she held out her hand and said,
" You are Miss Lennox, I know. Auntie wanted me to wait
till she could introduce me, or till you came down to dinner,
but I was anxious to see somebody young and new, and fresh.
I go out so little that I get tired of the faces seen every day."
ALICE AND MAGDALEN". 26?
" Perhaps you will get tired of mine," Magdalen suggested,
laughingly.
" Perhaps I may, but it will be a long time first," Alice re
plied, leading Magdalen to the window where she could see hei
more distinctly.
There was an expression of surprise or wonder, or both, in
her face now, as she said, " Where have I met you before, Miss
Lennox ? "
" I do not think we have ever met before ; at least not to
my knowledge," Magdalen replied, while Alice continued :
" I must have seen you or somebody like you. I can't be
mistaken in those eyes. Why, they are like "
Alice stopped suddenly, and the color all faded from her
cheeks and lips, while Magdalen looked curiously at her.
" You've never been abroad? " Alice asked, after a moment,
during which she had studied Magdalen closely.
" Never," was the reply, and Alice continued :
" And I have been away seven years, and so it cannot be ;
but you do not seem a stranger, and I am so glad. I opposed
your coming at first, that is, I was opposed to having any one
come just to entertain me, and when auntie wrote from New
York that she had engaged a Miss Lennox, I saw you directly,
some tall, lank, ugly woman, who wore glasses and would bore
me terribly.
" Do I come up to your ideal," Magdalen asked, her heart
warming more and more toward the young girl, who replied :
"You are seeking for a compliment, for of course you know
just how beautiful and brilliant and sparkling you are; only
that sudden turn of your head and flash of your eyes does
bother* me so. And you are young, too. As young as I am,
I guess. I am twenty-one."
" And I am nineteen," Magdalen rejoined, while Alice ex
claimed :
" Only nineteen ! That is young to be doing for one's self ;
young to come here, to care for me, in this house."
She seemed to be talking in an absent kind of way, and her
264 ALICE AND MAGDALEN.
eyes, which were looking far off across the river, had in them
a sad, sorry expression, as if to care for her, in that house, was
a lot not to be envied. Turning suddenly to Magdalen, she
asked : " Are you nervous, Miss Lennox? "
That was the fourth time this question had been put to Mag
dalen, who laughed a little hysterically as she replied :
" I never supposed I was, but fear I shall be if questioned
again upon the subject. Your aunt asked me twice if I was
nervous, and Mr. Guy Seymour once."
As she said the last name, Alice colored a little, but she
merely answered :
"You saw cousin Guy in New York ; auntie's husband was
his uncle, but I call him cousin just the same. Did he say
when he was coming to Beechwood ? "
"At Christmas, I believe," Magdalen replied, wondering that
Alice paid no heed to what she had said of her nervousness.
She was standing with her hands clasped, and the same
expression in her eyes which Magdalen had observed before.
She was evidently thinking of something foreign to Guy Sey
mour, or nervousness, and she stood thus until Magdalen heard
in the hall outside the opening of a door, and caught the faint
est possible sound like a human cry. She might not have no
ticed it at all but for the effect it had on Alice, who started
suddenly from her dreamy attitude, and said :
" I must go now, Miss Lennox. I shall see you at dinner,
which will be served in an hour. I am so glad you have come
to me. I feel stronger with you already, feel as if you would
do me good, do us all good, perhaps. Au revoir, till dinner
time."
She flitted from the room, and Magdalen heard again the
quick closing of a door down the hall. Then all \vas still, and
the house was as silent as if she were its only occupant. It
had not occurred to her that there was any mystery at Beech-
\vood, any grief or shame which the family tried to cover up,
but the moment Alice was gone she felt a weight settling down
upon her, a feeling of loneliness and desolation, which she
MR. GREY AND MAGDALEN. 26$
called homesickness, and burying her face among the pillows of
the tempting-looking bed, she wept bitterly for a few moments.
Then, remembering dinner, she dried her eyes and commenced
unpacking her trunks, which had been sent up while Alice was
with her.
" I shall not be expected to dress much. This will do veiy
nicely," she thought, as she shook out the folds of a heavy black
silk, made the winter before by Mrs. living's dressmaker.
It was trimmed with the softest, daintiest lace, for everything
pertaining to her wardrobe had been perfect, and she looked fit
to grace any assemblage when at last Alice came to take
her down to the parlor, where Arthur Grey was waiting for
them.
CHAPTER XXXVI.
MR. GREY AND MAGDALEN.
JR. GREY had heard from his sister that Magdalen came
from Millbank, where she had lived in the Irving family
until the finding of the will, and for a few moments he
had felt as if he could not have her there at Beechwood, recall
ing by her presence what he would so gladly have forgotten.
Why was it that the Irvings, or some one connected with them,
were always crossing his path. Surely he had been sufficiently
punished for poor Jessie's death. His most implacable enemy
could have asked no greater sorrow for him than he had expe
rienced for years, save at times when in foreign scenes he for
got in part the horror and the burden which since his return to
America had pressed heavier than before.
" The girl is a lady and very handsome too, though of a far
different style from Alice. I hope you will try to like her,
12
266 MR. GREY AND MAGDALEN.
Arthur," his sister had said to him, as she saw a shadow on his
face and felt that in some way he was displeased.
" Of course I xan have nothing against the girl," Mr. Grey
replied, " though there are reasons why any thing connected
with the Irvings should be distasteful to me, and I would
rather Miss Lennox had come from some other family."
He left his sister then, and went to his own room, where on
the wall was still hanging that little pencil sketch of the grave
yard in Belvidere, and the barefoot girl standing in the grass
with the basket of flowers on her arm. That Miss Lennox was
the original of that picture, Mr. Grey did not doubt. She had
told him that her name was Magdalen, and that she had always
lived at Millbank, so there could be no mistake. He had
scarcely thought of that incident for years, but it came back to
him now and struck him as very strange that this same barefoot
girl should have come there as companion to his daughter.
" Should she ever enter this room, and there's no knowing
where Alice may take her, she will see this picture and recog
nize it at once, and wonder where I found it and possibly rec
ognize me as the stranger who talked with her in the graveyard.
It is better out of sight," he said, as he took the drawing from
the wall and laid it away in the drawer where the lock of golden
hair was, and the faded bouquet which the " wretch of a Jim
Bartlett" once had the credit of stealing. And all this time the
man trod softly, as if fearful of being heard and called for, and
he looked often toward the door which opened into the adjoin
ing room. But everything was still ; the Burden was sleeping
at last, lulled into quiet by the sweet music of " Allie's" voice
and the touch of "Allie's" hands.
Having put the picture away, Mr. Grey made himself ready
for dinner, and then going down to the parlor, he stood before the
grate, waiting for his daughter and Miss Lennox. The door
was open into the hall, and he saw them as they came, with
their arms interlaced, and Magdalen's head bent towards Alice,
who was smiling up at her.
" Strong friendship at once," he thought, feeling for a mo-
MR. GREY AND MAGDALEN. 267
nif nt vexed that his high-bred daughter, should so soon have
fallen in love with her hired companion.
But this emotion of pride passed away forever with Mr.
Grey's first full inspection of Magdalen Lennox, whose brilliant
beauty startled and surprised him, and whose bright, restless
eyes confounded and bewildered him, carrying him back to the
Schodick hills, and the orchard where the apple blossoms were
growing. But not there could he find the solution of the
strange feeling which swept over him and kept him silent, even
after Alice had introduced her friend.
" Miss Lennox, father," Alice said, a second time, and then
he came to himself, and said, " Excuseme, MissLennox, some
thing about you, as you came in, sent me off into the fields of
memory, in quest of some one who must have been like you.
You are very welcome to Beechwood, and I am glad to see you
here."
With a courtly grace he offered her his arm, and led her to
the dining room, followed by Alice and his sister, both of whom
were delighted to see him take so kindly to a stranger.
To Mrs. Seymour it showed an acknowledgment on his
part of her good taste and judgment in selecting so fitting a
person for Alice's companion, and a willingness to follow her
advice, and make the best of it, even if Miss Lennox was con
nected with the Irvings. She knew something of Jessie's story.
She saw her once in Schodick, and she had done what she
could to separate her brother from her, but she did not know
of the tragic ending, and she gave no thought to the poor,
drowned woman, who, all through the formal dinner, was so
constantly in Magdalen's mind. She had at once identified
Mr. Grey with the stranger in Belvidere, though he seemed
older than she had thought him then. Still, there was
no mistaking him, and when his sister casually addressed
him as "Arthur," it came over her, with a great shock,
that this man was none other than the "Arthur Grey"
who had been poor Jessie's ruin, and whom Roger hated
so cordially. There could be no mistake; she was positive
268 MR. GREY AND MAGDALEN.
that she was right in her conclusions, and felt for a moment ai
if she were smothering. What strange fatality was it which had
brought her into the very household of the man she had hated,
for Roger's sake, and longed to see that she might tell him so.
She had seen him, at last ! he was there, at her side, speaking
to her so kindly, and making her feel so much at home, that she
could not hate him, and before dinner was over she had
ceased to wonder at Jessie's infatuation, or to blame her for lis
tening to' him. He was very polite to her, but seemed to be
studying her face as intently as Alice had done at first, and
once, when she poised her head upon one side, while her eyes
Hashed suddenly upon him, and then were quickly withdrawn,
the blood came rushing to his face and crept up under his hair,
for he knew now of whom that motion reminded him. He had
thought it so charming once, and the eyes which shone upon
him as Magdalen's did had been so beautiful, and soft, and
liquid, and given no sign of the fierce wildness with which they
had many a time glared on him since.
" It is only a resemblance, but I would rather it did not ex
ist," he thought, as he met that look again, and shivered as if
he was cold.
Dinner being over they returned to the parlor, where, at
Alice's request, Magdalen seated herself at the piano. Her
home-sickness was passing away, and she no longer felt that a
nightmare was oppressing her, but rather that she should find at
Beechwood peace and quiet and a home, and she sang with
her whole soul, and did not hear the sound outside, which
caught Alice's attention so quickly, and took her from the
room. She knew, however, when Alice went out, and a mo
ment after was conscious of some confusion by the door, and
heard Alice's voice, first in expostulation and entreaty, then
calling hurriedly for her father to come. Then Mr. Grey went
out, and Mrs. Seymour was left alone with Magdalen, who fin
ished her song and left the piano, wondering what it was which
had taken both Mr. Grey and Alice so suddenly from the room,
and kept them away for half an hour or more. Indeed, Mr
MR. GRE^ AND MAGDALEN. 269
Grey did not return at all, and when, at last, Alice came back,
she was very white, and said something to her aunt, which
sounded like, "It was the music, which affected her, I think."
Was there a mystery at Beechwood, Magdalen thought ; a
something hidden from view, and was it this which made Alice
look so sad even while she tried to smile, and appear gay and
cheerful, by way of entertaining her new friend ?
They had the parlor to themselves ere long, for Mrs. Sey
mour went out, and then Alice took her seat on the couch,
where Magdalen was sitting, and nestled close to her, as a child
nestles to its mother when it is tired and wants to be soothed.
Passing her arm around the slender waist, Magdalen drew
the curly head down on her bosom, and gently smoothed the
chestnut hair, and passed her hand caressingly across the fore
head, where the blue veins showed so plainly.
Magdalen was not given to sudden friendships, and she could
not account for the love and tenderness she felt growing so
fast within her for this young girl, who lay encircled in her arms,
and who she knew at last was crying, for she felt the hot tears
dropping on her hand. She could not offer sympathy in words,
for she did not know what to say, but she stooped and kissed
the flushed cheek wet with tears. Alice understood her, and
the silent crying became a low, piteous sobbing, which told
how keenly her heart was wrung.
"Pray excuse me, for giving way so foolishly," Alice said
at last, as she lifted up her head. "I was ill so long in
Europe, and the voyage home was rough and stormy, and I
kept my berth the entire two weeks we were out at sea, so that
by the time New York was reached I could not stand alone.
I am better now ; home scenes and mountain air have done me
good, but but oh, Miss Lennox, I cannot tell you now of
the shadow which has cast a gloom over my whole life. Why,
I have seen the time when my beautiful home had scarcely a
charm for me, and in my wickedness I accused God of dealing
too harshly with me. But He has been so good to me, who 'do
not deserve kindness from Him. When I knew you were
2/O MR. GREY AND MAGDALEN.
coming I went away among the hills and prayed that I migh*
like you, that your presence would do me good, and I am
certain the prayer was answered. I do like you. I feel a firm
conviction that in some way you are destined to do us all an
untold good. You do not seem like a stranger, but rather like
a familiar friend, or I should not be talking to you as I am.
Have you sisters, Miss Lennox?"
The moment which Magdalen dreaded had come, when she
was to be questioned by Alice with regard to her family, and
she resolved to be perfectly frank, and keep nothing back which
it was proper for her to tell.
" I have no sisters that I am aware of," she said. " I was
adopted, when a little baby, by Mr. Roger Irving, who lived at
Millbank, and was himself a boy then. The circumstances of
my adoption were very peculiar, and such as precluded the
possibility of my knowing anything of my family friends, if I had
any. I have never known a sister's love or a brother's, or a
father's or mother's, though I have been as kindly and tenderly
cared for as if I had been the petted child of fond parents, and
only an adverse turn in the wheel of fortune sent me from the
home I loved so much."
She paused here, and Alice rejoined, "Mr. Irving? Mill-
bank ? Why, both are familiar names to me, and have been
since I was a little girl at school in New Haven and knew Mr.
Franklin Irving. And_jw/, why, yes, "and Alice's man
ner grew more and more excited, "you are the very Magda
len Frank used to tell me about and of whom I was sometimes
jealous. You know Frank," she continued, misconstruing the
expression of Magdalen's face.
" Yes, I know Frank," Magdalen replied, " and I, too, have
heard a great deal of you, and was jealous of you at one time,
I believe."
" You had no cause," Alice replied, thinking of the " Piccola
Sentinella," rather than of New Haven ; " I liked Mr. Irving
very much as a boy, and when we met him abroad I was very
glad to sse him and rather encouraged his visits than otherwise,
MR. GREY AND MAGDALEN. 2/1
but father disliked him thoroughly, or seemed to, and treated hiir
so cavalierly that I wondered he could come to us at all. But
he did, and then father took me away, and I saw Mr. Irving no
more till he called upon me in New York. I was sick then
and did not go out, but I heard of a Miss Lennox who was
with the Irvings and said to be very beautiful, and that was
you."
" I was with the Irvings," Magdalen replied, and Alice contin
ued : "I fancied, then, that Mr. Irving would eventually marry
you and speculated a good deal upon the matter. It seems so
funny that you are here I I do not understand it at all, or why
you should leave Millbank. Mr. Frank Irving is the heir now,
is he not ? "
Magdalen hesitated a moment, and then thinking it better to
do so, told briefly of her life at Millbank until that luckless day
when she discovered the will.
" After that Roger went to Schodick," she said, " and I I
might have stayed there, but I did not like Mrs. Irving's manner
towards me when she became the mistress, and I could not be
dependent upon Frank, and so I came away."
Alice knew that Magdalen was withholding something from
her, and with a woman's wit guessed that it concerned Frank ;
but she would not question her, and turned the conversation
into another channel, and talked of the books she had read and
the authors she liked best.
It was comparatively early when Magdalen went up to her
*oom, a door of which communicated with Alice's. This the
latter desired should stand open.
" I like to feel that some one is near me when I wake in the
night, as I often do," Alice said, and then she added, " I shall
be obliged to leave you for a time, but do you go straight to
bed. I know you must be tired. I shall come in so softly
that you will not hear me. Good night."
She kissed Magdalen and then went from the room and down
the hall toward the door, which Magdalen had heard open and
shut so many times. Magdalen was very tired, and was soon
2J 2 MR. GREY AND MAGDALEN.
sleeping so soundly that she did not hear Alice when she came
back, but she dreamed there were angels with her clad in white,
and with a start she woke to find the moonlight streaming into
her chamber, and making it so light that she could see dis
tinctly the young girl in the adjoining room was kneeling
by the bed, her hands clasped together and her upturned
face bathed in the silvery light, which made it like the face of
an angel. She was praying softly, and in the deep stillness of
the night every whisper \vas audible to Magdalen, who heard
her asking Heaven for strength to bear the burden patiently,
and never to get tired and weary and wish it somewhere else.
Then the nature of the prayer changed, and Magdalen knew
that Alice was thanking Heaven for sending her to Beechwood.
" And if anywhere in the world there are still living the friends
she has never known, oh, Father, let her find them, especially
her mother, it is so terrible to have no mother."
That was what Alice said, and Magdalen's tears fell like rain
to hear this young girl pleading for her as she had never
pleaded for herself. She had prayed, it is true. She always
prayed both morning and at night, but they were mere formal
prayers, and not at all like Alice's. Hers were earnest, hers
were heartfelt, and Magdalen knew that she was speaking to a
real, living presence ; that the Saviour to whom she talked was
there with her in the moonlit room as really as if she saw him
bodily. Alice's was a living faith, which brought Heaven down
to her side, and Magdalen felt that there were indeed angels
abiding round about her, and that Alice was one of them.
LIFE AT BEECHWOOD. 2/3
CHAPTER XXXVII.
LIFE AT BEECHWOOD.
HE next morning was bright and beautiful, as morn
ings in early October often are, when the summer
IsSSkil seems to linger amid flower and shrub, as if loth to
quit the glories its own sunshine and showers had created.
The mist still lay in soft clouds upon the river and on the
mountain sides, when Magdalen arose, and, leaning from her
window, drank in the bracing morning air, and acknowledged
to herself that Beechwood was almost as beautiful as Millbank.
She had slept quietly, and felt her old life and vigor coming
'back to her again as she hastened to dress herself.
She had heard no sound as yet, except the tread of a servant
in the yard, and the baying of the Newfoundland dog up the
mountain path.
Alice was not in her own room. She must have dressed
and gone out before Magdalen awoke, and the latter was hesi
tating whether to go down to the parlor, or to remain where
she was, when Alice appeared, her blue eyes shining brightly,
and a faint flush upon her cheek.
" I slept so well because you were here near me," she said
as she linked her arm in Magdalen's, and started for the dining-
room.
As they passed through the hall, Magdalen noticed at the
farther extremity a green baize door, which seemed to divide
that part of the hall from the other, and which she knew by the
location was the door which she had heard shut so many
times. Where did it lead to ? What was there behind it ?
What embodiment of sorrow and pain was hidden away in that
portion of the building ? That there was somebody there, Mag
dalen was sure ; for, just as she reached the head of the
stairs she saw a servant girl coming up a side staircase, bear-
2/4 LIFE AT BEECHWOOD.
ing in her arms a silver tray, on which was arranged a tempt
ing breakfast for an invalid.
"I shall know all in good time," she thought, and she
pretended not to see the girl, and kept on talking to Alice
until the dining-room was reached, where Mr. Grey and
his sister were waiting for them. Both seemed in unusually
good spirits, and Mr. Grey kissed his daughter fondly as she
nestled close to him and smiled up into his face with all the
love of a trusting, affectionate daughter. The sight for a mo
ment smote Magdalen with a keen sense of desolation and
loneliness. Never had she known, never could know the
happiness of a father's watchful love and care, and never had
she felt its loss as keenly as she felt it now, when she saw the
caressing tenderness which Mr. Grey bestowed upon his
daughter and the eagerness with which it was returned. They
were both very kind to her, and treated her more like a guest
than one who had come to them as a hired companion.
It was a delightful day for driving ; and after breakfast was
over, Alice asked for the carriage and took Magdalen to all her
favorite resorts, down by the river and up among the hills,
where she said she often went and sat for hours alone. They
were firmer friends than ever before that drive was over, and
Alice had dropped "Miss Lennox" for the more familiar
"Magdalen," and had asked that she should be simply "Alice,"
and not that formal " Miss Grey."
That afternoon Magdalen wrote a short letter to Hester
Floyd, telling her where she was, explaining how she chanced
to be there, and going into ecstasies over the loveliness and
beauty of Alice Grey, but never hinting at Mr. Grey's identity
with the man who had tempted Jessie to sin. It was as well to
keep that to herself, she thought, inasmuch as the telling it
would only awaken bitter memories in Rogers heart. Once
she determined not to speak of Roger at' all, but that would be
too marked a neglect, and so she asked to be remembered to
him, and said she should never forget his kindness to her, or
cease to regret the meddlesome curiosity which had resulted so
LIFE AT BEECHWOOD. 2?$
disastrously for him. She made no mention of either Mrs
Walter Scott or Frank. She merely said she left Millbank at such
a time, and expressed herself as glad to get away, it seemed
so changed from the happy home it used to be in other days.
"Mrs. Hester Floyd. Care of Roger Irving, Esq., Scho-
dick, N. H.," was the direction of the letter which Magdalen
gave to Mr. Grey, who was going to the post-office and offered
to take it for her. Very narrowly she watched him as he
glanced at the superscription, and she half pitied him when she
saw his lips quiver and turn pale for a moment as he read the
name of a place which he remembered so well. Once in his
life he had sent letters to that very town, and the Schodick
post-mark was not an unfamiliar one to him. Now she to
whom he had written was dead, and he held a letter directed
to the care of her son. How he longed to ask something con
cerning him, and finally he did so, saying in a half indifferent
tone, " Schodick ? I once spent a summer there, and I have
heard of Mr. Irving. Does he live in the village ? "
" No, sir, he lives at his mother's old home. They call it
the Morton farm. Did you know his mother, Jessie Mor
ton ? "
Magdalen put the question purposely, but regretted it when
she saw the look of intense pain which flitted across Mr. Grey's
face.
" I knew her, yes. She was the most beautiful woman I
ever saw," he replied, and then he turned away and walked
slowly from the room with his head bent down, as if his thoughts
were busy with the past.
The days succeeding that first one at Beechwood went rap-
Idly by, and each one found Magdalen happier and more con
tented with her situation as companion of Alice, who strove in
so many ways to make her feel that she was in all respects her
equal, instead of a person hired to minister to her. Indeed,
the hired part seemed only nominal, for nothing was ever re
quired of Magdalen which would not have been required of her
had she been a daughter of the house and Alice her invalid
2/6 LIFE AT BEECHWOOD.
sister. They rode together, and walked together, and read to
gether, and slept together at last, for Alice would have it so,
and every morning of her life Magdalen was awakened by the
soft touch of Alice's hand upon her cheek, and the kiss upon
her brow.
To Magdalen this was a new and blissful experience. At
Millbank she had always been alone, so far as girls of her own
age were concerned, and Alice Grey seemed to her the em
bodiment of all that was pure and beautiful, and she loved her
with a devotion that sometimes startled herself with its intense-
ness. The mystery, if there was one, was very quiet now, and
though Alice went often down the hall and through the green
baize door, she never looked as sad and tired when she came
back as she had done on that first day at Beechwood. Mr.
Grey, too, frequently passed the entire evening with the young
girls in the parlor, where Magdalen, who was a very fine reader,
read to them aloud from Alice's favorite authors. But after the
first night she was never asked to sing. Alice often requested
her to play, and they had learned a few duets which they prac
tised together, but songs were never mentioned, and Magdalen
would have fancied that there was something disagreeable in
her voice were it not that when alone with Alice among the
hills and down by the river, whither they often went, her com
panion always insisted upon her singing, and would sit listening
to her as if spell-bound by the clear, liquid tones.
At last there came a letter from Hester Floyd, who, in her
characteristic way, expressed herself as pleased that Magdalen
" had grit enough to cut loose from the whole coboodle at
Millbank, and go to do for herself. I was some taken aback,"
she wrote, " for I s'posed by the tell that you was to marry that
pimpin, white-faced Frank, and I must say you showed your
good sense by quittin' him, and doin' for yourself. Me and
Roger would have been glad for you to come here ; that is, I
Vlceve Roger would, though he never sed no thin' particklar.
He's some altered, and don't talk so much, nor 'pear so chip
per as he used to do, and I mistrust he misses you more'n
LIFE AT BEECHWOOD. 2/7
he does his money. He's a good deal looked up to, both in
the town and in the church, where they've made him a vestry
man in place of a man who died, and 'twould seem as if he'd
met with a change, though he allus was a good man, with no
bad habits ; but he's different like now, and don't read news
papers Sunday, nor let me get up an extra dinner, and he has
family prayers, which is all well enuff, only bakin' mornins if
does hender some."
Then followed a description of the house and Schodick gen
erally, and then a break of two days or more, after which the
old lady resumed her pen, and added : " Roger's got a letter
from Frank, askin' if he knew where you was. He said you
left while he was away unbeknownst to him, and had never
writ a word, by which I take it you and he ain't on the fust
ratest terms. Roger talked the most that day that he has in a
month, and actually whistled, but then he'd just gained a suit,
and so mabby it was that, though I b'leeve it wouldn't do no
harm if you were to drop him a line in a friendly way. It's
leap-year, you know."
This was Hester's letter, over which Magdalen pondered
long, wondering if the old lady could have suspected her love
for Roger, and how far she was right in thinking he missed her
more than his money. Magdalen read that sentence many
times, and her heart thrilled with delight at the thought of be
ing missed by Roger; but from Hester's suggestion that she
should write him a friendly line, she turned resolutely away.
The time was gone by when she could write to Roger without
his having first written to her. After that interview in the
library, when his kisses had burned into her heart, and his pas
sionate words, "Magda, my darling," had burned into her
memory, she would be less than a woman to make the first ad
vances. Concessions, if there were any, must come from him
now. He knew how sorry she was about the will; he had
exonerated her from all blame in that matter, and now, if he
had any stronger feelings for her than that of a friend, he must
make it manifest This was Magdalen's reasoning over the
278 LIFE AT BEECHWOOD,
Roger portion of Hester's letter, and then she thought of
Frank, and felt a nervous dread lest he might follow her, though
that seemed hardly possible, even if he knew where she was.
Still he would undoubtedly write as soon as he could get hei
address from Roger, and she was not at all disappointed when,
a week or two after the receipt of Hester's letter, Mr. Grey
brought her one from Belvidere, directed in Frank's well
known hand-writing. After obtaining her address he had
written at once, chiding her for having left so suddenly without
a word for him, and begging of her to return, or at least allow
him to come for her, and take her back to her rightful place at
Millbank.
" I can't imagine what freak of fortune led you to the Greys,"
he wrote. "It is the last place where I could wish you to be.
Not that I do not respect and esteem Miss Grey as the sweet
est, loveliest of women, but I distrust both her father and her
aunt. For some reason they have never seemed to like me,
and may say things derogatory of me ; but if they do, I trust it
will make no difference with you, for remember you have
known me all your lifetime."
Magdalen wrote next day to Frank, who, as he read her let
ter, began for the first time to feel absolutely that she was lost
to him forever. He was sure of that, and for a moment he
wept like a child, thinking how gladly he would give up all his
money if that would bring him Magdalen's love. But it was
not in his nature to be unhappy long, and he soon dried his
eyes and consoled himself with a drive after his fast bays, and
in the evening when his mother mentioned to him the names
of two or three young ladies from New York who were coming
to Millbank for the holidays, and asked if there was any one in
particular whom he wished to invite, he mentioned Miss Bur-
leigh, whom he had met in Springfield. And so Bell was in
vited, and hastened to reply that she should be delighted to
come, but feared she could not, as " pa never liked to be sep
arated from his family at that time, and sister Grace would bs
home from school, and could not, of course, be left behind.'
LIFE AT BEECHWOOD. 2jg
She was so sorry, for she had heard such glowing accounts of
Millbank, and its graceful mistress, that she ardently desired te
see and know both, but as it was she must decline.
As might be supposed, the invitation to Miss Bell Burleigh
was repeated, including this time the Judge and Grace, both ol
whom accepted, Grace for the entire holidays, and the Judge
for a day or two, as he did not wish to crowd. And so Christ
mas bade fair to be kept at Millbank with more hilarity than
ever it had been before. Every room was to be occupied, Bell
and Grace Burleigh taking Magdalen's, for which Frank ordered
a new and expensive carpet and chamber set, just as he had or
dered new furniture for many of the other rooms. He was liv
ing on a grand scale, and had his income been what his princi
pal was he could scarcely have been more munificent or lavish
of his money. He was at the head of every charitable object in
Belvidere and Springfield, and gave so largely that his name
was frequently in the papers which he sent to Magdalen, with
his pencil mark about the flattering notices ; and Magdalen
smiled quietly as she read them and then showed them to Alice,
who once laughingly remarked, " Suppose you refer him to
Matthew vi. 2. It might be of some benefit to him." And
that was all the good Frank's ostentatious charity did him in
that direction.
Meantime the tide of life moved on, and Christmas came, and
the- invited guests arrived at Millbank, where there were such
revellings and dissipations as the people of Belvidere had never
seen, and where Bell Burleigh' s bold, black eyes flashed and
sparkled and took in everything, and saw so many places where
a change would be desirable should Millbank ever have another
mistress than Mrs. Walter Scott.
Guy Seymour, too, had his holidays at Beechwood, which
seemed a different place with his great, kind heart, his quick
appreciation of another's wants, his unfailing wit and humor,
his merry whistle and exhilarating laugh, his good-natured teas
ing of Auntie Pen, and his entire devotion to Alice, who was
rather reserved toward him, but who talked a great deal of him
280 THE MYSTERY AT BEECHWOOD.
to Magdalen when they were alone, and cried when at last he
went away.
CHAPTER XXXVIII.
THE MYSTERY AT BEECHWOOD.
DAY or two after Guy's return to New York there
came to Beechwood a tall, muscular-looking woman,
whom Alice called Mrs. Jenks, and for whom Magda
len could see no possible use. She did not consort with the
family, nor with the servants, and Magdalen often met her in
the upper hall, and saw her disappearing through the green
baize door. It was about this time, too, that Mr. Grey left
home for Cincinnati, and the household settled down into a
state of quiet and loneliness, which, contrasting as it did with
the merry holidays when Guy Seymour was there, seemed to
both girls very hard to bear.
Alice was unusually restless, and when at last Guy wrote
telling of a famous singer who had just appeared in New York,
and asking them all to come down for a few days and hear for
themselves, she caught eagerly at it, and overruling every ob
jection, won her aunt's consent to going. Magdalen was to
accompany them, and she was anticipating the trip and what it
might bring about, for Hester Floyd had written that Roger was
in New York. But when the morning fixed upon for their jour
ney came she was suffering with a prevailing influen/,a which
made the trip impossible for her. She, however, insisted upon
Alice's going without her, and so for a few days she was left
alone in the house so far as congenial companionship was con
cerned. Mrs. Jenks she never saw, though she knew she was
there ; for as she grew better and able to be about the parlors
and library she heard the servants speak of the amount of wine.
she ordered with her dinner, while one of them added in a whis-
THE MYSTERY AT BEECHWOOD. 28)
per, " Suppose she should get drunk and there should be a row,
wouldn't we be in a pretty mess. Nobody could contro.
her."
Magdalen Avas not timid, but after this she kept her dooi
locked at night, while during the day she frequently caught her
self listening intently as if expecting something to happen. But
nothing did happen until one night when she went as usual to
the parlor, where she sat down to the piano and tried a new
piece of music which Guy had sent to Alice. Finding it rather
difficult, she cast it aside and dashed off something more famil
iar to her. On the music stand were piles and piles of songs,
some her own, some Alice's, and she looked them over, and se
lecting one which had always been her favorite, she began to
sing, feeling much as an imprisoned bird must feel when it finds
itself free again, for since her first night at Beechwood she had
never been asked to sing with the piano. Now, however, she
was alone, and she sang on and on, her voice, which had been
out of practice so long, gathering strength and sweetness until
the whole house was full of the clear, liquid tones, and the
servants, still dawdling over their supper, commented upon the
music and held their breath to listen. One of them had brought
a lamp into the room before going to her tea, and this with the
fire in the grate was all the light there was ; but it answered
every purpose for Magdalen, who enjoyed the dim twilight and
the flickering shadows on the wall, and kept on with her sing
ing, while through the upper hall there came stealing softly the
figure of a woman with her white night -dress trailing on the car
pet, and her bare feet giving back no echo to her stealthy foot
steps. She had come through the green baize door, and she
paused there a moment and turned her ear in the direction
.vhence she had come. But all was quiet. There was no one
watching her, and with a cunning gleam in her restless, black
eyes, she shut the door softly, then opened it again, and went
back down the long hall until she reached a door which was
partly ajar. This she also shut, and turning the key took it in
her hand and started again for the mi sic which had set her
282 THE MYSTERY AT BEECHWOOD.
poor brain to throbbing, and quickened the blood in her veins
until every nerve was quivering with excitement.
" I am coming, oh, I'm coming. Don't you hear me as 1
come ? " sang Magdalen, while down the stairs and through the
hall came the unseen visitor until she reached the parlor door,
where she stood for a moment in the attitude of listening, while
her eyes were fixed upon Magdalen with a curious, inquiring look.
Then they rolled restlessly about the room, and took in every
thing from the picture on the wall to the fire in the grate, and
then went back again to the young girl, still singing her song ot
summer. The music evidently had a soothing effect upon the
poor, crazed creature, and her eyes were soft and pleasant and
moist with tears as she drew near to Magdalen, who at last felt
the hot breath upon her neck, and knew there was some one
behind her. There was a violent start, then a sudden crash
among the keys, as Magdalen felt not only the breath, but the
touch of the long, white fingers, which clasped her shoulder so
firmly. She could see the fingers as they held to her dress, but
only the outline of a human form was visible, and so she did not
scream until she turned her head and saw the white-robed
woman, with the long hair falling down her back, the peculiar
look of insanity in every feature. Then a shriek, loud and un
earthly, rang through the house, followed by another and still
another, as slie felt the woman's arm twining itself around hei
neck, and heard the woman's voice saying to her, " What are
you, angel or devil, that you can move me so ? "
Roused by the terrific shrieks, the servants came rushing to
the parlor, where they found Magdalen fainted entirely away,
with the maniac bending over her and peering into her face.
When Magdalen came to herself, she was in her own room,
and the girl, Honora, who waited on her in the absence oi
Pauline, was sitting by and caring for her. She did not seem
inclined to talk, and to Magdalen's inquiries, " Oh, what was
it, and shall I see it again?" she merely replied, "You'll not
be troubled any more. It was the fault of Mrs. Jenks. She
drank half a bottle of wine since noon and is drunk as a beast."
THE MYSTERY AT BEECHWOOD. 283
That was all the explanation Magdalen could get, and as she
recovered rapidly from the effects of her fainting fit, she signi
fied her wish to be left alone ; but she did not venture to the
parlor again that night, and she saw that both the doors leading
from her room and Alice's into the hall were locked, and bolted,
too. Then she tried to reason herself into a tolerable degree
of calmness and quiet, as she thought over the events of the
evening and wondered who the maniac was.
" Alice's mother, most likely," she said, and a great throb of
pity swept over her for the young girl whose life had been so
darkened and who had possibly never known a mother's love
any more than she herself had done.
And then her thoughts went out after her own mother, with
a longing desire such as- she had seldom felt. Where was she
that wintry night ? Was she far from or was she near to the
daughter who had never seen her face to remember it ? Was
she living still, or was the snow piled upon her grave, and would
not Magdalen rather have her thus than like the babbling ma
niac who had startled her so in the parlor ? She believed she
would. In one sense Alice was more to be pitied than herself,
and she sat thinking of the young girl and the shadow on her
life until the fire burned out upon the hearth, and she crept
shivering to bed. But not to sleep. She could not do that for
the peculiar cry, half human, half unearthly, which from time
to time kept coming to her ears, and in which she recognized
tones like the voice heard an instant in the parlor be
fore consciousness forsook her. There was evidently a great
commotion throughout the house, the servants running to and
frc ; but no one came near her until the early dawn was stealing
into the room, and giving definite shapes and forms to the ob
jects about her. Then there was a tap at her door, and Hon-
ora's voice said :
" Miss Lennox, will you come with me and see what you can
do to quiet her ? She's kept screeching for you all night, and
Mrs. Jenks, who is in her senses now, says maybe you can influ
ence her. Strangers sometimes do. I'll wait outside till you
284 MAGDALEN AND THE MYSTERY.
are ready. You needn't be afraid, she never hir t any
body."
Magdalen trembled in every joint, and her teeth fairly chat
tered as she hastened to dress herself.
" It's because I'm cold ; there certainly is nothing to fear,"
she thought, as she bound her hair under a net and knotted
her dressing-gown around her waist.
She had never been through the baize door, and as Honora
held it for her to pass she felt for a moment as if trespassing
upon forbidden ground. But the door swung to behind her.
She was shut into a narrow hall, with two doors on the right
hand side, and one of them ajar. The mystery she was going
to confront was beyond that door, she knew, for a moaning cry
of " Let me go to her, I tell you," met her ear, and made her
draw a little closer to Honora, who said to her, reassuringly,
" There is nothing to fear ; she is perfectly harmless."
"Yes; but tell me, please, who it is," Magdalen said, clutch
ing the arm of the girl, who replied :
" Oh, I supposed you knew. It is Mrs. Grey."
Magdalen's conjectures were correct, and she went fearlessly
up to the door, which Honora opened wide and then shut behind
her, leaving her standing just across the threshold in the room
which held the Mystery at Beechwood.
CHAPTER XXXIX.
MAGDALEN AND THE MYSTERY.
MYSTERY no longer, but a living, breathing, panting
woman, with wild, rolling eyes, masses of jet-black
hair streaked with gray streaming down her back, and
long white arms and hands, which beat the air helplessly as she
tried to escape from the firm grasp of her attendant, Mrs.
Jenks. It was Magdalen's first close contact with a maniac,
MAGDALEN AND THE MYSTERY. 285
and she drew back a step or two, appalled by the wild out-
cry with which the woman greeted her, and the desperate
spring she made toward the spot where she was standing. Fo t
an instant she was tempted to flee from the room, but Mrs.
Jenks had her patient under control by virtue of superior
strength. There was no escaping from the vice-like grasp of
her strong arms, and so Magdalen stood still and gazed spell
bound upon the terrible spectacle.
" Come nearer and see what effect your speaking to her will
have. She has asked for you all night ; she will not hurt you,"
Mrs. Jenks said, and Magdalen went up to the poor, restless,
tossing creature, and sitting down upon the bed took in her
own the hot hand which was extended toward her.
" Can I do anything for you, Mrs. Grey ? " she said, softly
caressing the wasted hand which held hers so tightly.
Quick as lightning a gleam of anger shot from the black
eyes as the woman replied :
" Don't insult me by calling me Mrs. Grey. That name has
been a curse to me from the moment I bore it. Call me Laura,
or nothing ! "
" Weil, then, Laura, can I do anything to make you better ? "
Magdalen said, and the woman replied, " Yes, stay with me al
ways, and sing as you did last night when I thought the angels
called me ; and put your hand on my head ; feel how hot it is.
There is a lost baby's soul in there, burning up for my sin."
She carried Magdalen's hand to her forehead, which was hot
with fever and excitement, and Magdalen could feel the blood
throbbing through the swollen veins.
" Poor Laura," she said, " poor, sick woman ! I am so sorry
for you. I would have come before if I had known you wanted
me."
" Yes but don't waste time in words. I've had a plenty of
those all my life. Sing ! sing ! sing ! that is what I want," in
terrupted the crazy wonaan, and sitting on the bed, with the aot
hand grasping hers, Magdalen tried to think what she could
sing that would soothe her excited patient.
286 MAGDAL&N AND THE MYSTERY.
There was a trembling in her joints and a choking sensation
in her throat which seemed to preclude the possibility of hei
singing, but she made a great effort to control herself, and at
last began the beautiful hymn, " Peace, troubled soul," her
voice growing in steadiness and sweetness and volume as she
saw the effect it had upon poor Laura, whose eyes grew soft
and gentle, and finally filled with tears, which rolled in -great
drops down her sunken cheeks.
Mrs. Jenkshad relaxed her vigilance now, and Laura lay per
fectly still, listening with rapt attention to the song, and keep
ing her eyes fixed upon Magdalen's face, as if there were some
spell to hold them there.
" Who are you ? " she asked, when the song had ceased.
" Where did you come from and what is your name ? "
I came to live with Alice. You know Alice," Magdalen
said, " she is your daughter."
" Yes, one of them ; but not that one, over there in the
cradle. Please give it a little jog. I can't have my baby wak
ing up and crying, for that disturbs Arthur, and he might send it
away to goat's milk and a wet nurse. Give it a jog, please."
She pointed to the head of her bed, and for the first time
Magdalen observed a pretty little rosewood crib, with dainty
pillow-cases, ruffled and fluted, and snowy Marseilles quilt,
spotlessly white and clean. But there was no infant's head upon
the pillow, no little hands outside the spread, or sound of in
fant's breathing.
The crib was empty, and Magdalen glanced inquiringly at
Mrs. Jenks, who said :
" You may as well rock it first as last. She will give you no
peace till you do. It's a fancy of hers that there's a baby
there, and she sometimes rocks it day and night. She is always
quiet when she is on that tack, but sometimes the baby gets
out of the cradle into her head, and then there is no pacifying
her. Her tantrum is over now, and, if you are willing, I'll leave
her with you a few moments. I shan't be out of hearing. My
room is across the hall."
MAGDALEN AND THE MYSTERY. 287
She was evidently anxious to get away ; and Magdalen, who
would not confess to any fear, was left alone with the crazy
woman. She had drawn the crib nearer to her, and with her
foot upon the rocker kept it in motion, while Laura com
menced a low, cooing sort of lullaby of " Hush, my darling !
mother's near you ! "
The novelty of her situation, and the wakefulness of the pre
vious night, began to have a strange effect on Magdalen, and, as
she rocked the cradle to the sound of that low, mournful music,
it seemed to her as if it were her own self she was rocking, her
self far back in that past of which she knew so little. There was
a dizzy feeling in her head, a humming in her ears, and for a few
moments she felt almost as crazy as the woman at her side. But
as she became more accustomed to the room and the situation,
she grew calmer and less nervous, and could think what it was
better to reply to the strange questions her companion some
times put to her.
" If a person killed something and didn't know it, and didn't
mean to, and didn't know as they had killed it, would God call
them a murderer, as He did Cain ? "
This was one question, and Magdalen replied at random,
that in such a case it was no murder, and God would not so
consider it.
" Then why has He branded me here in my head, where it
keeps thump, thump ! just like the beating of a drum, and
where it is so hot and snarled ? " Laura asked. Then, before
Magdalen could reply, she continued : "I did not mean to kill
it, and I don't think I did. I put it somewhere, or gave it to
somebody ; but the more I try to think, the more it thumps,
and thumps, and I can't make it out; only I didn't; didn't
truly mean to kill it. Oh, baby ! No, no ! I didn't ! I didn't ! "
She was sobbing in a pitiful kind of way, and Magdalen
moved her position so that she could take the poor, tired,
" twisted " head upon her bosom, while she soothed and conv
forted the moaning woman, softly smoothing her tangled hair
288 MAGDALEN AND THE MYSTERY.
and asking her, at last, if she would not like it brushed and put
up out of her way.
" It will look nicer so," she said ; and, as Laura made no ob
jection, she brought the brush and comb from a little basket on
the bureau, and then set herself to the task of combing out the
matted hair, which had been sorely neglected since Alice went
away.
" Allie will be glad to know I am so nice. She likes me
neat and tidy, but a woman with a child to tend cannot always
keep herself as she would," Laura said, when the hair-dressing
was ended and Magdalen had buttoned her night-dress, and
thrown around her a crimson shawl which hung across the bed.
The woman herself was rocking the cradle now, and signal
ing Magdalen to be quiet, for baby was waking up. To her
there was a living, breathing child in that empty cradle, and
as her warning " sh-sh " rang through the room, Magdalen shud
dered involuntarily, and felt a kind of terror of that crib, as if
it held a goblin child. Suddenly Mrs. Grey turned to her and
said :
" You did not tell me your name, or else I have forgotten."
" My name is Magdalen Lennox," was the reply, and instantly
the black eyes flashed a keen look of curiosity upon the young
girl, who winced a little, but never turned her own eyes away
from those confronting her so fixedly.
" Magdalen," the woman said, " Magdalen. That brings it
back to me in part. I remember now. That was the name I
gave her when she was christened, because I thought it would
please Arthur, who was over the sea. He wanted to call Alice
that, but I was hot, and angry, and worried in those days, and
my temper ran very high, and I would riot suffer it, for out of
Magdalen went seven devils, you know, and out of his Magda
len went fourteen, I'm sure. She was a beautiful woman, I
heard, and he loved her better than he did me, loved her first
when he was young. I found it out when it was too late. His
mother told me so one day when she couldn't think of anything
else to torment me with. T'le Duchess of Beechwood ! She's
MAGDALEN AND THE MYSTERY. 289
out under the snow now, and he/ monument is as tall as the
Tower of Babel. She was a dreadful woman, she and Cla
rissa both; that was her daughter, and they just worried and
tormented and hunted me down, until I went away. "
Magdalen was gaining some insight into the family history
of the Greys, though how much of what she heard was true she 1
could not tell. One thing, however, struck her forcibly. She
knew that poor Jessie Morton's second name was Magdalen,
and from some source she had heard that Mr. Grey used* fre
quently to call her by that name, which he preferred to Jessie,
and when Mrs. Grey alluded to the beautiful woman whom her
husband had loved better than his wife, she felt at once that it
was Jessie to whom reference was made, Jessie who had un
wittingly made trouble in this lamily, Jessie for whom the
father would have called Alice, his first born, and for whom it
would seem a later child was subsequently named. She wanted
so much to ask questions herself, but a natural delicacy pre
vented her. She had no right to take advantage of a lunatic's
ravings and pry into family matters, so she sat very quiet for a
few moments watching her patient, who said at last :
"Yes, that brings it back in part. St. Luke's Church, and
mother, and Mr. and Mrs. Storms were sponsors, and we called
one Madeline, and the other Magdalen after the woman that
Arthur liked the best. Did you ever see her ? "
" I've seen her picture. I lived in her house," Magdalen
replied :
"Tell me of her. Was she prettier than I am? though
how should you know that, when you've only seen the gray-
haired, wrinkled, yellow hag they keep shut up so close at
Beechwood? But I was handsome once, years ago, when
mother made those shirts for Arthur and I did them up, and he
came before they were done and sat by the table and watched
me and said my hands were too small and pretty to handle that
heavy iron, they would look better with rings and diamonds,
iind he guessed he must get me some, I wore a pink gingham
dress that day, and hated ironing and sewing after that, and
"3
29O MAGDALEN AND THE MYSTERY.
wished I was a lady like those at the hotel where Arthur
boarded, and I took a dollar and bought a ring and put it on
my finger, and the next time he came he laughed and held my
hand while he looked at it, and told me he would get a better
one if I would go with him to the jeweller's. Mother would
not let me, and she had high words with him and ordered him
away and called him a hard name, a villain, who only wanted
to ruin me. I was sick ever so long after that with something
in my head, though not like what's got into it since. Arthur
sent me flowers and fruit and little notes, and came to the door
to inquire, but still mother would not believe him true. When
I was most well he wrote a letter asking me to meet him, and
I ran away from mother and was married, and had the rings at
last, a diamond and emerald and the plain gold one, and a
white satin gown, and we travelled far and wide, and I looked
like a queen when he brought me here to the Duchess and
Lady Clarissa, and then to Penelope, who lived in New York,
and wasn't quite so bad, though she snubbed me some. I was
not as happy as I thought I should be, for Arthur stayed so
much in New York, and his mother was so cold and grand and
stiff, that I lay awake nights to hate her, and when Alice was
born the Duchess sent her out to nurse, because I was low-bred
and vulgar, and Arthur got sick of me and stayed in New York
more than ever, and left me to fight my way alone with the
dragons, and I got so at last that I did fight good"
Her eyes were flashing fiercely, and Magdalen, who had lis
tened breathlessly to the strange story, could readily imagine
just how that black-eyed, high-spirited creature did fight, as she
termed it, when once she was fairly roused to action. There
were rage and passion delineated in every feature now, and her
face was a bright purple as she hurled her invectives against
Arthur's mother and sister Clarissa, who, it would seem, had
persecuted her so sorely, and who were now " lying under the
snpjy."
'? Tney gave me no peace day or night. They took Allie
away. They turned Arthur against me ; they said I was low
MAGDALEN AND THE MYSTERY. 2$I
and ignorant and poor, and finally they hinted that I was crazy,
- made so by temper, and that I would not stand, so I went
away ; and Arthur went East and I West to mother, and the
baby was born, which Arthur knew nothing about, and mothei
died, and the other baby died, and I was alone, and went awhile
to Mrs. Storms ; and then I drifted back here. I don't know
how, nor when, nor where, nor what happened after I left
Mrs. Storms only I lost baby, but I didn't kill it, Heaven
knows I didn't. I lost it, but Providence sent it back, so I
can see it, though nobody else does, and it's there in the cradle,
and I've rocked it ever since, and worn the carpet through.
Don't you see the white spots? Those are baby's foot
prints."
She leaned over the side of the bed and pointed to the
breadth of carpet which was worn white and threadbare with
the constant motion of the crib. Tt was not the first carpet she
had worn out, nor the second, for " she had to rock to keep
the baby quiet, even if it did annoy Arthur so," she said ; and
Magdalen's heart ached for the poor, demented creature, while
in spite of all his faults she pitied the man who was designated
as Arthur, and who must suffer fearfully with such a wife.
Laura's story, so long as it pertained to her girlhood and early
married life, had been quite connected and reasonable, and
Magdalen gained a tolerably clear understanding of the matter.
Arthur Grey had accidentally found this woman, who when
young must have been as beautiful as she was poor and lowly
born. The obstacles thrown in his way had only increased his
passion, which finally outweighed every other consideration,
and led to a clandestine marriage, wholly distasteful to the
proud mother and sisters, who had so violently opposed poo
Jessie Morton. That they had made Laura's life very un
happy; that the fickle husband, grown weary of his unsophis
ticated wife, had cruelly neglected her, until at last in despera
tion she had gone away, Magdalen gathered from the story told
so rapidly ; but after that she failed to comprehend what she
heard. The baby which Laura said had died, and the one
MAGDALEN AND THE MYSTERY.
which she did not kill and which she had christened Magdalen,
with Mrs. Storms as sponsor, were enigmas which she could
not solve. It struck her as a strange coincidence that she her
self and the lost baby of the Greys should have borne the same
name, and for the same woman ; and she wondered what it
was about that child which had affected the mother so strangely
and put such wild fancies into her head. Her hand had
dropped from the cradle now, the rocking had ceased, and the
tired, worn-out woman, who had tossed and shrieked and strug
gled the livelong night, was falling asleep. Once, as her heavy
lids began to droop, she started up, and reaching for Magda
len's hand, said to her, "Don't leave me ! I am better with
you here. Stay and sing more songs to me about the troubled
soul. It makes me feel as if I was in Heaven."
She held Magdalen's hand in her own, and Magdalen sang
to her again, while the tears rained from Laura's eyes, and
rolled down her faded cheeks.
" Let me cry ; it does me good," she said, when Magdalen
tried to soothe her. " It cools me, and my head seems to
grow clearer about the baby. It will come to me by and by,
what I did with her. Oh, my child, my darling, God has
surely kept her safe somewhere."
She was talking very low and slowly, and Magdalen watched
her until the lips ceased to move, and the long eyelashes still
wet with tears rested upon the flushed cheeks. She was asleep
at last, and Magdalen, looking at her, knew that she must have
been beautiful in her early girlhood when Arthur Grey had won
her for his bride. Traces of beauty she had yet, in the regular
ity of her features, her well-shaped head, her abundant hair,
with just a little ripple in it, her white forehead, and even teeth
which showed no signs of decay. She was not old either, and
Magdalen thought how young she must have been when she
became a wife.
" Poor woman ! her life has been a failure," she said, as she
drew the covering around the shoulders and over the hands, on
A GLIMMZR OF LIGHT.
one of which the wedding ring and a superb diamond were still
shining.
Mrs. Jenks seemed in no hurry to resume her post, and
weary from her wakefulness of the previous night, Magdalen
settled herself in the large easy chair by the bed, and was soon
so fast asleep, that until twice repeated she did not heaj
Honora, who came to tell her that breakfast was waiting for
her.
CHAPTER XL.
A GLIMMER OF LIGHT.
LL that day Magdalen stayed with Mrs. Grey, who
clung to her as a child clings to its mother, and who
was more quiet and manageable than she had been in
many weeks. Magdalen could soothe and control her as no
one else had done since she left the private asylum where her
husband had kept her so long, and this she did by the touch of
her hand, the sound of her voice, and the glance of her eye,
which fascinated and subdued her patient at once.
That night Mrs. Seymour and Alice came home, accompa
nied by Guy. They had not been expected quite so soon, and
Magdalen knew nothing of their arrival until Alice, who had
heard from Honora what had transpired during her absence,
entered the room. Mrs. Grey was sitting up in her large arm
chair, her dressing gown and shawl carefully arranged, her hair
nicely combed, and a look of content upon her face which
Alice had rarely seen. She was rocking still, with one foot on
the crib and her eyes fixed on Magdalen, who was repeating to
her the Culprit Fay, which she knew by heart, and to which the
childish woman listened with all the absorbing interest of a lit
tie girl of ten. At sight of Alice there came a sudden gleam
of joy over her face, succeeded by a look of fear as she wound
both arms tightly around Magdalen's neck, exclaiming :
294 -* GLIMMER OF LIGHT.
"Oh. Allie,1'm glad you've come, but you must not tak
her away. She does me good. I'm better with her. Say
that she may stay."
There was a momentary look of pain in Alice's eyes at see
ing a stranger thus preferred to herself; but that quickly passed,
and stooping over her mother, she kissed her tenderly, and
said :
" Magdalen shall stay with you as long as she will. I am
glad you like her so well. We all love Magdalen."
" Yes, and it's coming back to me. That was baby's name,
the one I gave her to please your father, and by and by I'll
think just where it is."
Alice shot a quick, inquiring glance at Magdalen, as if to ask
how much of their family history her mother had revealed, but
Magdalen merely said :
" She seems to think there is a baby in the cradle, a baby
whom she says she lost or mislaid. It died, I suppose."
" Poor mother, she has suffered so much for that dead
child," was Alice's only reply, as she stood caressing her
mother's hair.
Then she tried to tell her something of her visit to New York
and the rare music she had heard ; but Mrs. Grey did not care
for that, and said a little impatiently, " Don't bother me now ;
I'm listening to the story. Go on, Magdalen. He was just go
ing to relight his lamp, and I want it over with, for I know how
he felt. My lamp has gone out, and all the falling stars in
heaven can't light it."
" I see you are preferred to me," Alice said to Magdalen ;
" but if you do her good, and I can see that you have already,
I bless you for it. Poor, dear mother, who has never known a
rational moment since I can remember."
She kissed her mother again, and then left the room, while
Magdalen went on with her fairy tale, parts of which she repeat
ed twice, and even thrice, before her auditor was satisfied.
After that Magdalen spent most of her time with the poor lu
natic, who, if she attempted to leave her, would say .so plead-
A GLIMMER OF LIGHT. 2$$
ingly, " Stay with me, Magda ; don't go. It's beginning to
come back."
She called her Magda altogether, and though that name was
sacred to Roger's memory, Magdalen felt as if there was a bless
ing in the way the poor invalid spoke it, and her heart throbbed
with a strange kind of feeling every time she heard the
"Ma-ag-da," as Mrs. Grey pronounced it, dwelling upon the
first syllable, and shortening up the last.
Mr. Grey was still absent, glad, it would seem, of an excuse
to stay away from the tiresome burden at home. He had gone
to Cincinnati, to look after some property which belonged to
his wife, and as there was some difficulty in proving his claim to
a portion of it, which had more than quadrupled in value and
was now in great demand, it was desirable that all doubts
should be forever settled ; so he wrote to Alice, that he should
stay until matters were satisfactorily adjusted. He had heard
of Magdalen's kind offices in the sick room, and he sent a note
to her, adjuring her to stay with Mrs. Grey so long as her in
fluence over her was what Alice had reported it to be.
" Money can never pay you," he said, " if you succeed in do
ing her good, or even in keeping her quiet for any length of
time ; but to show you that I appreciate your services, I will
from this time forward make your salary one thousand dollars
per annum as Mrs. Grey's attendant. It is strange the influence
which some people have over her, and strange that you, a girl,
can control her, as Alice says you do. Perhaps she recognizes
in you something that exists in herself, and so, on the principle
that like subdues like, she is subdued by you. The very first
time I saw you, there was something in your eyes and the toss
of your head which reminded me of her as she was when I first
knew her, but of course the resemblance goes no further. I
would weep tears of blood sooner than have your young life and
bright beauty darkened as Laura's has been."
When Magdalen received this note she was in a state of wild ex
citement, and hardly realized what Mr. Grey had written, until she
reached ihe part where he spoke of her resemblance to his wife.
296 . A GLIMMER OF LIGHT.
11 Something in your eyes and the toss of your head."
She read that sentence twice, and her eyes grew larger and
darker than their wont as she too saw herself in the motions,
and gestures, and even looks of the maniac, whose talk that very
day, whether true or false, had sent through her veins a thrill of
conjecture so sudden and wonderful, that for an instant she had
felt as if she were fainting. Alice had talked but little of her
mother's insanity. It was a great grief to them all, she had
said, and she had wished to keep it from Magdalen as long as
possible, fearing lest the fact of there being a lunatic in the
house might trouble her, as it had done others who came to
Beechwood. Of the fancy about the baby she had never of
fered any explanation, and Magdalen had ceased to think much
of it, except as the vagary of a lunatic, until the day when she
received the note from Mr. Grey. That afternoon Laura had
talked a great deal, fancying herself to be in the cars, and
sometimes baby was with her and sometimes it was not.
" That is the very last I remember," she said, apparently
talking to herself. " I took the train at Cincinnati, and baby
was with me ; I left the train, and baby was not with me. I've
never seen her since, but I think I gave her to a boy. It was
ever so long before I got home, and everything was gone, bag
gage, baby and all. I can't think any more."
Her voice ceased at this point, and Magdalen knew she was
asleep ; but for herself she felt that she too was going mad with
the suspicion which kept growing in intensity, as she recalled
other things she had heard from Mrs. Grey, and to which she
had paid no attention at the time. Once she arose and going
to the glass studied her own face intently. Then she stole to
the bedside of the sleeping woman and examined her features
one by one, while all the time the faintness was increasing at her
heart, and the blood seemed congealing in her veins. There was
no trace of color in her face that night when she met the family
at dinner, and AKce half shrunk from the eyes which fastened
so greedily upon her and scarcely left her face a moment.
" What is it, Magdalen ? " she asked after dinner, when they
A GLIMMER OF LIGHT. 297
were standing alone before the parlor fire, and she felt the
burning eyes still on her. " What is it, Magdalen ? Is any
thing the matter ? "
Then Magdalen's arms twined themselves around the young
girl's neck in an embrace which had something almost fierce in
its fervor.
" Oh, Alice, my darling ; if it could be, if it could be ! "
That was the answer Magdalen made, and her voice was
choked with tears, which fell in torrents upon Alice's upturned
face.
" Excuse me, do !" she added, releasing the young girl, and
recovering her composure. " I am nervous to-night. I can't
go back to your mother. I shall be as mad as she is in a little
while. Will you take my place in her room just for this even
ing?"
Alice assented readily, and after a few moments she left the
parlor, and Magdalen was alone. But she could not keep
quiet with that great doubt hanging over her and that wild hope
tugging at her heart. Rapidly she walked up and down the
long parlors, while the perspiration started about her forehead
and lips, which were so ashy pale that they attracted the atten
tion of Mrs. Seymour, when she at last came in, bringing her
crocheting with her.
"Are you sick, Miss Lennox?" she asked in some alarm ;
and then Magdalen's resolution was taken, and turning to the
lady, whose shoulder she grasped, she said, " Please come with
me to my room, where we can be alone and free from interrup
tion. There is something I wish you to tell me." And with
out waiting for an answer she led the astonished woman intc
the hall and up the stairs in the direction of her own room.
298 MRS. SEYMOUR AND -MAGDALEN.
CHAPTER XLI.
MRS. SEYMOUR AND MAGDALEN.
jjAVING locked the door, Magdalen brought a chair to
Mrs. Seymour, and said :
" You are out of breath ; sit there, but let me
stand. I should suffocate if I were sitting down. I feel as if
a hundred pairs of lungs were rising in my throat."
She was paler now than when Mrs. Seymour first met her in
the parlor, and her eyes flashed and sparkled and glowed as
only one pair of eyes had ever done before in Mrs. Seymour's
presence, and for an instant a doubt of the young girl's sanity
crossed that lady's mind, and she glanced uneasily at the door,
as if contemplating an escape. But Magdalen was standing
before her, and Magdalen's eyes held her fast. She dared not
go now if she could, and she asked nervously what Miss Len
nox wanted of her.
" I want you to tell me what it is about the child of whom
Mrs. Grey talks so much. Was there a child born after Alice,
say nineteen or twenty years ago, and did it die, or was it lost ;
and if so, when, and how ; and was Mrs. Grey here when it was
born, or was she somewhere else, in Cincinnati or vicinity?
Tell me that. Tell me all about it."
Mrs. Seymour was very proud and haughty, and very reticent
with regard to their family matters, especially 1 he matters pertain
ing to her brother's marriage and his wife's insanity. She never
talked of them to any one except Guy, from whom she had no
secrets ; and her most intimate friends, the Dagons and Drag-
gons of New York society, knew nothing except what rumor
told them of the demented woman who made Beechwood a
prison rather than a paradise. How, then, was she startled,
and shocked, and astonished, when this young girl, this hired
companion for her niece, demanded of her a full recital of
MRS. SEYMOUR AND MAGDALEN 1 . 299
what she had never told her most familiar friends. Not asked
for it, but demanded it as a right, and enforced the demand with
burning eyes and the half-menacing attitude of one determined
to have her way. Ordinarily Mrs. Seymour would have put
this girl down, as she termed it, and given her a lesson in good
breeding and manners, but there was something about her now
which precluded all that, and after a moment she said :
" Your conduct is very strange, Miss Lennox. Very strange
indeed, and what I did not expect from you. I suppose I may
be permitted to ask your right to a story which few have ever
heard?"
" Certainly," Magdalen replied ; " question my right as much
as you like, only tell me what I want to know. Was there a
child, and did it die?"
" There was a child, and it did die," Mrs. Seymour said, and
Magdalen, nothing daunted, continued : " How do you know
it died ? Did you see it dead ? She says she left it in the cars ;
she told me so to-day. Oh, Mrs. Seymour, tell me, please
what you know about that child before I, too, go mad ! "
Magdalen was kneeling now before Mrs. Seymour, on whose
lap her hands were clasped, and her beautiful face was all aglow
with her excitement as she continued :
" I know a girl who was left in the cars somewhere in Ohio
almost nineteen years ago ; left with a young boy, and the
mother, who took the train at Cincinnati, never came back, and
he could not find her. He thinks she was crazy. She had
very black hair and eyes, he said, and was dressed in mourning.
Perhaps it was Mrs. Grey. Did she come from Cincinnati
about that time ? It was April, 18 , when the baby I mean
was left in the cars."
Mrs. Seymour was surprised out of her usual reserve, and
when Magdalen paused for her reply, she said :
"My brother's wife came from Cincinnati in May, not
April ; but we thought she had been a long time on the road.
As to its being 18 , I'm not so sure; but it was nineteen
300 MRS. SEYMOUR AND MAGDALEN.
years ago in May, I know, for husband died the next July, and
mother the winter after."
" And what of the child ? And how did it happen that Mrs.
Grey was left to travel alone ? Where had she been, and where
was Mr. Grey ? " Magdalen asked, and Mrs. Seymour replied,
'' My brother was in Europe, sent there by unhappy do
mestic troubles at home. Laura had been in Cincinnati, and
came back to Beechwood after the death of her mother and
the child, of whose birth we had never heard."
" Never heard of its birth ! " Magdalen exclaimed. " Then,
perhaps, you do not know certainly of its death. She says she
'eft it in the cars with a boy, and Roger was a boy ; the child
i told you of was left with him."
" Who was that child, and where is she ? " Mrs. Seymour
asked, and Magdalen replied, "/am that child, and didn't you
say I reminded you of some one. Didn't Guy and Alice and
your brother say the same ; and I, too, can see the resemblance
to that crazy woman in myself."
Her eyes were full of tears, and as she looked up at Mrs. Sey
mour her head poised itself upon one side just as Laura's had
done a thousand times in the days gone by. Mrs. Seymour was
interested now ; that familiar look in Magdalen's face had always
puzzled her, and as she saw her flushed, and excited, and eager,
she was struck with the strong resemblance she bore to Laura
as she was when she first came to Beechwood, and more to her
self than to Magdalen she said :
" It is very strange, but still it cannot be, though that child
business was always more or less a mystery to me. Miss Len
nox," and she turned to Magdalen, " would you mind telling
me the particulars of your having been left in the car ? "
Very rapidly Magdalen repeated the story of her desertion as
she had heard it from Roger, while Mrs. Seymour listened
intently and seemed a good deal moved by the description
given of the mother.
" Was there nothing about you by which you might be identi
fied ? That is, did they keep no article of dress ? " she asked,
MRS. SEYMOUR AND MAGDALEN. 30!
and Magdalen sprang up, exclaiming, "Yes, the dress I wore
a crimson delaine, dotted with black. I have it with me now."
"A crimson delaine, dotted with black," Mrs. Seymoui
repeated, while her hands began to tremble nervously and her
voice to grow a little unsteady. "There was such a dress ir
Laura's satchel ; baby's dress, she told us, and Alice has it in
her drawer."
" Get it, get it, and we will compare the two," Magdalen
cried, and seizing Mrs. Seymour's hand she dragged rather than
led her to the door of Alice's room ; then, going hastily to her
trunk, she took from it the dress which she had worn to Mill-
bank. " Here it is," she cried, turning to Mrs. Seymour, who
came in with another dress, at sight of which Magdalen uttered
a wild exultant cry, while every particle of color faded from Mrs.
Seymour's face, and her eyes wore a frightened kind of look.
The dresses were alike ! The same material, the same size,
the same style, except that Mrs. Seymour's was low in the neck,
while Magdalen's was high, and what was still more confirma
tory that they had belonged to the same person, the buttons
were alike, and Magdalen pointed out to the astonished woman
the same peculiarity about the button holes and a portion of
the work upon the dresses. The person who made them must
have been left-handed, as was indicated by the hems where left-
handed stitches would show so plainly.
" I am astonished, I am confounded, I am bewildered, I feel
like one in a dream," Mrs. Seymour repeated to herself.
Then she dropped panting into a chair, and wiping the per
spiration from her face, continued :
" The coincidence is most remarkable ; the dresses are alike ;
and still it is no proof. Was there nothing else ? "
"Yes. Do you recognize this? Did you ever see it be
fore ? " Magdalen said, holding up the little locket which had
been fastened about her neck when she came to Millbank.
Mrs. Seymour took it in her hands and examined it closely,
then passed it back with the remark, " I never saw it before, to
my knowledge."
302 MRS. SEYMOUR AND MAGDALEN.
"But the initials, 'L. G. ' did you notice those?" Magda
len continued, and then Mrs. Seymour took the locket again,
and glancing at the lettering whispered rather than said aloud :
" 'L. G.' That stands for Laura Grey. It may be. I wish
Arthur was here, for I don't know what to think or do."
" You can at least tell me about the child," Magdalen per
sisted, and Mrs. Seymour, who by this time was considerably
shaken out of her usual reticence and reserve, replied, " Yes,
I can do that, trusting to your honor as a lady never to divulge
what I may tell you of our family affairs. My brother always
had a penchant for pretty faces, and while he was young had
several affairs du cceur which came to nothing. When he was
forty, or thereabouts, he went to Cincinnati, where he stayed a
long time, and at last startled us with the announcement of his
marriage with Laura Clayton, a young girl of seventeen, whose
beauty, he said, surpassed anything he had ever seen. She
was not of high blood, as we held blood, he wrote, but she was
wholly respectable, and pure, and sweet, and tolerably well
educated, and he wanted us to lay aside our prejudices and
receive her as his wife should be received. I was in favor of
doing so, though perhaps this feeling was owing in part to my
husband's sensible reasoning and partly to the fact that I did
did not live here then and would not be obliged to come in
daily contact with her. My home was in New York, and so I
only heard from time to time of the doings at Beech wood. It
transpired afterward that Laura's mother was a widow, who
lived much by herself, without relatives and only a few ac
quaintances. She had come from New Orleans the year before,
and bought a house and quite a large lot of land in the
suburbs of Cincinnati. There was Spanish blood in her veins,
and it shows itself in Laura. The mother did some plain
sewing for Arthur, who in that way saw the daughter and finally
married her against her mother's wishes. I think Mrs. Clayton
was a sensible woman, or perhaps she feared that Arthur only
sought her daughter's ruin ; for she tried to keep them apart,
and so made the matter worse and drove them into a clandes-
MRS. SEYMOUR AND MAGDALEN. 303
tine marriage. Mother and sister Clarissa were here then.
Clarissa was never married, and from her I learned the most I
know about the trouble. She deeply regretted afterward the
course they pursued toward Laura, whom they did not under
stand, and whose life they made so wretched with their coldness
and pride. She was naturally high-spirited, but she bore patiently
for a long time whatever they laid upon her and tried, I believe,
to please them in all things. Clarissa herself told me that the girl
never really turned upon them, except as her eyes would some
times blaze with anger, until Alice was born, and mother wanted
her put out to a wet nurse, who lived so far away that for Laura
to see her baby every day was impossible. Then she rebelled
openly, and there was a terrible scene, but mother carried her
point, as she usually did when she had Arthur where she could
talk to him. Laura fought like a tigress when the last moment
came, and mother took the baby from her by force, and then
locked her in her room for fear she would go down to the
river and drown herself, as she threatened to do. Arthur was
in New York, or I think he would have interfered when he saw
how it affected Laura. I was sorry for the poor girl when I
heard of it from Clarissa. I had lost a dear little baby and
could sympathize with Laura. I think it makes a woman
harder and less considerate not to have a husband or children
of her own, and Clarissa had neither."
Mrs. Seymour forgot that her mother had both husband and
children, and that therefore the thing which would excuse Cla
rissa could not be applied to her. But Magdalen did not for
get it, and her fists were involuntarily clinched as if to smite
the hard old woman who had torn Laura's baby from her.
" Does Alice know this ? " she asked, and Mrs. Seymour re
plied, " She does not, of course. There could be no reason
for harrowing up her feelings with a recital of the past, and I
hardly know why I am telling you the story so fully as I am."
" Never mind, go on ; " Magdalen exclaimed eagerly, and
Mrs. Seymour continued :
" After the baby went away a kind of melancholy mood came
3O4 MRS. SEYMOUR AND MAGDALEN.
over Laura and she would sit for hours and even days without
speaking to any one ; then she would have fits of crying, and
again was irritable and quarrelsome, so that it was a trial to
live with her. After two or three months she ceased to speak
of her child, and when Arthur offered to take her to see it flew
into so fierce a passion that he took the next train to New
York and left her with mother.
" It was a habit of his to go away from anything disagreeable,
and most of his time was spent from home. He was always
very fickle. To possess a thing was equivalent to his tiring of
it. and even before Alice's birth he was weary of his young
wife ; and so matters went on from bad to worse till Alice was
nearly a year old, and Arthur began to talk of going abroad,
while Laura proposed a separation, or that she should be al
lowed to go to Cincinnati while her husband was away. They
would all be happier, she said ; and his mother and Clarissa
favored the plan. Arthur consented, and went with her him
self to Cincinnati, and settled a yearly allowance upon her,
and at her mother's request bought three or four vacant
lots which adjoined hers and were for sale, and which she
wanted to hold so as to prevent shanties from being built upon
them."
"And didn't Mrs. Grey see her baby before she went?"
Magdalen asked, and Mrs. Seymour replied :
"Yes, once. It was brought to the house, but she took
little notice of it, and said it belonged to the Greys, not to her.
We think now she was crazy then, though they did not suspect
it at the time. She expressed no regret whatever when
Arthur left her, but on the contrary seemed relieved to have
him go. He sailed for Europe the next week, and was gone a
year and a half, or more. Laura wrote to him quite regularly
at first, but never held any communication with Beechwood.
After a while there was a break in her letters, and when at last
she wrote she told him something of which he had no suspicion
at the time of his leaving home. He ought to have come back
to her then, but he did not, though he sent her money and ad-
MRS. SEYMOUR AND MAGDALEN. 303
vised her to return to Beechwood. This she would not do.
She preferred to stay with her mother, she said ; and he heard
no more from her for three or four months, when she wrote a
few hurried lines, telling him her baby Madeline died when she
was four weeks old, and adding that she presumed he would
not care, as it would save him the trouble of taking the child
from her as he had taken Alice. That roused him a little to a
sense of his duty, and he wrote kindly to her and told her he
was sorry, and advised her again to return to Beechwood, where
he said he would join her. To this she did not reply for a long
time, and when at last she wrote she said that her mother was
dead, and that after visiting a friend she was going back to
Beechwood. The next he heard from her she was here at
Beechwood, where she had arrived wholly unexpected by
mother and Clarissa, who did not know that she was coming,
and who judged that she must have been weeks on the road.
Her baggage was lost, and she had nothing with her but a
little satchel, in which was a child's dress and a few other
articles. She was dressed in black, and told them her
mother was dead, but said nothing of the child of whose birth
they had never heard, she having insisted that Arthur should
not tell them of it. She was very quiet for a few days, never
speaking unless spoken to, and then she did not always answer.
Occasionally they heard her muttering to herself, ' One is
dead, and one is safe. They will never find it, never,' but
what she meant, they could not guess.
"Alice was spending a few days with her foster-mother up
the river, and did not return till Laura had been home a
week. In all that time she had never mentioned her child, and
when at last she came, and Clarissa said to her, ' Your baby is
here, Laura. Would you like to see her ? ' she sprang to her
feet and her eyes glared like a maniac's.
" ' Baby was hid,' she said. ' Baby was gone where they
could not find it.'
" Then her mood changed, and she raved for the baby till
Mice was brought to her ; but that only made her worse, and
306 MRS. SEYMOUR AND MAGDALEN.
she became perfectly furious, telling them this was not th
baby whom she had lost, and whom she insisted upon their
finding.
" Clarissa wrote at once to Arthur, who hastened home, find
ing his mother and sister at their wit's end, and his wife raving
mad, and calling continually for the baby she had lost, or hid.
That was her constant theme ' lost, or hid, or left some
where.' Arthur did his best to soothe her, telling her the
baby was dead, and asking if she did not remember writing to
him about it. But it did no good. Her reply was always the
same : ' One is dead, and one is not.'
" For hours she would sit repeating these words in a kind of
moaning, half sobbing way, ' one is dead, and one is not ; ' and
never from that time has she known a rational moment. Hunt
ing out Alice's cradle, she took it to her room, and rocked it day
and night, saying her lost baby was in it, and raving fearfully if
the family made a noise in the room.
" This annoyed Arthur terribly. He likes quiet, and ease, and
luxury, and, as he could not have these in his own house, he
sought them elsewhere, and has travelled almost over the world.
Twice Laura has been in a private asylum. She was there all
the time we were abroad ; but after our return Alice begged so
hard for her to be allowed to come to Beechwood, that Arthur
brought her back, and will never move her again.
"Mother died the winter after Laura's return, and Clarissa
the year following. As my husband was dead, and I alone in
the world, I came here to care for my brother and Alice. Pooi
girl ! Her life has been a sad one, though she knows nothing,
or comparatively nothing, of the early domestic trouble be
tween her parents, and how her mother was received at Beech-
wood."
Mrs. Seymour paused here, and Magdalen, who had lis
tened eagerly, asked, " If that child which died when it was four
week sold had lived, how old would it have been when Mr. Grey
came home ? "
Mjs. Seymour could hardly tell, for the reason that in hei
MRS. SEYMOUR AND MAGDALEN. 307
letter to her husband Laura did not give the date of its birth,
but as nearly as they could judge it must have been nine 01
ten months old, possibly more.
" Yes," Magdalen said ; " and the dress in the satchel, did
it never occur to you that it could not have been made for a
four weeks' old baby. It was meant for a larger child. And did
you never think there might be a meaning in the words, ' One
is dead, and one is not,' Mrs. Seymour?" and Magdalen grew
more earnest and vehement. "There must have been two
children instead of one, twins, one of whom died and the
other she left in the cars. I know it, I believe it. I shall prove
it yet. She has always talked to me of two, and one she said
was Madeline and one was Magdalen, and Mr. Irving told me
that the woman in the cars called me something which sounded
like Magdalen. Don't you see it? Can't you understand how
it all might be?"
Mrs. Seymour was confounded and bewildered, and answered
faintly, " Oh, I don't know ; I wish Arthur was here."
" I am going to him," Magdalen exclaimed, starting to her
feet, " going at once, and have him help me solve this mystery.
Alice must not know till I come back, and not then, if I fail. I
shall start for Cincinnati to-morrow. A woman can oftentimes
find out things which a man cannot. Do you think your nephew
will go with me ? "
She talked so fast, and with so much assurance, that Mrs. Sey
mour was insensibly won to think as she did and assent to what
ever she suggested ; and the result was that in less than half an
hour's time Guy, who had been invited up to Magdalen's room,
had heard the whole of the strange story. He believed it, and in
dorsed Magdalen at once, and hurrahed for his new cousin, and
winding his arm around her waist waltzed with her across the
room, upsetting his Aunt Pen's work-basket, and when she re
monstrated he caught her in his other arm and took her with him
in his mad dance. Exhausted, panting, and half indignant at her
scape-grace nephew, Auntie Pen released herself from his grasp,
and after a time Magdalen succeeded in stopping him, but ha
308 IN CINCINNATI.
kept fast hold of her hands, while she explained what she want ad
of him, and asked if he would go with her.
" Go with you ? Yes, the world over, ma belle cousin," he
said, and greatly to the horror of prim Mrs. Penelope, he sealed
his promise to serve her with a kiss upon her brow.
Mrs. Seymour was shocked, and half doubted the propriety
of sending Magdalen off alone with Guy ; but Magdalen knew
the kiss was given to Alice as her possible sister rather than to
herself, and so did not resent it.
They were to start the next day, but it was not thought best
to let Alice know of the journey until morning. Then they
told her that a matter of importance, which had recently come
to Magdalen's knowledge, made it necessary for her to go to
Cincinnati, and that Guy was going with her. Alice knew
they were keeping something from her, but would not question
them, and without a suspicion of the truth she bade Magdalen
and Guy good-by, and saw them start on their journey to Cin
cinnati.
CHAPTER XLII.
IN CINCINNATI.
j|R. GREY was breakfasting in that leisurely, luxurious
kind of way which he enjoyed so thoroughly. His
morning papers were on the table beside him. He
had glanced them through, and read every word in them about
poor Laura's property, which was now secured to her and her
heirs forever. He had succeeded in making his claim clear,
and Laura and her heirs were richer by some thirty thousand
dollars than they were when last the crazy woman was in the
city. To a man with nearly half a million thirty thousand
dollars were not so very much ; but Mr. Grey was glad to get
it, and had decided that it should be invested for Alice, just as
IN CINCINNATI. 309
his breakfast appeared, and in dispatching that, he forgot the
city lots and houses, and the days when he had gone so often
to one of them, now a long time torn down to make room foi
a large and handsome block. He had finished his first cup of
coffee, and was waiting for his second, when a hand was laid
familiarly upon his shoulder, and Guy Seymour's handsome face
confronted him.
" Why, Guy, how you frightened me ! " he said. " Where
did you come from ? Is anything the matter at home ? Is it
Alice ? "
She was nearest his heart, and he asked for her first, while
his cheek paled for a moment ; but Guy quickly reassured him.
There was nothing the matter with Alice ; nothing the matter
with any one, he said. He had come on business, and as soon
as Mr. Grey was through with his breakfast he would like to
see him alone. Then Mr. Grey proceeded with his coffee and
mutton chop, and omelette and hot cakes, and Guy grew terri
bly impatient and nervous with waiting. Mr. Grey's appetite
was satisfied at last, and he invited Guy to his room and asked
what he could do for him. Guy had the story at his tongue's
end. He had repeated it to himself several times so as to be
sure and make himself understood, and after half an hour or so
he was understood, and Mr. Grey knew why he was there, and
who was with him. To say that he was startled would convey
but a faint idea of the effect Guy's story had upon him.
Laura's ravings about " the one that was dead and the one that
was not," had come back to him with a new meaning and helped
to prove the twin theory correct, and he was struck dumb with
amazement, and tried in vain to speak as some question he
wished to ask presented itself to his mind. He could not
speak, his tongue was so thick and lay so heavy in his mouth,
while the blood rushed in such torrents to his head and face
that he plucked at his cravat as if to tear it off, so he could breath
more freely, and made a motion toward the window for air.
" Apoplexy, it has almost given me that," he whispered as
the fresh air blew gratefully upon him, and he drank the water
310 IN CINCINNATI.
Guy brought to him. Then leaning his head against the back
of his chair, he said : "I am greatly shocked by this story you
have told me. It seems reasonable and may be true, though
I do not deserve it. I've been a villain, a rascal. I abused
and neglected Laura ; I ought to have come home when she first
wrote about the baby, and should have done so but for that
devilish trait of mine, to follow a pretty face. I had an Ital
ian woman in tow and it blunted every other feeling, and when
I heard the child was dead I did not care so very much, though
I wrote to her kindly enough ; and now, to have this great good
come so suddenly upon me is too much, too much,"
Guy believed in Magdalen, and his belief had so colored his
story that Mr. Grey believed in her, too, at first. Then a doubt
began to creep into his mind, as was very natural, and he
asked, " Where is she, and how does she propose to prove it ? "
" She is in No. . She wishes to see you first. Will you go
to her now ? " Guy said ; and Mr. Grey arose, and leaning on
Guy started for the room where Magdalen was waiting for him.
When the first great shock came upon her Magdalen had
thought only of Alice, the darling sister it might be, and of the
poor worn-out wreck which, though a wreck, might be her
mother still, and her heart had gone out after them both and
enfolded them with all a daughter's and sister's love, but in this
sudden gush of affection Mr. Grey had had little part. So
great had her excitement been, and so rapidly had she acted
upon her convictions, that she had scarcely thought of him in
any other capacity than that of her employer. But as she sat
waiting for him, there suddenly swept over her the conscious
ness that if what she hoped was true, then he was her own
father, and for a moment she rebelled against it as against
some impending evil.
" Roger is his sworn enemy," she whispered faintly, as hei
mind went back to the time when Roger had cursed him as his
mother's ruin. " Roger will never forgive my being his daugh
ter," she thought, and for an instant she wished she had nevei
told her suspicions to a human being, but had kept them locked
IN CINCINNATI. 311
in her own bosom. Then she thought of Alice, and that com
forted her, and made her calm and composed when she heard
the knock at her door and saw Guy coming in with Mr. Grey.
He was very pale, and came toward her, with an eager,
questioning look in his eyes, which scanned her curiously.
She had risen, and was standing with her hands locked to
gether, her head unconsciously poised upon one side, and hei
body bent slightly forward. It was Laura's attitude exactly ,
Laura had stood just this way that night she met him outside
her mother's house and he persuaded her to the clandestine
marriage. Save that there was about Magdalen more refine
ment, more culture, and a softer style of beauty than had ever
belonged to Laura Clayton, he could have sworn it was the
Laura of his mature manhood's love, or passion, who stood
upon the rug by the fire, her dark eyes meeting his with a wist
ful, earnest gaze. In an instant the forgot his doubts ;
his faith was strong as Guy's, and he reached his arms toward
her, and his lips quivered as he said :
"You are so much like Laura that you must be my child."
She knew he expected her to go to him, but Jessie and Laura,
and the uncertainty as to herself and his right to claim her, rose
up a mighty barrier between them, and she made no movement
towards him ; she only said :
" It is not sure that I am your child. We must prove it be
yond a doubt," and in her voice there was a tone which Mr.
Grey understood.
She knew Laura's story. Penelope had told her, and she re
sented the injury done to one who might be her mother. It
was a part of his punishment, and he accepted it, and put down
the tenderness and love which kept growing in his heart for the
beautiful girl before him.
" No, it is not proved," he said, "though I trust that it may
be. Tell me, please, your own story as you have heard it from
Mr. Irving, and also what you wish me to do."
He had heard the whole from Guy, but the story gained new
force and reality as told by Magdalen, whose eyes and face and
312 IN CINCINNATI.
gestutes grew each moment more and more like Laura Clayton
as she was years ago. Guy had forgotten the locket, but Mag
dalen did not, and she showed it to Mr. Grey, who examined it
closely, then staggered a step or two toward her, and steadied
himself against the mantel, as he said :
" It was Laura' s. I remember it perfectly and where I bought
it, I gave it to her myself. My likeness was in it then. You
see it has been taken out," and he pointed to the inside of the
ornament from which a picture had evidently been removed.
" Magdalen. I do not need stronger proof. Will you let me call
you daughter?"
The tears were streaming down his face, and Magdalen felt
herself beginning to relent, but there must be no mistake, no
shadow on which to build a doubt hereafter. She could not
take her place in the hearts of that family as a rightful daugh
ter of the house and then suddenly be displaced by some other
claimant. She must know to a certainty that she was Magda
len Grey, and she replied :
" I am not satisfied ; we must investigate farther than we have.
Your wife talked of a Mrs. Storms who was sponsor for her
baby. Did you ever know it was baptized ? Did she write
you to that effect ? "
" Never. She only said that baby Madeline was dead," Mr.
Grey replied, and after a moment's hesitation Magdalen con
tinued, " Tell me, please, if you ever wished to give Alice another
name than the one she bears, and did your wife oppose it ? "
Mr. Grey's face was scarlet, but he answered promptly,
" I did propose calling Alice after a dear friend of mine
whose second name was Magdalen."
"Then Mrs. Grey was right so far," Magdalen rejoined, "and
may have been correct in her other statements to me, also.
She told me one was Madeline, and that to please you she
called the other " Magdalen," after the friend for whom you
wished Alice named, and that a Mr. and Mi 5. Storms were
sponsors. Do you know any such people?"
Mr. Grey did not, and Magdalen continued :
IN CINCINNATI. 313
"We must find them. Is it of any use to inquire in the vicin
ity where Mrs. Grey once lived?"
" None whatever. Every house has been pulled down, and
every family is gone," was the unpromising answer, but Magda
len was not disheartened.
"The christening must have been in church. Can you tell
which one it was likely to be ? "
Mr. Grey thought it was St. Luke's, as Mrs. Clayton was an
attendant there. They might
He did not finish the sentence, for Magdalen started quickly,
exclaiming :
" There must be a Parish Register, and there we shall find it
recorded, and possibly trace Mrs. Storms. Let us go at once
to the Rectory, if there is one."
Her bonnet and shawl were on in a trice, a carriage was
called, and the three were soon on their way to the house of
the Rev. Henry Fowler, Rector of St. Luke's. He was a young
man, who had only been there for a year or two, but Magdalen's
beauty and excitement enlisted his sympathy at once, and he
went with them to the church and took from a dusty shelf an
old worn-looking volume, wherein he said was recorded the
births, deaths, and baptisms of twenty and twenty-five years ago.
[t was Magdalen who took the book in her own hand s, and
sitting down upon the chancel steps with her bonnet falli ng back
Tom her flushed face and her white lips compressed together,
:urned the pages eagerly, while the three men stood looking at
ier. Suddenly she gave a cry, and the three came near her.
" Look," she said, " it's here. There was a child baptized,"
ind she pointed to the record of the baptism of " Magdalen
Laura," daughter of Arthur and Laura Grey. Sponsors, " Mr.
ind Mrs. James Storms, Cynthiana, Kentucky."
Then suddenly a cloud passed over her face as she said sadly,
' But there is only one. Where is Madeline 1 ? "
" Turn to the deaths," Guy said, and with trembling fingers
Vf agdalen did as he bade her, but found no trace of Madeline,
Only Mrs. Clayton's death was record^ there, and the tear?
H
3H IN CYNTHIANA.
gathered in Magdalen's eyes and dropped upon the register aa
she felt that her hopes were being swept away. It was Guy who
comforted and reassured her by suggesting that Madeline might
have died before the christening, and Magdalen caught eagerly
at it, and springing up exclaimed, " Yes, and they neglected to
record her death ; that's it, I know ; we will find this Mrs. Storms ;
we will go at once to Cynthiana. Is it far ? Can we reach it
to-day?"
It was not very far, the clergyman said. It was on the rail
road between Cincinnati and Lexington, but he did not believe
she could go that day, as the train was already gone.
It seemed an age to wait until the morrow, but there was no
help for it ; and Magdalen passed the day as best she could, and
when the morning came and they started for Cynthiana, she was
almost sick with excitement, which increased more and more the
nearer she drew to Mrs. Storms, who was to confirm her hopes
or destroy them forever.
CHAPTER XLIII.
IN CYNTHIANA.
GEORGE P. STORMS & CO.,
DEALERS IN
DRY GOODS, GROCERIES & PROVISIONS.
1 HAT was the sign which our travellers saw after landing
at the station in the little town of Cynthiana. Magda
len was the first to see it, and the first to enter a low
room where a young man of twenty-five or more was weighing
a codfish for a negress with a blue turban bound around her
head.
IN CYNTHIA NA. 315
Magdalen was taking the lead in all things, and Mr. Grey
and Guy let her, and smiled at her enthusiasm and the effect
she produced upon the young man. He was not prepared Coi
this apparition of beauty in so striking contrast to old Hannah
and her codfish, and he blushed and stammered in his reply to
her question as to whether " Mrs. James Storms was a relative
of his, and lived near them."
" She is my mother, and lives just down the street. Did you
wish to see her ? " he said, and Magdalen replied :
" Yes ; that is, if she is the Mrs. Storms I am after. Is she
a church woman, and has she ever been in Cincinnati ? "
" She is a church woman, and has been in Cincinnati," the
young man said, and then he followed Magdalen to the door
and pointed a second time to his mother's house, and stood
watching her as she sped like a deer along the muddy street,
leaving Mr. Grey and Guy very far behind her.
A very respectable-looking woman answered Magdalen'?
knock, and inviting her to enter, stood waiting for Mr. Grey
and Guy, who had just reached the gate
It was Magdalen who did most of the talking, Magdalen
who, without taking the chair offered her, broke out impetu
ously, " Are you Mrs. James Storms, and did you years ago,
say nineteen or twenty know a Mrs. Clayton, in Cincinnati,
and her daughter, Mrs. Grey, Laura they called her ? "
The woman, who seemed to be naturally a lady, cast a won
dering glance at Magdalen, and replied :
" I am Mrs. Storms, and I knew Laura Clayton, or rather
Mrs. Grey. Are you her daughter ? You look like her as I
remember her."
Magdalen did not answer this question, but went on vehe
mently :
" Were you much with Mrs. Grey, and can you tell me any
thing about her starting for her home in New York, and if she
had a baby then, and how old it was, and what dress did it
wear ? Try to remember, please, and tell me if you can."
Mrs. Storms was wholly bewildered with all these interroga-
316 IN CYNTHIANA.
tories of a past she had not recalled in years, and looked
inquiringly at Mr. Grey, who was standing by Magdalen, and
who said with a smile :
"Not quite so fast. You confuse the woman with youi
rapid questions. Ask her one at a time ; or perhaps it will be
better for me to explain a little first."
Then as briefly as possible he repeated what he thought
necessary for Mrs. Storms to know of the business which had
brought them there, and asked if she could help them any.
For a moment Mrs. Storms was too much surprised to speak,
and stood staring, first at Magdalen and then at Mr. Grey, in a
dazed, helpless kind of way.
" Lost her baby, the little child I stood for ! Didn't have
it when she got home, nor her baggage either ! it takes my
breath away ! Of course she was crazy. I can see it now,
though I did not suspect it then. I only thought her queer at
times."
" Yes, but tell us ; begin at the beginning," Magdalen ex
claimed, too impatient to wait any longer. And thus en
treated, Mrs. Storms began :
" I knew Mrs. Clayton in New Orleans, before she moved
to Cincinnati, or I was married and came here. I had seen
Laura when a little girl, but did not know much of her until
she came home after her marriage. Then I saw her every time
I was at her mother's, which was quite often, considering the
distance between here and Cincinnati, and the tedious way we
had then of getting there by stage. My husband, who is dea.d
now, and myself were sponsors for her baby, whom she called
Magdalen."
"Was there one or two children ? Tell me that first, please,"
Magdalen said, and when Mrs. Storms replied, "She had two,
but one died before it was christened," she gave a sudden
scream, and staggered a step towards Mr. Grey, who, almost as
white and weak as herself, laid his hand with a convulsive
grasp upon her shoulder and said, "Two children ! twins ! and
I never knew it ! "
IN CYNTHIANA. 317
" Never knew it ! " Mrs. Storms repeated. " I wrote it to you
myself the day after they were born. I happened to be there,
and Laura asked me to write and tell you, and I did, and di
rected my letter to Rome."
" I never received it, which is not strange, as I journeyed so
much from place to place and had my mail sent after me," Mr.
Grey rejoined, and Mrs. Storms continued, " I remember now
that after my letter was sent Laura grew worse, crazy like,
we thought, and seemed sorry I had written, and said the Greys
did not like children and would take her babies from her, and
when the little sickly one died she did not seem to feel so very
badly and said it was safe from the Greys. She was always
queer on that subject, though she never said a word against her
husband. She had plenty of money, and, I supposed, was going
back to Beechwood as soon as you returned. I was not with
her when Mrs. Clayton died ; it was sudden, very, and I only
went to the funeral. Laura told me, then, she was going home,
but said she wished first to visit me. I consented, of course,
though^ I wondered that she did not go at once. She came to
me after the funeral, and stayed some time with her child, and
appeared very sad and depressed, and cried a great deal at
times, and then, again, was wild, and gay, and queer."
" But the child, the little girl How did she look ? " Mag
dalen asked.
And Mrs. Storms replied :
"She was very healthy and fat; a pretty creature, with
dark eyes, like her mother's, and dark hair too. A beautiful
baby I called her, who might easily grow to be just like you,
miss."
She was complimenting Magdalen, whose face flushed a little
as she asked :
" Do you remember what the child wore when she went
away ? Would you know the dress if you saw it ? "
Mrs. Storms hardly thought she would. Mrs. Grey was in
mourning, but about the baby she did not know.
" Was the dress like this ? " Magdalen asked, taking from
318 IN CYNTHIANA.
her satchel the dress she had worn to Millbank, and the on
found in Laura's bag.
Mrs. Storms looked at them a moment, and then a sudden
pleam of intelligence broke over her face as she exclaimed :
" I do remember them perfectly now. I made them myself
for Mrs. Grey."
" And you are left-handed ? " interrupted Magdalen.
"Yes, I am left-handed. You knew that by the hems?
You would make a capital lawyer," Mrs. Storms said, laugh
ingly. Then, excusing herself a moment, she left the room,
but soon returned, bringing a patch-work quilt, made from bits
of delaine.
Conspicuous among these were blocks of the same material
as the two spotted dresses. To these blocks Mrs. Storms
called Magdalen's attention.
" I had a baby then, a boy, Charlie, he is dead now, and
these are pieces of the dress Mrs. Grey gave to him. She
bought enough for him and her baby, too, and I made them
both and then found there was still material for another, pro
vided the sleeves were short and the neck low. So I made
that at the very last, and as Laura's trunk was full she put it in
her satchel."
Mr. Grey's hand deepened its grasp on one whom he now
knew to be his child beyond a doubt, and who said to Mrs.
3torms :
" Did she go from here alone to Cincinnati, and about what
time?"
" It was in April, and must have been nineteen years ago.
I know by Charlie's age. I had hurt my ankle and Mr. Storms
was going with her, but at the last something happened, I don't
remember what, and he did not go. She said a great many
harsh things about her mother-in-law and sister, and about their
taking her baby from her, and the night before she went was
more excited than I ever saw her, but I did not think her crazy.
There was no railroad then, and she went by stage, and from
Cincinnati sent me a note that she was safejy there and
Iff CYNTHIANA. 319
about to start for the East. I wondered a little she never
wrote to me, but fancied she was with her grand friends and in
her handsome house and had forgotten poor folks like us, and I
would not write first. Then I had a great deal of trouble pretty
soon.
" Charlie died, and Mr. Storms' lungs gave out, and I went to
Florida with him and buried him there, and after six years came
back to Cynthiana. So you see there was a good deal of one
thing and another to put Laura out of my mind."
Many more questions were asked and explanations and sug
gestions made until it was preposterous for Magdalen to re
quire more testimony. She was Mr. Grey's daughter, she
believed it now, and her heart throbbed with ecstasy when she
remembered Alice, whom she already loved so much. There
was also a feeling of unutterable tenderness and pity for the
poor crazy woman who had suddenly come up in the capacity
of her mother. She could, aye, she did love her, all wrecked
and shattered and imbecile as she was ; but she could not so
soon respond to the affection which showed itself in every linea
ment of Mr. Grey's face and thrilled in the tone of his voice as
he wound his arm around her neck, and drawing her closely to
him said, with deep emotion :
"Magdalen, my daughter, my darling child! Heaven has
been better to me than I deserved."
He stooped and kissed her lips, but she did not give him back
any answering caress, except as she suffered him to hold her in
his embrace. He felt the coldness of her manner, and it affected
him deeply, but there was no opportunity then for any words
upon the subject. The train was coming which would take
them to Cincinnati, and so after a little further conversation
with Mrs. Storms, whom Mr. Grey resolved to remember in
some substantial form, they bade her good-by and were soon
on their way to the city.
32O FATHER AND DAUGHTER.
CHAPTER XLIV.
FATHER AND DAUGHTER.
HERE was no longer a shadow of doubt that Mr.
Grey and Magdalen bore to each other the relation ol
father and child. He had been satisfied with far less
testimony than Magdalen required, and even she was satisfied
at last, though she suggested the propriety of ascertaining from
Roger if his remembrances of the woman who had left her with
him tallied with Mrs. Storms' description of Mrs. Grey as she
was when she left Cynthiana. To this Mr. Grey assented, and
proposed that as personal interviews were always more satis
factory than letters, Guy should go to Schodick, leaving himself
and Magdalen to rest a day or so in Cincinnati, and then
return to Beechwood, where Guy would join them with his
report. Magdalen had half hoped he might go himself, though
she knew how he must shrink from a meeting with Roger Ir
ving, and mingled with her happiness in having found both
parents and sister was a keen sense of pain as she thought how
the gulf between herself and Roger was widened by the dis
covery of her lineage.
" Roger will hate me now, perhaps," she said to herself, when
alone in her room at the hotel she sat down to rest and tried to
realize her position.
Guy was going early the next morning before she was up,
and if she would send any message to Roger it must be written
that night. Once she thought to write him a long letter, beg
ging him for her sake and Alice's, whom he was sure to love,
to forgive her father all the wrong he had done, and to come to
them at Beechwood, where he would receive a cordial welcome.
But after a moment's reflection she felt that she was hardly
warranted in writing thus. His cordial welcome from all par
ties was not so certain. Mr. Grey had not intimated a wish to
sec him or hinted at anything like gratitude for all Roger had
FATHER AND DAUGHTER. $21
done for her. It would be pleasanter both for Roger and her
father never to meet. She could not invite hirn to Beechwood
and so with a gush of tears she took her pen and wrote to him
hastily :
" MR. IRVING : Can you forgive rne when you hear who I
am, and will you try to think of me as you did in the days
which now seem so very far in the past. I have been your
ruin, Roger. I have brought to you almost every trouble you
ever knew, and now to all the rest I must add this, that I am
the child of your worst enemy, Arthur Grey. Don't hate me
for it, will you ? Alice, who is much better than I, would say
it was God's way of letting you return good for evil. 1 wish
you would think so, too, and I wish I could tell you all I feel,
and how grateful I am to you for what you have done for me.
If I could I would repay it, but I am only a girl, and the debt
is too great ever to be cancelled by me. May Heaven reward
you as you deserve.
" Your grateful MAGDALEN.
" P. S. Mr. Seymour will tell you the particulars of my
strange story. You will like him. There is not a drop of
Grey blood in his veins."
This was Magdalen's letter, which she handed to Guy in her
father's presence when she went to say good-night to the two
gentlemen in the parlor.
"Will you write to Mr. Irving, too?" she asked Mr. Grey,
who shook his head, while a look of embarrassment and pain
flitted across his face.
" Not now, some time perhaps I may. I am truly grateful
to him, and Guy must tell him so. Guy will know just what to
say. I leave it in his hands."
Mr. Grey was not quite like himself that night, and when
next morning Magdalen met him at breakfast, he still seemed
abstracted and absent-minded, and but little inclined to talk.
When breakfast was over, however, he went with her to her
14*
322 FATHER AND DAUGHTER.
room, and sitting down beside her grasped her hands in his,
and said :
" Magdalen, my child, I never expected to see this day,
never thought there was so much happiness in store for me,
a happiness I have not deserved, and which still is not unmixed
with pain and humiliation. Magdalen, my daughter," he con
tinued, " there is something between us which should not be
between a father and his child. I feel it in your manners, and
see it in your face, and hear it in your voice. What is it,
Magdalen ? "
He was talking very kindly, and sadly too, and the tears
glittered in Magdalen's eyes, but she did not reply. She could
not tell him all the hard things she had written against him in
her heart, before she knew him to be her father, but he guessed
them in part, and continued :
" Penelope told you something of your mother's story. I
wonder if she told you all ? "
"Yes, all that I ever care to hear," Magdalen replied. "I
know of her clandestine marriage, her wretched life at Beech-
wood, of their taking Alice from her, and of of your cruel
neglect of her."
She said the last hesitatingly, for there was something in the
blue eyes fastened upon her which prevented her saying as
hard things as she felt.
"Yes, it's all true, and more," Mr. Grey replied. "Penelope
could not tell you as bad as it was, for she never knew all. I
did neglect your mother when she needed me the most. I liked
my ease. I could not endure scenes. I was afraid of mother.
I acted a coward's part, and Laura suffered for it. She was
beautiful once, oh, so beautiful when I first met her in her
sweet young girlhood ! She was much like you, and I loved her
as well as I was capable of loving then. I had been thwarted
and crossed, and had done things for which I have always been
sorry, but never as sorry as since I have known you were my
child, for there is something in your face which seems contin
ually to reproach me for the past, and until I have made you my
FATHER AND DAUGHTER.
confession, I feel that there cannot be perfect confidence be
tween us. I think I had seen you before you came to Beech
wood."
" Yes, in Belvidere, at Mrs. living's grave, though I did not
know who you were. I had not heard of you then"
She knew about Jessie, Mr. Grey was sure of that, and with
something between a sigh and a groan, he said :
" You have heard of that sad affair too, I see ; but perhaps
you don't know all, and how I was deceived."
"Yes, I know all. I have seen Mrs. Irving' s letter the
one she wrote on board the ' Sea Gull,' and to which you
added a postscript. Mr. Grey, why did you write so coldly ?
Why did you express no sorrow for what you had done ? Why
did you leave a doubt of Jessie to sting and torment poor
Roger, the truest, the best man that ever lived ? "
Magdalen was confronting her father with poor Jessie's
wrongs, and he felt that, if possible, she resented them more
than those done to her mother.
" I was a fiend, a demon in those days," he said. " I hated
the old man who had won the prize I coveted so much. I did
not care how deeply I wounded him. I wanted him to feel as
badly as I felt when I first knew I had lost her. I was angry
with fate, which had thwarted me a second time and taken her
from me just as I thought possession secure. I did not de
spair of coaxing her to go with me at last, that is, I hoped I
might, for I knew her pliant nature ; but death came between
us, and even in that terrible hour, when the water around me
was full of drowning, shrieking wretches, I cursed aloud when
I saw her golden hair float on the waves far beyond my reach,
and then go down for ever."
He shuddered as if with cold, was silent a moment, and then
went on :
" I loved Jessie Morton as I have never loved a woman
since, not even your mother. I went to Belvidere just because
she had once lived there. I met you in the graveyard, and
ivas struck with your eyes, which reminded me of Laura. I
324 FATHER AND DAUGHTER.
never dreamed you were my child, but I was interested in you,
and made you a part of the little pencil sketch I drew of the
yard. That picture has often excited Alice's curiosity, for it
was hung in my room at home. When you came and I heard
you were from Millbank I hid the sketch away, lest you should
see it and recognize the place and wonder how I came by it.
You see I am telling you everything, and I may as well con
fess that when Penelope told me you were from Millbank I
wished you had never come to us. We usually hate what we
have injured, and anything connected with the Irvings has been
very distasteful to me, and I could not endure to hear the
name."
" But you would like Roger; he is the best, the noblest of
men ! " Magdalen exclaimed, so vehemently that her father
must have been dull indeed if he had failed to see how strong
a hold Roger Irving had on Magdalen's affections.
He did see it, but could not sympathize with her then, or at
once lay aside all his olden prejudice against the Irvings, and it
would be long before Magdalen would feel that in her love for
Roger she had her father's cordial sympathy.
" I have no doubt you speak truly," he said, " and some time,
perhaps, I may see him and tell him myself that his mother
was pure, and good, and innocent as an angel ; but now I wish
to talk of something else, to tell you of my former life, so you
may know just the kind of father you have found."
Magdalen would rather not have listened to the story which
followed, and which had in it so much of wrong, but there was
no alternative. Mr. Grey was resolved upon a full confession,
and he made it, and when the recital was finished, he said :
" I have kept nothing from you. I would rather you should
know me as I am. I have told you what I could never tell to
Alice. She could not bear it ; but you are different Alice
leans on me, while something assures me that I can lean on
you. I am growing old. I have a heavy burden to bear. I
want you to help me ; want you to trust me ; to love me, if you
can. I have sinned greatly against your mother ; have helped
AT BEECHWOOD. 325
to make her what she is. But I have tried to be kind to he!
these many years ; and I ask you, her child and mine, to for
give all that is past and try to love me, if only ever so little.
Will you, Magdalen?"
He held his hands toward her, and Magdalen took them in
hers, and by the kisses and tears dropped upon them, Arthur
Grey knew that there was a better understanding between him
self and Magdalen than had existed an hour ago ; that she knew
the worst there was to know of him, and would, in time, see
and appreciate the better side of his character, and with this he
was content, and seemed much like himself, the courtly, pol
ished gentleman, whose attentions were almost lover-like, and
who showed in every look and action how thoroughly he be
lieved in and how fast his love and interest was increasing for
the beautiful girl who had been so conclusively proved to be
his daughter.
CHAPTER XLV.
AT BEECHWOOD.
[T was not possible for Mrs. Seymour to keep perfectly
quiet with regard to the cause of Magdalen's sudden
journey to Cincinnati, especially as Alice herself
talked and wondered so much about it. Little by little it came
out, until Alice had heard the entire story, which made her for
a time almost as crazy as Laura herself. A few lines from
Guy written hurriedly in the cars, on his way to Schodick, told
her at last that what she hoped was true, and then in the soli
tude of her room she knelt, and amid tears of joy and choking
sobs paid her vows of praise and thanksgiving, and asked that
she might be made worthy of the priceless gift so suddenly be
stowed upon her. The next day a telegram from her father
tpprised her that he would be home that night " with Magdalen,
326 AT BEECHWOOD.
your sister;" and Alice kissed the words "your sister," and re-
peating them softly to herself went dancing about the house,
now explaining to the astonished servants, and again trying to
convey some definite idea to the darkened mind of her mother.
But Laura's only answer was, "Baby is in the cradle. I see
her if you do not."
She was, however, pleased that Magdalen was coming home,
and asked to be made " tidy and nice, so that Magda would be
glad."
Once, as Alice was buttoning the clean wrapper and arrang
ing the crimson shawl, which gave a soft tint to the sallow,
faded face, the poor creature's lip quivered a little as she said,
" Am I really nice, and will Arthur kiss me, think you ? I
wish he would. It might make me better. Your talk of Cin
cinnati has brought queer things back to me, and sometimes I
can almost get hold of how it was, then it goes again. I wish
Arthur would kiss me."
" I hope he will. I think he will," Alice said, her own kisses
falling in showers upon the wasted face of the invalid, who
seemed more rational than she had for many weeks.
As the day wore on and the hour approached for the travel
lers to arrive, Alice grew very restless and impatient, and would
not for an instant leave the window where she watched anx
iously for the carriage.
" They are coming ; they are here," she cried at last, and
running into the hall she was the first to welcome Magdalen,
whose face was drenched with tears, and whose heart throbbed
with an entirely new sensation of happiness as she felt Alice's
kisses upon her lips and the tight clasp of her arms about her
neck.
Aunt Penelope came next, and though her greeting was more
in accordance with perfect propriety, there was much genuine
affection and kindness in it, and Magdalen knew that she be
lieved in her and accepted her as a niece. Mr. Grey was no
where to be seen. He had stood an instant and looked on
when Alice and Magdalen first met, then he vanished from sight,
AT BEECHWOOD. 32?
and Alice found him half an hour later in her rr.other's room,
whither he had gone at once. Perhaps the recovery of his
daughter had brought back something of his olden love for
Laura, or there were really better impulses at work within, for
his first thought was for his wife, and when, as he came in, she
asked if " She did not look nice," he stooped and kissed her as
he had not done in years ; and the poor creature, who had
known so much suffering, clung to him, and laying her aching
head upon his bosom, sobbed and wept like a child, saying to
herself, "he did, he did kiss me, he did "
" Laura," Mr. Grey said, softly, when she had grown a little
calm, " try to understand me, won't you ? The lost baby is
found. It is Magdalen, too, whom a kind man took care of.
We have seen Mrs. Storms in Cynthiana; you remember her?"
Laura remembered Mrs. Storms, and for a few moments the
fixed expression of her eyes and the drawn look about her fore
head and mouth showed that reason was making a tremendous
effort to grasp and retain what she heard. But it had been
dethroned too long to penetrate the darkness now, and when
she spoke, it was to assert that " baby was in the cradle over
there ; Magdalen was too big to be her baby." Hopeless and
disheartened, Mr. Grey desisted in his attempts to make her
understand, but stayed by her tilf Alice came to say that dinner
waited.
It was thought best that Magdalen should not see Laura
until the next morning, when it was hoped that she might convey
some definite idea to her mind. They were to meet alone, and
after breakfast Magdalen repaired to the sick-room, and enter
ing unannounced, was received by her mother with outstretched
arms and a cry of joy.
"You've been gone long, Magda, so long," she said,
" and my head has ached so for you."
"But I've come now to stay always. I have found the
baby, too. Let me tell you about it," Magdalen replied, con
trolling her own emotions with a mighty effort, and keeping as
calm and composed as it was possible for her to do. " I'll
328 AT BEECHWOOD
make it like a story," she said ; and Laura listened very quietly
while Magdalen, beginning at the funeral of Mrs. Clayton,
went over the whole ground correctly, until she reached the
cars and the boy who took the baby.
Then she purposely deviated from the truth, and said it was
a woman to whom the child was given.
" No, no, not a woman," Laura exclaimed, vehemently.
" It was a boy, and I sat with him, and my head was all in a
snarl. I fell when I got out of the stage in Cincinnati, and
struck it a heavy blow on the pavement, and it set to buzzing
so loud."
Here was something of which Magdalen had never heard ;
the blow on the head would account for the culmination of the
queer fancies which must have been gathering in Laura's brain
for months and years, and which broke out suddenly into de
cided insanity. If that were true she could understand better
than she did before why she had been abandoned ; but she did
not stop then to reason about it. She was too anxious to keep
her mother to the point, and when she paused a moment she
said to her, " You fell and hurt your head on the pavement,
and then got into the train."
"Yes, the next day, or the next, I don't know which, my
head ached so, and I didn't know anybody to tell, and I had
baby to care for, and I thought the Grand Duchess would get
her as she did Alice, and shut me up, and the boy looked good
and true, and I gave her to him, and got out and thought I'd
run away, and there was another train standing there, and I
took it and went I don't know where, nor what else, only I was
back in Cincinnati again, and after a great while got here to
the Grand Duchess, with the baby safe as safe could be. My
head was sore a long time, but I did not tell them about the
blow for fear they'd say I was crazy, but they said it just the
same."
She was getting excited, and anxious to make the most of
the present opportunity, Magdalen took up the story herself,
and told what the boy did with the child, and how he called
AT BEECHWOOD. 329
her Magdalen, after the same lady for whom Mrs. Grey had
named her, and how the child grew to a woman, and came out
at last to Beechwood, sent there by Heaven to find her sister v
and minister to her poor mother, who did not know her at first,
but who would surely know her now.
"Don't you, mother ; don't you know I am your daughter
Magdalen ? "
For an instant Laura seemed to comprehend her. There
was a perplexed look on her face, then her lip began to quiver
and her tears to come, and throwing her arms around Magda
len's neck, she said, " Mother, mother, you call me that as
Alice does. You say you are the baby, and Arthur said so too.
I wish I could remember, but I can't. Oh, I don't know what
you mean, but you make me so happy ! "
And that was Magdalen's success, with which she tried to be
satisfied, hoping there might come a time when the cloud would
lift enough for her to hear her mother call her daughter, and
feel that she knew what she was saying.
The next day Guy came from Schodick. Magdalen was the
first to meet him, and her eyes asked the question her lips
would never have uttered.
" No, Miss Grey" Guy said, laughingly, adopting the name
which sounded so oddly to her. "He did not send any
written reply to your note. There is some confounded bother
on his mind, I could not divine what ; something which sealed
his lips, though his face and eyes and manner had ' Magdalen,
Magdalen,' written all over and through them. Don't look so
sorry, cousin," he continued, winding his arm around her waist,
" and don't try to look so innocent, either. I guessed the whole
thing when you handed me the note, and I know it for certain
now. You love Roger Irving, he loves you. There is nothing
truer than that, but there is something between you, what, I
don't know, but I'll find it out. I'll clear it up. He is a
splendid fellow, and almost idolized, I judge, by the people of
Schodick. Not much like his nephew Frank, "
33 AT BEECHWOOD.
Here Guy stopped suddenly, for Mr. Grey was coming in
with Alice, who asked the result of his visit to Mr. Irving.
" I have learned but little that we did not know before," Guy
said. "Mr. Irving's description of the woman who left the
child tallies exactly with what I should suppose Mrs. Grey
might have been at that time. A woman of twenty or there
abouts, medium size, dressed in mourning, carrying a satchel,
with black hair and eyes, the woman I mean, not the satchel,
restless, peculiar eyes they were, and he said he had frequently
noticed the same peculiarity about Magdalen's, which means,
I take it, that they flash and glow and raise the mischief with a
fellow."
He gave a comical look at Magdalen, and did not observe
the frown on Mr. Grey's face, but Magdalen did, and felt a
throb of pain as she saw a new obstacle laid across the path to
Roger. There were many things she wanted to ask Guy
about that home in Schodick which she could not ask with her
father and Alice present, and she felt as if she must cry out
right with pain and disappointment. Guy, however, was not
one to lose much of what was passing around him, and after
telling Mr. Grey the particulars of his interview with Roger, he
sauntered towards the library, knowing that Magdalen would
follow him. And she did, and blushed scarlet at the whistle
he gave as he said, " I knew you would come. Now what
shall I tell you? What do you want to know most?"
He had her secret. There was no use in trying to conceal
it, and Magdalen did not try, but said, "Don't laugh at me,
Guy. Think what Roger has been to me all these years, and
tell me how he looks, and about the house, and does he work
very hard ? Oh, Guy, he was made poor by me, you know,
and I have all my wages saved up ready to send him, but now
I can't earn any more, and what I've got is so little."
Her tears were rolling down her cheeks, but she brushed
them away and looked half indignantly at Guy, who laughed
merrily as he said : "The absurdity of your sending money to
R ger. He does not need it ; take my word for that. The
AT BEECHWOOD. 331
house is old, old as the hills, I reckon, judging from its archi
tecture, but very comfortable and neat as a lady's slipper. I
saw no marks of poverty. The neighbors did not send in any
thing while I was there, and we had a grand dinner. I dined
with him, you see, on solid silver, too, with wine and Malaga
grapes ; though come to think of it, the grapes were a present
from Frank, who sent a box from New York. That Frank is
living fast and doing the magnificent on a great scale, I reckon,
but I'd rather be Roger than he."
" Didn't Roger say anything to my note? " Magdalen asked,
more interested in that than in Frank and Malaga grapes.
" No, he didn't, except, 'Tell Magdalen I will answer this by
and by,' " Guy said ; " but he seemed glad for you in one sense,
and then again he didn't. I should say, if I am any judge of
mankind, that he was afraid that the gulf between the rich
Miss Grey and the poor Mr. Irving was wider than he could
span, but I may be mistaken ; at all events it is sure to come
right in time. As I said before, he is a splendid chap, and you
have my consent."
Guy was very hopeful, very comforting, and Magdalen felt
better after this talk with him, and looked anxiously for the
letter which Roger was to send, and which came at last. A
kind, brotherly letter, in which he said how glad he was for her
that she had found her friends, and disclaimed all idea of her
having ever brought trouble to him.
" You have been the source of the greatest happiness I have
ever enjoyed," he wrote ; " and I would give a dozen fortunes
rather than not have known you, and enjoyed you for the few
years I called you mine, my sister, my child, my Magda. Once
I could have cursed the man who lured my mother to her ruin,
and cursed his children, too ; but I did not then dream that
such a curse would cover the beautiful child of my adoption.
Heaven bless you, Magda, in all your new relations ! Heaven
make you happy in them as you deserve to be ! Once I hoped
I might see you at Schodick, and I have thought how I would
take you around the old farm, and to the places hallowed
332 AT BEECHWOOD.
by my mother's footsteps, and pictured to myself just what yos
would say, and just how you would look. But that dream is
over now. I cannot ask you to come. You would not care
to, nor your father care to have you. Remember me to him,
if you like. . Since I know he is your father, I feel no bitterness
toward him. Good-by ! And God bless you, and bring you,
at last, to the Heaven where I hope to find my little girl again ! "
This was Roger's letter, over which Magdalen wept tears of
pain, mingled with tears of joy, joy, that he loved her still,
for only in that way coukl she construe some portions of his
letter ; and pain that he should write as if all intercourse be
tween them was necessarily at an end ; that he was probably
never to see her ; she never to go to Schodick, when she had
within the last few days thought so much about it, and planned
how she could, perhaps, get her father and Alice to go with
her, and thus show Roger to them. That plan had failed, that
castle fallen, and Magdalen wept its fall, wondering what had
come over Roger, and what he meant by some portions of his
letter. She did not know how, for a moment, Roger had
writhed under the knowledge that she was the daughter of
Arthur Grey ; or how the fact had seemed at once to build an
iron wall between him and the girl he loved better than his life.
Then, just as he was recovering from the first great shock, and
hope was beginning to make itself heard again, Guy had un
wittingly put his oar into the troubled waters, and made them
ten times worse. In his enthusiasm about Magdalen, whom
he extolled as all that was lovely and desirable, he gave Roger
the impression that between himself and Magdalen there
already existed an intimacy which would ripen into relations
of a closer nature than mere friends. And Roger listened to
him with a face which told no tales, and a heart which throbbed
with jealousy and pain ; and then, feeling that he must know
something definite, said to him, just as he was leaving :
" Excuse me, Mr. Seymour, if I seem impertinent. From
what you have said, I gather that you hope, one day, to be
more to Mr. Grey than his sister's nephew."
THE CLOUDS BREAK OVER BEECHWOOD. 333
And Guy, thinking only of Alice at that moment, Lad
replied :
"You are something of a Yankee, 1 guess. But you are
right in your conjectures. I do hope to be more to Mr. Grey
than his sister's nephew; but there's no telling. Girls are
riddles, you know."
And then good-natured, kind-hearted Guy had gone his way,
leaving in Roger's mind an impression which drifted his life
farther and farther away from Magdalen, whose heart went
out after him now with a stronger desire than it had ever
known before.
CHAPTER XLVI.
THE CLOUDS BREAK OVER BEECHWOOD.
CKNOWLEDGED by every one as the daughter of
the Greys, caressed and idolized by Alice, petted by
Aunt Penelope, and treated by Mr. Grey with the
utmost tenderness and deference, Magdalen would have
been perfectly happy but for one unfulfilled desire which was
the skeleton at her side. Between herself and Alice there
was perfect confidence, while she was learning daily more and
more to respect her father, who omitted nothing which could
tend to win her love. To her mother she was the same gentle
nurse who never grew weary, but who sat hour after hour by
the bedside, repeating over and over again the story of the
lost child, until Laura knew it by heart and would correct her
at once if she deviated ever so little. There was a change
gradually stealing over the invalid, a change both in body and
mind. She was far more quiet, and did not rock the cradle as
much as formerly, and once, when Magdalen had finished hex
story for the second time that day, she said to her, " I think I
have heard it enough to know that baby is not in the crib, and
334 THE CLOUDS BREAK OVER BEECHWOOD.
never has been. Take it away, where I can't rock it again
and make Arthur so nervous."
They carried it out, Alice and Magdalen together, and
put it away, each -feeling, as they left it, as if turning from a
little grave. Laura never spoke of it but once, and that was
to her husband. Pointing to the place where it had stood so
long, she said with a smile, " Do you see it is gone ? It will
never keep you awake again. Kiss me, Arthur, for I, too, shall
be gone before long."
He kissed her, more than once, and put his arms about her,
and felt how small and thin she had grown ; then looking into
her face he saw the change which only Magdalen had noticed.
The burden was lifting, the cloud was breaking, and Laura was
passing away. There was no particular disease, only a gradual
breaking up of the springs of life, and as the days grew longer
and warmer she drooped more and more, until at last she
never left her bed all day, and rarely spoke except to Magdalen,
who was with her constantly. Sometimes it seemed as if there
was a gleam of reason struggling through the darkness which
had shrouded her mind so long, but it never went much furthei
than such expressions as, " I think I do remember the boy with
the kind voice and soft blue eyes, to whom I gave Magdalen,
but I can't quite make out how that Magdalen and this are
one."
" I would not try now ; I'd go to sleep and rest," Magdalen
would say, and obedient to the voice she always heeded, Laura
would grow quiet and fall again into the deep slumber so
common to her now.
In this way she lingered on for a few weeks, and then died
quietly one morning in early June, when her husband was in New
York and only Magdalen and Alice were with her. They knew
that she was failing, but they had not thought the end so near,
and were greatly shocked when, at a faint call from her, they
hastened to her side and saw the pinched look about her nose,
the deep pallor about her lips, and the sweat-drops upon her
brow.
THE CLOUDS BREAK OVER BEECHWOOD. 335
"Let me go for aunty," Alice said, but her mother answered,
" Noj Alice, there won't be time. I'm going somewhere, going
away from here, and I want you and Magda to stay. It's
getting night, and the way is dark, and life is very weary. Give
me your hands, both of you, my children."
She acknowledged Magdalen, and with a cry the young girl
fell on her knees beside the bed, exclaiming, " Mother, oh
mother, you do know I am your child. Call me that once
more."
But Laura's mind was going out after one who was not there,
and she only whispered, " Where is Arthur ? Allie, where is
your father ? "
"In New York," was the reply, and a shadow flitted over
the otherwise placid face, as Laura rejoined, " Always in New
York, the old, old story. I wish he was here ; tell him, will
you, that I am gone, and before I went I left word I was sorry
I had troubled him so much. I'd like to kiss him again.
Magda, let me kiss you for him ; give it to him for me, and if
I don't look very bad, ask him to kiss me back, but not unless
I'm decent looking. He's fastidious, and fancies pretty faces."
She wound her arms about Magdalen's neck and her cold
lips gave the kiss for Arthur. It was their last ; they never
moved again, and when Magdalen unclasped the clinging arms
from her neck and laid the poor head which had ached so long
back upon the pillow, she saw that her mother was dead. They
telegraphed at once for Mr. Grey, who reached home just at
nightfall. They had dressed Laura in white and laid her on
the couch with flowers in her hands and flowers on her pillow,
and as if in answer to her wishes, the old worn look had passed
entirely from her face, which looked smooth and fair and
younger than the face of forty is wont to look. Many traces
of her soft, girlish beauty clung to her still, and Mr. Grey, when
first he went into the room and drew aside the muslin which
covered her face, started, and uttered an exclamation of sur
prise at the unexpected beauty of his wife. He did like pretty
faces, and he was glad that the Laura, who lay there dead, was
335 THE CLOUDS BREAK OVER BEECHWOOD.
like the girl he had loved so passionately for a few brief months.
The sight of her as she was now with the placid look on hei
white face and the long eyelashes shading her cheek, brought
back something of his former love for Laura Clayton, and
kneeling beside her he wept tears of sorrow and regret for the
life which had been so full of sorrow.
" Laura, poor Laura," he said, and his hand fondled the cold
cheek which would never again glow beneath his touch, " I
wish you could know I am here beside you, and how sorry I
am for the past. Dear Laura, I wish you had forgiven me
before you died."
" She did, father, and I am here to tell you what she said."
It was Magdalen's voice which spoke and Magdalen who
knelt by the weeping man, calling him father for the first time in
her life ! Passing the open door she had heard his words of
grief, and her first impulse was to comfort him. It was very
meet that there in the presence of the dead mother she should
call him father, and the name fell involuntarily from her lips,
sending a thrill of joy through his heart, and causing him to look
up as she knelt beside him and press her closely to his heart.
" Bless you, Magdalen, my darling, my daughter ; bless you
for calling me by that name. I have longed so for it, have wanted
so to hear it. I shall be a better man. I am a better man.
I believe in Alice's God, and here by Laura's side, in His pres
ence and yours, I acknowledge my past transgressions. I re
nounce my infidel notions, in which I really never did believe.
I wish to be forgiven. I pray that Jessie and Laura, both of
whom I wronged, may have met together in the Heaven to
which I am unfit to go."
He was talking more to himself than to Magdalen, who, when
he had finished, told him of Laura's last moments, omitting
everything which could give him pain and telling him only of
the kindly message left for him. " She wanted to kiss you,"
Magdalen said, "and as you were not here, she gave it to me
foi you. This was mother's kiss for my father;" and Magda-
BELL BURLEIGH. 337
len's lips were pressed against the lips of Mr. Grey, who broke
down entirely and sobbed like a little child.
Could Laura have looked into that room, she surely would
have been satisfied with the tears and kisses given her by her
husband, who sat there until midnight, and whom the early
morning found at her side. Had she been always as young and
fair and as dearly loved as when he first called her his wife, he
could not have seemed more sad or expressed more sorrow
than he did. Everything which could be done for a dead per
son was done for her, and her funeral was arranged with as
much care as if she had been a blessing rather than a trouble
to the house over whose threshold they bore her, on a beautiful
summer's day, out to the little family cemetery on the hillside,
where they buried her beside the proud old woman, who made
no demur when the plebeian form was laid beside her.
CHAPTER XLVII.
BELL BURLEIGH.
fHERE was to be a wedding in St. James's Church,
Boston, and the persons most interested were Isabella
Helena Burleigh and B. Franklin Irving, whose bridal
cards were sent to Beechwood one morning a few weeks
after Laura's death. It was to be a most brilliant affair, and
was creating considerable excitement both in Belvidere and in
Boston, where by virtue of her boasted blood, which she traced
back to Elizabeth's time, and by dint of an indomitable will,
Miss Burleigh was really quite a belle. It was her Mood
which had won upon Mrs. Walter Scott, who said she thought
more of family pedigree than money, and Miss Burleigh's, pedi
gree was without taint of any kind. Sp Mrs. Walter Scott was
pleased, or feigned to be 50, and went tQ Boston, and took
338 BELL BURLEIGH.
rooms at the Revere, at fifteen dollars per day, and ha*l her
rneals served in her private parlor ; and Fiank brought down
his own horses and carriage, and took another suite of rooms,
and paid at the rate of twenty dollars per day for all his ex
travagances in the way of cigars and wine, and friends invited
to dinner. His evenings he spent with his bride-elect in her
home on Beacon Street, where everything betokened that the
proprietors were not rich in worldly goods, if they were in
blood.
The Burleighs were very poor, else the spirited Bell, who
had more brains than heart, had never accepted Frank Irving.
She knew just what he was, and, alone with her young sister
Grace, mimicked him, and called him " green," and when she
was with him in company, shivered, and grew hot and cold,
and angry at some of his remarks, which betokened so little
sense.
He was gentlemanly to a certain extent, and knew all the
ins and outs of good society ; but he was not like the men
with whom Bell Burleigh had associated all her life ; not like
the men she respected for what was in their heads rather than
in their purse. But as these men had thus far been unattaina
ble, and the coffers at home were each year growing lower and
lower as her father grew older and older, Bell swallowed all senti
ment, and the ideas she had once had of a husband to whom
she could look up, and accepted Frank Irving and Millbank.
But not without her price. She made Frank pay for her
blood and charms, and pay munificently, too. First, one hun
dred thousand dollars were to be settled on herself, to do with
as she pleased. Next, sister Grace and her father were both
to live with her at Millbank, and Frank was to clothe and sup-
port Grace as if she were his own sister. Then, her brother
Charlie's bills at college must be paid, and after he was gradu
ated he must come to Millbank as his home until he went
into business.
These were Bell's terms, and Frank winced a little and hesi
tated, and when she had told him to take time to consider, he
BELL BURLEIGH. 339
took it ac.d did consider, and decided that it would not pay,
and went for a few weeks to New York, where at the Fifth
Avenue Hotel he came again upon the Burleighs. Bell
knew just how to manage him, and ere he had been there three
days he was as much in love with her as ever, and madly jeal
ous of every one who paid her marked attentions. The price
she asked seemed as nothing compared with herself, and one
evening after she had been unusually fascinating and brilliant,
and had snubbed him dreadfully, he wrote a note accepting
her terms, and begging her to name an early day and put him
out of torture. In her dressing-gown, with her own hair falling
about her shoulders and her braids and curls of false hair lying
on the bureau, Bell read the note, and felt for a moment that
she despised and hated the man who wrote it, just because he
had acceded to her unreasonable demands.
" I wish he had decided otherwise. I would almost rather
die than marry him," she thought, while her eyes put on a
darker look and her face a paler hue.
Then she thought of the home on Beacon Street, of the
pinching poverty, the efforts to keep up appearances, of her
father growing so old, and of herself, not so young as she was
once, twenty-eight, the Bible said, though she passed for
twenty-five ; then she thought of Charlie, her young brother,
and glanced at Grace, her only sister, who lay sleeping so
quietly before her. All the love Bell Burleigh had was centred
in her father, her brother, and in Grace, the fair young girl, with
soft blue eyes and golden hair, who was as unlike her sister as
possible, and who was awakened by Bell's tears on her face,
and Bell's kisses on her brow.
"What is it, Bell?" she asked, sitting up in bed, and rub
bing her eyes in a sleepy kind of way,
Bell did not say, "I have sold myself for you," But "Re
joice, Grace, that we are never again to know what poverty
means ; never to pinch and contriv e and save and do things we
are ashamed of in order to keep up. I am going to marry
Mr. Irving, and you are all to live with me at Millbank.
340 BELL BURLE1GH.
Grace was wide awake now, and looking earnestly in her
sister's face for a moment, said :
" You marry that Mr. Irving, you, Bell ? There is not a thing
in common between you, unless you love him. Do you ? "
" Hush, Grace ; don't speak of love to me," and Bell's voice
had in it a hard, bitter tone. " I parted company with that
sentiment years ago, before you could understand. You have
heard of Dr. Patterson, missionary to India ? I would
once have gone with him to the ends of the earth, but mother
said I was too young, too giddy, and the Board thought so, too.
I was not quite seventeen, and I defied those old fogy ministers
to their faces, and when they asked me so coldly if I supposed
myself good enough to be a missionary, I answered that I was
going for the love I bore to Fred, and not to be a missionary,
or because I thought myself good as they termed goodness.
And so it was broken off, and Fred went without me, and as
they said he must have a wife, he took a tall, red-haired woman
many years his senior, but who, to her other qualifications,
added the fact that she was a professor, and believed herself
called to a missionary life. She is dead now, and her grave is
on the banks of the Ganges. But Fred's life and mine have
drifted widely apart ; I am no wife for him now. I have grown
too hard, and reckless, and selfish, and too fond of the world,
to share his home in India. And so all I have to remind me
of the past as connected with him is one letter, the last he ever
wrote me, and a lock of his hair, black hair, not tow color"
and Bell smiled derisively, while Grace knew that she was
thinking of Frank, whose hair, though not exactly tow color,
was far from being black.
Bell paused a moment, and then went on :
"You know how poor we are, and how we struggle to keep
up, and how much father owes. Our home is mortgaged for
more than it is worth, and so is every article of any value in it.
I should like brains if I could get them set off with money, but
as I cannot, I have concluded to take the money. I have
counted the cost. I know what I am about. I shall be Mrs.
BELL BURLEIGH. 341
Franklin Irving, and pay our debts, and keep you all with me,
and be happy."
She said the last very slowly, and there was a look of pain in
the eyes of this girl who had once thought to be a missionary's
wife, and who had in her many elements of a noble woman.
She did not tell Grace the price she had put upon herself
That was something she would rather her young sister should
not know, and when Grace, whose ideas of marriage were more
what Bell's had been in the days of the Fred Patterson romance,
tried to expostulate, she stopped her short with, " It's of no
use; my mind is made up. I have told you what I have be
cause I knew you would wonder at my choice, and I wanted
you to know some of the causes which led me to make it. I
want your love, your respect, your confidence, Grace, I want "
Bell's lip quivered a little, and she bowed her dark head over
her sister's golden one, and cried a little ; then sat erect, and
the old proud, independent look came back to her face, and
Bell Burleighwas herself again, the calm, resolute, cool-headed
woman of the world, who had sold herself for money and a
home.
They met in the wide entrance hall to the dining-room next
morning, Frank and Bell, and while he stood for a moment,
waiting for his paper, she said a word to him, and they walked
together into breakfast an engaged pair, with quite as much
love and sentiment between them as exists in many and many
an engagement which the world pronounces so eligible and
brilliant.
Bell had some shopping to do that morning, and Frank did not
see her again till just before dinner, when he met and escorted
her to his mother's private parlor, where she was to receive the
priceless boon of Mrs. Walter Scott's blessing. That lady had
heard the news of her son's engagement with a good deal of
eq.ianimity, considering there was no money to be expected.
Like many people of humble birth, Mrs. Walter Scott set a high
value on family and blood, and, as Bell's were both of the first
342 BELL BURLE1GH.
water, she accepted her as her future daughter-ifi-law, wishing
to herself that she was not qui : ;e so independent, and resolute,
and strong-minded, as the absence of these qualities would
render her so much more susceptible to subjugation, for Mrs.
Walter Scott meant to subjugate her.
As Mrs. Franklin Irving, she would, of course, be the nom
inal mistress of Millbank ; but it would be only nominal. Mrs,
Walter Scott would be the real head ; the one to whom every
body would defer, even her daughter-in-law. But she said
nothing of this to Frank. She merely told him she was willing,
that Miss Burleigh was a girl of rare talent and attainments
that she had a great deal of mind, and intellect, and literary
taste, and would shine in any society.
Frank did not care a picayune for Bell's talents, or attain
ments, or literary taste. Indeed he would rather of the two
thai' she had less of these virtues, and did not overshadow
him so completely as he knew she did. Still he was in love
with her, or thought he was, and extolled her to his mother,
but did not speak of the hundred thousand dollars as a mar
riage settlement, or of the arrangement about the Judge and
Charlie and Grace. He would let these things adjust them
selves ; and he had faith in Bell's ability to manage her own
matters quietly, and without his aid.
She was looking very beautiful when he led her to his
mother, arrayed in her heavy purple silk with the white ermine
on the waist and sleeves, and Mrs. Walter Scott thought what a
regal-looking woman she was. There was a deep flush on her
cheek and a sparkle in her black eyes, and her white teeth
glittered between the full, pouting lips which just touched
Mrs. Walter Scott's hand, as she stood to receive the blessing.
When they went into dinner that night after the blissful in
terview, there was about Frank a certain consciousness of
ownership in the beautiful girl who walked beside him and on
whose finger a superb diamond was shining, the seal of her
engagement, and those who noticed them particularly, and to
BELL BURLEIGH. 343
whom Miss Burleigh was known, guessed at the new relations
existing between the two.
This was in the winter, and before Magdalen's parentage was
discovered. Since then the course of true love had run pretty
smoothly for once, and Frank had only felt a single pang, and
that when he heard who Magdalen Lennox was. Then for a
moment all his former love for her came back, and Bell Bur
leigh, who chanced to be at Millbank for a day or so, wondered
what had happened to him that he was so absent-minded and
indifferent to her blandishments. She was very gracious to
him now, feeling that there was something due him for all his
generosity to her, and as she could not give him love in its
truest sense, she would give him civility at least and kindliness
of manner and a show of affection. So when she saw the
shadow on his face, and with a woman's intuition felt that some
thing more than mere business matters had brought it there, she
spoke to him in her softest manner and sang him her sweetest
songs and wore his favorite dress, and twice laid her hand on
his, and asked what was the matter that he looked so gloomy ;
had he heard, bad news ? He told her no, and kissed her fore
head, and felt his blood tingle a little at this unusual demonstra
tion from his fiancee, and so fickle and easily soothed was he,
that beneath the influence of Bell's smile the shadow began to
lift, and in the letter of congratulation which he wrote to Mag
dalen there was nothing but genuine sympathy and rejoicing
that she had found her home at last and a sister like Alice Grey.
He did not tell of his engagement ; he was a little ashamed
to have Magdalen know that he was so soon " off with the old
love and on with the new ;" and so she did not suspect it until
every arrangement was complete and the day for the bridal
fixed. Great was the expenditure for silks and satins and laces
and jewelry, and not only New York and Boston, but Paris,
too, was drawn upon to furnish articles of clothing rare and ex
pensive enough for a bride of Bell Burleigh' s fastidious taste
and extravagant notions. Frank, who grew more and more
proud of his conquest, and consequently more and more in
344 BELL BURLEIGff.
love with his bride-^lect, insisted upon furnishing the bridal
trousseau, and bade her spare neither money nor pains, but
get whatever she wanted at whatever cost. And Bell accepted
his money, and spent it so lavishly that all Boston was alive
with gossip and wonder. There were to be six bridesmaids,
and three of them were to accompany the happy pair for a
week or so at Frank's expense ; and Frank never flinched a
hair, even when presented with the Paris bill, in which were
charges of one hundred dollars and more for just one article of
underclothing. All Bell's linen came ready made from Paris,
and such tucks and ruffles and puffs and flutings and laces had
never been seen before in Boston in so great profusion. And
Bell bore herself like a queen, who had all her life been accus
tomed to Parisian luxury. There was no doubt of her gracing
Millbank or any other home, and Frank each time he saw her
felt more than repaid for the piles and piles of money which
he paid out for her.
At Millbank there was also dressmaking proceeding on a
grand scale, and though Mrs. Walter Scott's wardrobe differed
somewhat from Bell's, inasmuch as it was soberer and older,
the silks were just as heavy and rich, and the laces just as
expensive. New furniture, new table-linen, and new silver
came almost daily to Millbank, together with new pictures, for
one of which the sum of two thousand dollars was paid. When
old Hester Floyd heard of that she could keep quiet no longer,
but vowed " she would go to Belvidere and visit Mrs. Peter
Slocum, who was a distant connection, and would be glad to
have her a spell, especially as she meant to pay her way."
When Hester resolved to do a thing she generally did it,
and as she was resolved to go to Belvidere she at once set
herself to prepare for the journey.
THE WEDDING. 345
CHAPTER XL VIII.
THE WEDDING, AND HESTER FLOYD'S ACCOl NT OF IT.
OGER had written to Frank, congratulating him upon
his approaching marriage, but declining to be present
at the wedding. He wished to know as little as pos
sible of the affairs at Millbank, and tried to dissuade Hester
from her visit to Mrs. Slocum. But Hester would go, and
three days before the great event came off she was installed in
Mrs. Slocum's best chamber, and had presented that worthy
woman with six bottles of canned fruit, ten yards of calico, and
an old coat of Aleck's, which, she said, would cut over nicely
for Johnny, Mrs. Slocum's youngest boy. After these presents,
Hester felt that she was not " spunging," as she called it, and
settled herself quietly to visit, and to reconnoitre, and watch
the proceedings at Millbank. And there was enough to occu
py her time and keep her in a state of great excitement.
The house had been painted brown, and Hester inveighed
against that, and scolded about the shrubbery, which had been
removed, and cried a little over the trees which, at Bell's in
stigation, had been cut down to open a finer view of the river
from the rooms appropriated to the bride. Into these rooms
Hester at last penetrated, as well as into all parts of the house.
Mrs. Walter Scott had gone to Boston, and Frank had gone
with her. Hester saw them as they drove by Mrs. Slocum's in
their elegant new carriage, with their white-gloved colored
driver on the box, and she had represented her blood as " bilin'
like a caldron kettle, to see them as had no business a-ridin'
through the country and spending Roger's money."
She knew where they were going, and that the coast was clear
at Millbank, and with Mrs. Slocum, who was on good terms
with the housekeeper, she went there that afternoon and saw
" such sights as her eyes never expected to see while she lived."
'5*
346 THE WEDDING.
" I mean to write to Magdalen and let her know just what
carryin's on there is here," she said to Mrs. Slocum ; and she
commenced a letter that night, telling Magdalen where she
was, and what she was there for, and not omitting to speak of
the " things " she had brought, and which would pay for what
little she ate for a week or two.
" Such alterations ! " she wrote. " The house as brown as
my hands, and a picter in it that cost two thousan' dollars, the
awfullest daub, I reckon, that ever was got up. Why, I had
rather a hundred times have that picter in my room of Put
nam goin' in after the wolf; that means somethin', and this
one don't. But the rooms for the bride, they are just like a
show-house, I'm sure, with their painted walls and frisky
work, I b'lieve, they call it, and the lam-kins at the winders,
fifty dollars a winder, as I'm a livin' woman, and a naked boy
in one of 'em holdin' a pot of flowers on his head ; and then
her boode'r or anything under heavens you are a mind to call
that little room at the end of the upper south hall, and which
opens out of her sleepin' room. There's a glass as long as she
is set in a recess like, and in the door opposite is a lookin'-
glass, and in the door on t'other side, three lookin' -glasses in
all, so that you can see yourself before and behind and beside,
and silk ottermans, and divans and marble shelves and drawers,
and a chair for her to sit in and be dressed, and she's got a
French waitin'-maid, right from Paris, they say, and some of
her underclothes cost a hundred dollars apiece, think of that,
when three yards of factory would make plenty good enough
and last enough sight longer. I'm glad I don't have to iron
'em ; they've got a flutin'-iron they paid thirty dollars for, and
Miss Franklin's bed, that is to be, is hung with silk curtains. I
should s'pose she'd want a breath of air ; the dear knows I
should; and one of the rooms they've turned into a picter
galleiy, and the likenesses of the Burleighs is there now,
'cause Mrs. Franklin must have 'em to look at. There's her
granny, a decent-lookin' woman enough, with powdered hair,
and her husband took when he was younger, and her mothei
THE WEDDING. 347
in her weddin' close, exactly the fashion, I remember, and her
father and herself when she was younger by a good many years
than she is now, for them as has seen her says she's thirty if
she's a day, and Frank ain't quite twenty-eight."
There was a break just here in Hester's epistle. She had de
cided to remain with Mrs. Slocmn until after the party which
wss to be given for the bride at Millbank as soon as she re
turned from her wedding trip, ?nd so she concluded not to
finish her letter until she had seen and could report the doings.
The wedding day was faultlessly fair; not a cloud broke the deep
blue of the summer sky, and the air had none of the sultry heat
of July, but was soft and balmy, and pure from the effects of the
thunder-shower of the previous day. If the bride be blessed
on whom the sun shines, Bell Burkigh was surely blessed and
ought to have been happy. There was no cloud on her brow,
no brooding shadow of regret in her dark eyes, and if she sent
a thought across the seas after the Fred whose life of toil she
would once have shared so gladly, it did not show itself
upon her face, which belied Hester's hint of thirty years, and
was all aglow with excitement. She made a beautiful bride,
and the length of her train was for days and days the theme of
gossip among the crowd who saw it as she walked from the
carriage to the church upon the carpets spread down for the
occasion. She wore no ornaments, but flowers. Her dia
monds, and pearls, and rubies, and amethysts were reserved for
other occasions, and she looked very simple and elegant and
self-possessed, and made her responses in a firmer, clearer
voice than Frank. He was nervous, and thought of Magdalen,
and was glad she and Alice had made their mother's recent death
an excuse for not being present, and wondered if her voice
would have been as loud and steady as Bell's when she said,
" I, Isabel, take thee, Franklin," and so forth. On the whole,
the occasion was a trying one for him ; his .gloves were too
tight, and his boots were tighter and made him want to scream
every time he stepped, they hurt his feet so badly. He took
them off when he returned from the church, and thus relieved,
348 THE WEDDING.
felt easier, and could see how beautiful his new wife was, and
how well she bore her honors, and felt proud and happy, and
did not think again of Magdalen, but rather what a lucky
fellow he was to have all the money he wanted and such a
bride as Bell.
They were going West for a week or two, then back to Mill-
bank for a few days, and then to Saratoga or the sea-side, just
where the fancy led them. Mrs. Walter Scott returned to
Millbank and sent out a few cards to the 'elite of the town,
the Johnsons, and Markhams, and Woodburys, and the clergy
man and her family physician. As for the nobodys, they were
not expected to call, and they consoled themselves with in
vidious remarks and watching the proceedings.
On Sunday the Irving pew was graced by Mrs. Walter Scott.
who wore a new bonnet and a silk which rustled with every step.
She was very devout that day, and made a large thank-offering
for her new daughter-in-law, a crisp ten-dollar bill, given so that
all who cared could see and know it was a ten. She did not see
Hester Floyd until service was out, then she started a little
as the old lady stepped into the aisle before her, but offered
her hand cordially, and felt that she was very good, and very
pious, and very democratic to walk out of church in close con
versation with Hester, whom she invited to come and see the
changes they had made in the house, and stop to tea, if she
liked, with the housekeeper.
Mrs. Walter Scott had nothing to fear from Hester now, and
could afford to be very gracious, but the old lady was neither
deceived nor elated with her attention. She had been to the
house, she said, rather crisply, and seen all she wanted to, and
she did think they might have let some of the rooms alone and
not fixed 'em up like a play-house, and she'd cover up that naked
boy in Mrs. Franklin's room before she got there, for if she was
a modest woman, as was to be hoped, she'd feel ashamed. And
then, having reached the new carriage, with its white-gloved
driver, the two women said good-day to each other, and Mrs.
Walter Scott's dove- colored silk was put carefully into the car-
THE WEDDING. 349
riage by the footman, and the door was closed and the two shin
ing horses were off like the wind, leaving Hester to watch the
cloud of dust and the flash of the wheels which marked the
progress of the fast-moving vehicle.
The particulars of this interview were faithfully recorded for
Magdalen's benefit, the old lady breaking the Sabbath for the
sake of " writing while the thing was fresh in her mind" and
she could do it justice.
Ten days more went by, and then it was reported in the
street that the workmen in the shoe-shop and factory were to
have a holiday on Thursday in honor of their master's return to
Millbank with his bride. It was whispered, too, that in his let
ter to his foreman Frank had hinted that some kind of a dem
onstration on his arrival would be very appropriate and accept
able, and if his agents would see to it he would defray any ex
pense they might incur for him. Some of the workmen laughed,
and some sneered, and some said openly they had no demon
stration to make, but all accepted the holiday willingly enough,
and a few of the young men, with all the boys, decided to get up
a bonfire and fireworks, on a large scale, inasmuch as the bill
was to be paid by " the Gov."
Accordingly a hundred dollars' worth of fireworks were ordered
from Springfield, and Frank, who came about eight o'clock,
was greeted with a rocket which went hissing into the air and
fell in sparks of fire just over his shoe-shop, the shingles of
which were dry with age and the summer heat. There was a
crowd after all to honor him, and an impromptu band, which
played " Hail to the Chief," and " Come, Haste to the Wed
ding," and finished up with a grand flourish of " Dixie," to
which many bare feet kept time upon the lawn in front of Mill-
bank. A collation, which Hester in her journal-letter called a
" collection," had been prepared for them on the grounds, and
the small boys ate themselves almost sick on ice-cream and
raisins, and then halloed with might and main for the bride, who
appeared, leaning on her husband's arm, smiling and bowing,
and offering her hand to be shaken, while all the while she was
350 THE WEDDING.
wondering if "the miserable little wretches hadn't warts or some
worse disease which she would catch of them."
The collation over, the bridal party returned to the house,
and the crowd went back to their fireworks, to which the tired
and slightly disgusted Bell hardly gave a look. She had the
headache, and went early to her room, and closing her blinds to
shut out the glare of the blue and red lights which annoyed her
terribly, she fell asleep, and was dreaming of the missionary
Fred when the cry of " Fire, Fire," aroused her, and Frank
looked in with a white, frightened face, telling her the large
shoe-shop was on fire, and bidding her not to be alarmed.
Some sparks from the first rocket sent up had fallen on the dry
roof of the shoe-shop, and set it on fire, the flames creeping
under the shingles, and making great headway before they
were discovered. It was a long time since there had been
a fire in Belvidere, and the excited people hardly knew
how to act. Roger had always been tolerably well pre
pared for such an emergency, but matters at Millbank were
managed differently now from what they were when he was
master there. The rotary pump was out of order, the engine
would not work well at all, and after half an hour or more of
orders and counter-orders, of running to and fro, and accom
plishing but little, it was certain that nothing could save the huge
building, whose roof was one mass of flame, and from whose
windows a light was shining brighter than any bonfire ever yet
kindled in honor of a bride. When Frank had hinted at dem
onstrations, for which he would pay, he never dreamed of a
bonfire like this, where jets of flame rose far into the sky and
shone across the river upon the hills beyond, and made the vil
lage as light as day. Bell never went to fires, she said to Mrs.
Walter Scott, who, in her dressing-gown, with her shawl over
her head, looked in upon her daughter-in-law on her way to join
the multitude in the streets. She was too thoroughly city bred
to go to fires, and she saw every member of the household de
part, her bridesmaids, sister Grace and all ; and then, as from
THE WEDDING. 351
her bed she could see the whole, she lay down among her pil
lows and rather enjoyed watching the flames, as they attacked
first one part of the building and then another, making the sight
every moment more beautiful and grand. It never occurred to
her how much of her husband's fortune might be consuming be
fore her very eyes, and when toward morning he came up to
her, pale, smoke-stained, and burned, she merely asked what
time it was, and how he could bear to stay so long where he
could do no good.
Frank's first thought, when he saw the fire, was of Holt and
the insurance. During his wedding tour, he had heard that the
company in which his shop was insured had failed, and he had
telegraphed at once to Holt " to see to it, and insure in another
company." Since his return he had not thought of the matter
until now, when something told him that his orders had been
neglected, and that if the building burned his loss would be
heavy. Taking off his coat, he had worked like a hero, and
done much to inspirit his men, who, encouraged by his intre
pidity, had followed wherever he led and done whatever he bade
them do. But it was all in vain, and Frank went back to Mill-
bank a poorer man by many thousands than the setting of the
sun had found him, while a hundred people or more were
thrown out of employment, and suddenly found themselves
with nothing to do.
In this emergency their thoughts turned to Roger. They had
heard that a large shoe manufactory was in process of erection
at Schodick, and that Roger was to have the superintendence of
it, and never before had there been so heavy a mail sent from
Belvidere as there was the day following the fire. More than
forty men wrote to Roger, telling him of the disaster, asking
for situations under him, and offering to work for less than they
had been receiving. To many of these favorable answers were
returned, and the consequence was that the tide of emigration
from Belvidere to Schodick set in at once, and a number of
Frank's houses were left tenantless on his hands. The party,
however, came off the following week, and servants were im-
352 THE WEDDINO.
ported from New York, with cake and flowers and fruit, and a
band came out from Springfield, and lights were hung in every
tree upon the lawn and boys hired to watch them, for Frank
had learned a lesson from the still smouldering ruins of his shop,
and was exceedingly nervous and uncomfortable on the subjecl
of fires and lights, and read a lesson on caution to his mother
and the servants and all the family, save his wife. There wa?
something in her black eyes which prevented his taking liber
ties with her, and her lamp was suffered to remain in close
proximity to the lace curtains of her room, and he did not say a
word.
Roger wrote to his nephew immediately after the fire, ex
pressing his sorrow, and consoling him by saying he could
afford to lose the shop and still be the richest man in the
county. Frank thought of the piles and piles of money he had
spent, and wondered what Roger would say could he know of
all his extravagances. But Roger did not know, and his letter
comforted Frank, .who, after reading it, felt better than he had
before since the fire, and who was quite like himself on the night
when, with his bride, he stood to receive the congratulations of
his dear four hundred friends who came from Boston and Wor
cester and Springfield and Hartford and New York, but not
many from Belvidere. A few only of the citizens were consid
ered good enough to enter the charmed presence and take the
white hand on which a thousand-dollar ring was shining. Bell
wore her diamonds that night, her husband's bridal present, for
which ten thousand dollars were paid, and she shone and flashed
and sparkled, and turned her proud head proudly, and never
spoke to Frank when she could help it, but talked instead with
her old friends from Boston, scholars and professors, whose
discourse she found far more congenial than Frank's common
places were.
It was a grand affair, and old Hester, who was at the house,
and from the kitchen and side passages saw much that was
going on, added to her journal a full account of it, after having
described the fire, which she said was "just a judgment from
THE WEDDING. 353
the Lord." Hesler had rather enjoyed the fire, and felt as u
justice was being meted out to Mrs. Walter Scott, who cried
and wrung her hands, and reproached the people for standing
idle and seeing her son's property burned before their eyes.
Hester ached to give her a piece of her mind, but contented
herself with saying in her presence, " that folks didn't seem
very anxious. She guessed if it had been Roger's shop they'd
have stepped more lively, and not sat on the fence, a whole
batch on 'em, doin' nothin'."
" I was a little mad at 'em," she wrote to Magdalen, "and
felt pretty bad when the ruff tumbled in, but I didn't screech as
that woman (meaning Mrs. Walter Scott) did. She nigh about
fainted away, and they carried her into Miss Perkins's house and
flung water in her face till them curls of hern were just nothin'
but strings. T'other one, Miss Franklin, wasn't there, and I
heard that she lay abed the whole time and watched it from the
winder. That'? a nice wife for you. Oh, I tell you, he'll get
his pay for takin' the property from Roger, and givin' such a
party as he did, and only invitin' fust cut in town, and not all
of them. There was Miss Jenks, and Miss Smith and Miss
Spencer s' posed of course they'd have an invite, and Miss
Jenks got her a new gown and had it made in Hartford, and
then wan't bid ; and if you'll believe, that sneakin,' low-lived,
ill-begotten horse-jockey of a Holt was there, and his wife, with
a yeller gownd and blue flower stuck in the middle of her
forehead. How he came to be bid nobody knows, only they
say he and Frank is thick as molasses, and agree on the hoss
question. Madam's sister was there, a pretty enough lookin'
girl with yellow curls and blue eyes, and it's talked that she's to
live there, and the whole coboodle of 'em. A nice time they'll
have with Mrs. Walter Scott, who holds her head so high that
her neck must sometimes ache. You or*to see 'em ride on
horseback to Millbank ; Miss Franklin in black velvet, her sis
ter in blue, and even old madam has gone at it, and I seen her
a canterin' by on a chestnut mare that cost the dear knows what.
Think on't, a woman of her age, with a round hat and feather,
354 ffOW THEY LIVED AT MILLBANK.
ridin' a boss. It's just ridiculous, I call it. I'm goin' home to
morrow, for Roger and Aleck is gettin' kind of uneasy. Roget
is a growin' man. He's got some agency in the mill to Scho-
dick and the shop, and he's makin' lots of money, and folks
look up to him and consult him till he's the fust man in town.
I wish you two would come together someday, and I can't help
Ihinkin' you will. Nothin' would suit me better, though I was
hard on you once about the will. I was about crazy them days,
but that's all got along with, and so good-by.
" HESTER FLOYD."
"There goes the quality from Millbank out to have a picnic,
and the young madam is ridin' with another man. Nice doin's
so soon, though I don't blame her for bein' sick of Frank. He's
growing real fat and pussy-like, and twists up them few white
hairs about his mouth till they look like a shoemaker's waxed
end. " Yours again to command,
H. FLOYD."
CHAPTER XLIX.
HOW THEY LIVED AT MILLBANK.
]RS. WALTER SCOTT knew nothing of the hundred
thousand dollars settled upon Bell, or of the arrange
ment for the entire family to live henceforth at Mill-
bank. She was well pleased, however, to have Judge Burleigh
and Grace and Charlie there for a few days, with other guests
from Boston and New York. They were a part of the wedding
festivities, and she enjoyed the eclat of having so many young
people of style and distinction in the house, and enjoyed show
ing them off at church and in the street. She enjoyed the
grand dinners, too, which occupied three hours and for which
the ladies dressed so elaborately, the bride wearing something
new each day, and astonishing the servants with the length ol
HOW THEY LIVED AT MILLBANK. 355
her train and the size of her hoops, and she enjoyed for a time
the dance and the song, and hilarity in the evening, but she be
gan at last to grow weary of it all, and to sigh for a little quiet ;
and greatly to Frank's surprise and Bell's delight, she gave up
the trip to Saratoga, and saw the bridal party depart without he* 1
one morning a few days after the party.
The United States was their destination, and the town was
soon teeming with gossip of the bride who sported so exquisite
jewelry and wore so magnificent dresses and snubbed her
husband so mercilessly. Frank's turn-out, too, was com
mented on and admired, and he had the satisfaction of know
ing that his carriage and his horses were the finest in town ;
but for any genuine domestic happiness he enjoyed, he might
as well have been without a wife as with one.
One day Bell expressed a desire for a glass of water from
the spring on the grounds of the Clarendon, and as she knew
she was exquisitely dressed, and sure to create a sensation all
along the street, she started with Grace and her husband for
the spring. The Clarendon was not full, though it had the
reputation of entertaining the very creme de la creme, those who
preferred cool shades, and pure air and fresh furniture and
quiet, to the glare and crowd and heat and fashion farther
down town. There were but few on the broad piazza that
afternoon, but at these Bell looked curiously, especially at
the two young ladies who were standing with their backs to her,
and whom she at once decided to be somebody. Both wore
deep mourning, and one was fair with chestnut hair, while the
braids of the other were dark and glossy and abundant. A
white-haired man and middle aged woman were sitting near
them, and a tall, fine-looking young man was standing by the
shorter of the young ladies, and evidently describing something
which greatly interested all, for peals of laughter were occasion
ally heard as the story proceeded, and the girl with the chestnut
hair turned her head a little more toward Bell, and also toward
Frank. There was a violent start on his part, and then he sug-
gested that they return to their hotel. But Bell insisted upon go-
356 HOW THEY LIVED AT MILLBANK.
ing up the hill and occupying some vacant chairs upon tlie piazza.
She was tired, and it looked so cool and pleasant there, she
said in that tone of voice which Frank always obeyed, and with
a beating heart he gave her his arm and led her up the steep
bank and put her in her chair and brought another for Grace,
and fidgeted about and managed to keep his back toward the
group which he knew was watching him. The hum of their
voices had ceased as he drew near with his magnificent bride,
who in her diamonds and costly array presented so striking a
contrast to the two plainly-dressed young ladies, whom Bell
thought so beautiful, wondering greatly who they were. Frank
knew who they were, and stood an awkward moment and tried
not to see them ; then with a great gulp, in which he forced
down far more emotion than his wife ever gave him credit for
possessing, he turned toward them, accidentally as it seemed,
and uttering a well-feigned exclamation of surprise went forward
to meet Alice Grey and Magdalen.
" Speak of angels and you hear the rustle of their wings,"
Guy said, when the first words of greeting were over. "I
was talking of you, or rather of Mrs. Irving, whom I saw at
the hop last night, and whose beauty and dress I was describ
ing to these rustic country girls."
" Oh, yes, certainly. I should like to present my wife to
you," Frank said, his spirits rising as they always did when his
wife was complimented.
He was proud of her, and if she allowed it, would have been
fond of her, too ; and he felt a thrill of satisfaction and pleasure
that she was looking so well and bore herself so regally as he
led her to his friends and introduced her as " My wife, Mrs.
Irving."
Bell had heard of the Greys and knew that Alice and Mag
dalen were fully her equals, and her manner was very soft and
gracious towards them as she expressed her pleasure in meet
ing them. Frank brought her chair for her and placed it be
tween Alice and Magdalen, and held her parasol, and leaned
over her, and admired her so much as almost to forget the cir-
HOW THEY LIVED AT MILLBANK. 357
cumstances under which he had last seen Magdalen. Bell was
veiy ladylike, very gentle, and very bright and witty withal,
and the Greys were perfectly charmed with her, and wondered
how she could have married Frank, who in point of intellect
was so greatly her inferior.
For two or three weeks the Greys remained at Saratoga, and
during that time they saw a great deal of the Irvings, while be
tween Bell and the Misses Grey there sprang up a strong liking,
which was very strange, considering how unlike they were in
almost everything. Once Frank spoke to Magdalen of Roger,
who, he said, was getting on famously, both as to money and
reputation.
"Why don't you two marry?" he asked abruptly. "You
ought to. There's nothing in the way that I can see."
Ere Magdalen could reply, they were joined by Alice, but
Frank had detected that in her manner which convinced him
that her love for Roger was unchanged.
"Then why the plague don't they marry?" he said to him
self. " It's Roger's fault, I know. He's afraid she is not will
ing. I mean to write and tell him she is. I owe them both
something, and that's the way I'll pay it ; " and that afternoon
Frank did commence a letter to Roger, but he never finished
it, for dinner came on, and after it a drive, and then a letter
from his mother urging his immediate return, as the hands at the
mill were conducting badly, many of them leaving to go to
Schodick, and others taking advantage of his absence, and a
drunken overseer.
Accordingly, the bridal pair went back to Millbank, and
Grace was with them, and Charlie too ; while Mr. Burleigh,
who had been disposing of his affairs in Boston, came in a few
days, and Mrs. Walter Scott heard Mrs. Franklin tell the ser
vant to see that everything was in order in "Judge Burleigh's
room ; you know which it is, the one at the end of the hall, ad
joining Charlie's."
This looked as if there was an understanding between Mrs,
Franklin and Katy with regard to rooms, while the quantity of
35^ HOW THEY LIVED AT MILLBANK.
baggage which came from the depot in the express wagon
looked very much as if the Burleighs had come for good, with
no intention of leaving. This was a condition of things of
which Mrs. Walter Scott did not approve ; but there wa?
something in the gleam of Mrs. Bell's black eyes which warned
her to be careful what she said. She was a little afraid of Bell
and so kept quiet until she heard from her own maid that " the
old gentleman" was putting his books on the shelves, which, un
known to her, had been conveyed into his room, and was
arranging a lot of stones, and snails, and birds. Then she
could keep still no longer, but attacked her son with the ques
tion :
" Are all the Burleighs to live here in future ? I did not
suppose you married the entire family."
Frank had looked forward to a time when some such ques
tion would be propounded to him, and was glad it had come.
Once he had been afraid of his mother, and he was still a good
deal in awe of her and her opinions, but upstairs was a lady
whom he feared more, though she had never spoken to him ex
cept in the mildest, softest manner, and he wisely resolved to
let his mother know the worst which had befallen her, and told
her, as gently as possible, and with the tone of one who was
communicating a piece of good news, that the Burleighs were
a rather singular family, very strongly attached to each other ;
yes, -very strongly attached, that they never had been sepa
rated, and that Bell had accepted him only on condition that
they should not be separated, but live together at Millbank as
they had done at Boston.
There was intense scorn in Mrs. Walter Scott's eyes, and
in her voice, as she said, " And so you have taken upon your
self the maintenance of four instead of one ! "
"Why, no, not exactly, that is, Judge Burleigh and
Charlie, and yes, and Charlie "
Frank was getting matters somewhat confused, and did not
quite know how to make it clear to his mother's mind that
Charlie would only trouble them till he was set up in business,
HOW THEY LIVED AT MILLS ANK. 359
and that Judge Burleigh's society and the pleasure of having so
polished and agreeable a gentleman in the house was a suffi
cient compensation for any expense he might be to them ; but
she understood him at last, and knew that the Judge and Charlie
were there for good, and the rooms they occupied had been
fitted up expressly for them without a reference to her or her
wishes in the matter. Had she known of the hundred thousand
madi over to Bell she would have gone mad. As it was, she
flew into a towering passion, accusing Frank of being in lead
ing-strings and henpecked, and threatening to leave and go
back to New York, as she presumed he wished she would.
Frank did not wish any such thing. His mother was more
necessary to him now than before his marriage, for he was gen
erally sure of her sympathy, which was more than he could say
of his wife. So he soothed and quieted her as best he could,
and when she referred to his recent loss by fire, and asked how
he could burden himself with so large a family, he told her a
lie, and said he should be able to recover a part of the in
surance, and that even if he did not, his income was sufficient
to warrant his present style of living, and she need have no
fears for him ; or if she had, he would settle something upon her
at once, so that in case he failed entirely she would not be
penniless. This was a happy thought, and Mrs. Walter Scott
consented to be mollified and let the Burleighs remain in quiet
in consideration of twenty-five thousand dollars in bonds and
mortgages and railroad stock which Frank agreed to give her,
and which he did convey that very day. She had at first asked
for fifty thousand, but had agreed to be satisfied with twenty-
five, and Frank went to his dinner a poorer man by over two
hundred thousand dollars than he had been when Millbank
came into his possession. His wife's settlement and his
mother's, and his recent heavy expenditures, had drawn largely
upon his means for procuring ready money whenever he wanted
it, and as he sat at his table, loaded with silver and groaning
with luxuries, he felt almost as poor as he had done in days
gone by, when he had not enough to pay his tailor and furnish
360 HOW THEY LIVED AT MILLBANK.
himself wi:h cigars. And still he was rich in lands, and the
mill, and houses, and he tried to shake off his feelings of de
spondency and to believe himself very happy with that beauti
ful wife beside him, who let him pare her peach for her, and
took grapes from his own cluster, and playfully pushed the wine
bottle aside when he was about to help himself for a second
time.
Mrs. Walter Scott was cold as an icicle, and not all the
Judge's suavity of manner had power to thaw her. She had
promised not to say anything disagreeable to the Burleighs, but
her face was very expressive of her dislike, and she could
hardly answer either the Judge or Charlie with common civility.
She did not object to Grace ; and she was even guilty of wish
ing Frank's choice had fallen upon the younger rather than the
elder sister, against whom she could, as yet, bring no accusa
tion, but whom she distrusted and secretly feared. Bell
thoroughly understood her mother-in-law, and knew tolerably
well how to manage her. As Frank's wife, she was mistress
of Millbank, and though she made no show of her authority,
her power was felt in everything ; and after she had reigned a
month or more, not a servant, with the exception of Mrs.
Walter Scott's own maid, went to their former mistress for
orders, but received them from the new lady, who was very
popular with them, and who, to a certain extent, was popular
in town. She could not endure most of the people by whom
she was surrounded ; but she had made up her mind that it
was better to be admired than hated, and she adopted the role
of Patroness, or Lady Bountiful, and played her part well, as
Frank knew by his purse, so often drawn from when Bell and
Grace had some poor family on their hands.
Grace did not go back to school. Millbank was intolerable
to the bride without the presence of her light-hearted, merry
little sister ; and so Grace stayed and studied at home, under
a governess, to whom Frank paid five hundred dollars a year ;
and paid it the more willingly when he found that the pretty
Miss North admired him above all men, and was not averse to
HOW THEY LIVED AT MILLBANK. 361
receiving compliments from him, even in the presence of his
wife. Bell did not care how many governesses he compli
mented, provided he did not say his soft nothings to her. Had
he affected a great fondness for her, and bored her with atten
tions and caresses, she would have hated him, but he had
sense enough to see that love-making was not her style, and so
he contented himself with being the possessor of the beautiful
and expensive article, which he knew better than to handle or
touch. She was always very polite and gracious towards him,
but after a few weeks he ceased to pet or caress her, and
almost always called her Mrs. Irving, and studied her wishes in
everything, except in the matter of horses and Holt ; there he
was his own master, and did as he liked, and bought as many
horses as he chose, and went to the races, and bet largely, and
made Holt his chief man of business, and gave him money to
expend on double teams and single teams, and trusted him im
plicitly ; and when people asked where Holt got his means to
live as he was living now, Frank had no suspicions whatever,
but said, " Joe Holt was a first-rate chap, the best judge and
manager of horses he ever saw, and ought to succeed in life."
And so the autumn waned, and the Christmas holidays were
kept at Millbank on a grand scale, and young people were
there from Boston, friends of Grace and friends of Bell,
and the festivities were kept up sometimes till two or three
o'clock in the morning, and some of the young men became
very noisy and unmanageable, and among them Charlie, while
Frank was undeniably drunk, and was carried to his room and
given into the care of his wife ! Then Bell rose in her might, and
locked up the wine and sent the fast young men home, and
gave Charlie a lecture he never forgot, and made him join the
Good Templars forthwith, and what was better, macle him keep
the pledge. What she did to Frank nobody knew, locked
him up, the servants said. At all events, he kept his room for
two days, and only came out pf it after tlae New Yorkers were
gone to their respective homes. Then he looked very meek
and crestfallen, like a naughty boy who has been punished, an^
362 ROGER.
his mother pitied him and tried to sympathize, and made hirn
so very angry that he was guilty of swearing at her, and bidding
her let him and Bell and their affairs alone. And Mrs. Walter
Scott did let them alone for a while, and stayed a great deal in
her own room, and had her meals served there, and took to
writing a book, for which she always thought she had a talent.
It was about mismated people, and the good heroine looked
very much like Mrs. Walter Scott, and the bad one like Mrs.
Franklin Irving, while the villain was a compound of Judge
"Rurleigh, and Charlie, and Holt, the horse jockey.
CHAPTER L.
ROGER.
RANK had invited Roger to spend Christmas at Mill-
bank, but Roger had declined, and had passed the
holidays in his usual way at Schodick, where there
had come to him a letter from Arthur Grey, who, in referring
to the past, exonerated Jessie from all blame, and asked
Roger's forgiveness for the great wrong done to him. Then he
thanked him for his kindness to Magdalen, and closed by say
ing :
" Magdalen has been very anxious for you to come to
Beechwood, and I should now extend an invitation for you to
do so, were it not that we have decided to leave at once for
Europe. We sail in the ' Persia' next week, immediately after
my daughter's marriage, which will be a very quiet affair.
Hoping to see and know you at some future time, I am
" Yours truly, ARTHUR GREY."
This letter had been delayed for some reason, and it did not
reach Roger until a week after it was written, and then there
ROGER. 363
came in the same mail a newspaper from New York, directed
by Magdalen herself. Around a short paragraph was the fainl
tracing of her pencil, and Roger read that among the passen
gers the "Persia" would take out were Mr. Arthur Grey and
daughter, Mrs. Penelope Seymour, and Mr. Guy Seymour and
lady. Magdalen had underscored the " Mr. Guy Seymour and
lady," and upon the margin had written :
" Good-by, Roger, good-by."
When Roger read Mr. Grey's letter he had felt sure that the
daughter to whose marriage reference was made was Magdalen
herself, and the newspaper paragraph and pencil-marks con
firmed him in this belief.
" Good-by, Roger, good-by."
His white lips whispered the words, which seemed to run into
each other and grow dim and blurred as the great tears gath
ered in his eyes and obscured his vision.
" Good-by, Roger, good-by."
Yes, it was good-by forever now, and he felt it in its full
force, and bowed his head upon his hands and asked for
strength to bear this new pain, which yet was not new, for he
had long .felt that Magdalen was not for him. But the pain,
though old, was keener, harder to bear, and hurt as it had never
hurt before, for now the barrier between them, as he believed,
was a husband, and that for a time seemed worse than death.
Again the rock under the evergreen on the hillside witnessed
the tears and the prayers and the anguish of the man whose
face began to look old and worn, and who, the people said,
was working too hard and had taken too much upon his hands.
He was the superintendent now of the cotton mill, which had
been enlarged, and of the shoe- shop erected since his residence
in Schodick. His profession, too, was not neglected, and the
little office on the green still bore his name, and all the farmers
for miles around asked for " Squire Irving," as they called him,
when they came into town on business pertaining to the law.
His word was trusted before that of any other. What Squire
Irving said was true, and no one thought of dov.bting it. To
364 ROGER.
him the widows came on behalf of their fatherless children, and
he listened patiently and advised them always for the best, and
took charge of their slender means and made the most of them.
The interests of orphan children, too, were committed to his
care, so that he fortunately had little time to indulge in senti
ment or sorrow, except at night, when the day's labor was over,
and he was free to dwell upon the hopes of the past, the bitter
disappointment of the present, and the dreariness of the future.
After that paragraph in the newspaper he had heard nc
more of the Greys, and had only mentioned them once. Then
he told Hester of Magdalen's marriage with the young man who
had come to see them, and whom Hester remembered per
fectly.
Hester did not believe a word of it, she said ; but Roger re
plied that Magdalen herself had sent him the paper, while Mr.
Grey had written, so there could be no mistake. Then Hester
accepted it as a fact, and looking in her boy's face and seeing
there the pain he tried so hard to suppress, she felt her own
heart throbbing with a keener regret and sense of loss than she
would have felt if Roger had not cared so much.
" That settles the business for him," she said. " He'll never
marry now, and I may as well send off to the heathen that
cribby quilt I've been piecin' at odd spells, thinkin' the time
might come when Roger's wife would find it handy."
And as she thus soliloquized old Hester washed her tea-
dishes by the kitchen sink and two great tears rolled down her
nose and dropped into the dish water. After that she never
mentioned Magdalen, and as the quilt was not quite finished,
she laid it away in the candle-box cradle which stood in the
attic chamber, and over which she sometimes bent for five min
utes or more, while her thoughts were back in the past ; and
she saw again the little girl who had sat so often in that cradle,
and whose dear little feet were wandering now amid the won
ders of the Old World.
And so the winter, and the spring, and the summer went by,
and in the autumn Frank came for a few days to Schcdick,
ROGER. 365
looking almost as old as Roger, and a great deal stoute'r and
redder in the face than when we saw him last ; while a certain
inflamed look in the eye told that Bell's arguments on the sub
ject of temperance had not prevailed with him as effectually as
they had with her brother Charlie. Frank's love of wine had
increased and grown into a fondness for brandy, but during his
stay in Schodick he abstained from both, and seemed much
like himself. Very freely he discussed his affairs with Roger,
who pitied him from his heart, for he saw that his life was not
a pleasant one.
With regard to his domestic troubles, Roger forbore to make
any remarks, but he advised to the best of his ability about
the business matters, which were not in a very good condition.
The shoe-shop had not been rebuilt ; there was always trouble
with the factory hands ; they were either quitting entirely, or
striking for higher wages ; and the revenues were not what
Frank thought they ought to be. Ready money was hard to
get; and he was oftentimes troubled for means to pay the house
hold expenses, which were frightfully large. As well as he
could, Roger comforted the disheartened man, and promised to
go to Millbank soon and see what he could do toward smooth
ing and lubricating the business machinery, and Frank while
listening to him began to feel very hopeful of the future, and
grew light-hearted and cheerful again, and ready to talk of
something besides himself. And so it came about, as he sat
with Roger one evening, he said to him :
" By the way, Roger, do you ever hear from the Greys ?
Do you know where they are ? "
Roger did not ; he had never heard from them, or of them,
he said, since the letter from Mr. Grey, announcing Magdalen's
approaching marriage with Guy Seymour.
" Announcing what?" Frank asked. And Roger replied :
" Magdalen's marriage with Guy Seymour. You knew that,
of course."
"Thunder ! " Frank exclaimed, "have you been so deceived
all this time, and is that the cause of those white hairs in your
366 ROGER.
whiskers, and that crow-foot around your eyes ? Roger, you
are a bigger fool than I am, and Bell has many a time proved
to me conclusively that I am a big one. It is Alice, not Mag
dalen, who is Mrs. Guy Seymour. They were married very
quietly at home ; no wedding, no cards, on account of the
mother's recent death. I know it is so, for I saw the happy
pair with my own eyes just before they sailed. So what more
proof will you have ? "
Roger needed none, and Frank could almost see the wrin
kles fading out of his face, and the light coming back to his
eyes, as he tried to stammer out something about its being
strange that he was so deceived. Looking at his uncle, now,
and remembering all the past, there came again across Frank
the resolution to make a clean breast of what should have
been told long ago, and after a moment's hesitancy he began :
" Roger, old chap, there are things I could tell you if I
wasn't afraid you'd hate me all your life. I b'lieve I'll take
the risk any way, and out with the whole of it."
"I promise not to hate you. What is it?" Roger asked,
and Frank continued, " Magdalen always loved you, and you
were blind not to have seen it. You thought too little of your
self, and so fell into the snare laid for you. Mother knew she
loved you, and then got you to assent to my addressing her,
and I used you as an argument why she should listen to me,
and it almost killed her, as you would have known had you
seen her face.' 1 '
" What do you mean ? I don't think you make it quite
clear," Roger asked, in a trembling voice ; and then as well as
he could Frank made it clear, and told of the ways and means
he had resorted to in order to win Magdalen, who, through
all, showed how her whole heart was given to Roger.
" If you had seen her in the garret, rocking back and forth,
and moaning your name, and seen how she started from me
when I said if she would marry me I would burn the will and
never speak of it, you would have no doubt of her love foi
you."
ROGER. 367
" Frank, you have wronged me ! oh, you have wronged me
terribly ! " Roger said, and his voice was hoarse Avith emotion.
"Millbank was nothing to this; but go on, tell the whole ; keep
nothing from me."
And Frank went on, and told the whole which the readet
already knows of his efforts to deceive both Roger and Mag
dalen, whom he had succeeded in separating.
" And were you never engaged ? " Roger asked.
And Frank answered him :
"No, never. She would not listen to me for a moment.
She admitted her love for you, and I oh, Roger, I am a vil
lain, but I am getting my pay. I made her think that you only
cared for her as your ward or sister, when by a word I could
have brought you together, and she was proud and thought
you slighted her, inasmuch as she never knew how much you
were with her when she was sick. You were gone when she
came to a consciousness of what was passing around her, and
I did not tell her of the message you sent from the West. I
wanted her so badly myself, but I failed. She left Milibank in
my absence, and fate, I guess I believe in fate more than in
Providence, led her to the Greys, and you know the rest,
and why she has been cold toward you, if she has. She
thought you wanted her to marry me, and I do believe she has
found that the hardest to forgive, and I don't blame her, neither
would Bell. The idea of anybody's marrying me ! "
Frank spoke bitterly, and struck his fist upon his knee as he
mentioned his wife.
But Roger did not heed that ; he was thinking of Magdalen
and what might have been had Frank spoken earlier. Perhaps
't was not too late now, and his first impulse was to fly across
the ocean which divided them and find her ; but neither he nor
Frank knew where she was, though the latter thought he could
dscertain Mr. Grey's address in New York, and would do so
the first time he was in the city. He was going to New York
soon, he said, and would do all he could .to repair the wrong
and bring Roger and Magdalen together.
368 ROGER.
" You deserve her if ever a man did," he continued, " and 1
hope, yes, I know it will one day come right."
Frank brought his visit to a close next day, and left the old-
fashioned farm-house among the Schodick hills, which seemed
a paradise compared with Millbank, where he found his wife
cool and quiet and self-possessed as ever, and his mother angry,
defiant, and terribly outraged with some fresh slight put upon
her by her daughter-in-law. With all his little strength he
threw himself into the breach, and showed so much discretion
in steering clear of both Scylla and Charybdis, that Bell felt
a glow of something like respect for him, and thought that one
or two more visits to his uncle might make a man of him.
Poor Frank, with all his wealth and elegance, and his hand
some wife, was far more to be pitied than Roger, to whom had
been suddenly opened a new world of happiness, and whose
face ceased to wear the old tired look it had worn so long, and
who the people said was growing young every day. He felt
wi'Jiin himself new life and vigor, and thanked Heaven for the
hope sent at last to lighten the thick darkness in which he had
groped so long. Very anxiously he waited for Frank's letter,
which was to give him Mr. Grey's address, and when at last it
came he wrote at once to Magdalen, and told her of his lovf
and hopes, and asked if she would let him come for her when
she returned to America, and take her with him to his home
among the hills.
"It is not Millbank," he wrote, "but, save that Millbank is
sacred to me for the reason that your dear presence has hal
lowed every spot, I love this home as well as I did that, or
think I do. But you may not, and if you come to me I shall
build another house, more in accordance with my bright bird,
vhose cage must be a handsomer one than this old New Eng
land farm-house."
This letter was sent to the care of Mr. Grey, and then, long
before he could reasonably hope for an answer, Roger began
to expect one, and the daily mail was waited for with an eager
ness and excitement painful to endure, especially as constant
MAGDALEN IS COMING HO^fE. 369
disappointment was the only result of that watching and wait
ing and terrible suspense.
Magdalen did not write, and days and weeks and months
\i :nt by, and Roger grew old again, and there were more white
hairs in his brown beard, and he ceased to talk about the new
house he was going to build, and seemed indifferent to every
thing but the troubles at Millbank, which were upon the in
crease, and which finally resulted in Mrs. Franklin Irving tak
ing her father and brother and sister, and going off to Europe
on a pleasure tour. Frank was glad to have them go, and
feeling free once more, plunged into all his former habits of
dissipation, and kept Holt with him constantly as his chief man
of business, and rarely examined his accounts, and knew less
how he stood than did his neighbors, who were watching his
headlong course and predicting that it would soon end in ruin.
CHAPTER LI.
MAGDALEN IS COMING HOME.
| HE Greys had been gone little more than three years
and a half, and the soft winds of June were kissing
the ripples of the sea on the morning when they
finally embarked for America. They had travelled all over
Europe, from sunny France to colder, bleaker Russia, but had
stopped the longest at the Isle of Ischia, where at the " Piccola
Sentinella" another little life came into their midst, and Guy
Seymour nearly went wild with joy over his beautiful little boy,
whose soft, blue eyes and golden brown hair were so much like
Alice's. Magdalen was permitted to name the wonderful baby,
and without a moment's hesitancy she said, "I would like him
to be called after the best man I ever knew 'Roger Irving.'"
" Oh, Magdalena mia, you don't forget him, do you ? Love
16*
3/0 MAGDALEN IS COMING HOME.
once love forever, is your maxim," Guy said, playfully ; but ha
approved the name, and so did Alice, who knew more of Mag
dalen's heart-history now than she once had done, and who
with Guy had revolved many plans for bringing Roger and
Magdalen together.
Mr. Grey did not assent quite so readily to the name, though
he did not oppose it. He merely said, " Roger sounds rather
old for a baby ; but do as you like, do as you like."
So they called the baby Roger Irving, and Magdalen was
godmother, and her tears fell like a baptismal shower upon the
little face as she thought of her own babyhood, and the man
whom she had loved so long, and who was continually in her
thoughts. She knew he was not married ; she had heard that
from the Burleighs who came one day to the " Piccola Senti-
nella," bringing news direct from home.
" Not married yet, and is not likely to be," Mrs. Franklin
Irving had said, as she sat talking with Magdalen, whose voice
was rather unsteady when she asked for Roger.
Quick to read expressions of thought and feeling, Bell notec 1
the flush on the young girl's face, and the tremor in her voice,
and felt that she had the key to Roger's bachelorhood. She
had met him twice, once in Boston and once at Millbank,
and had liked him very much, and shown her liking in many
ways, and even laid a little snare, hoping to entangle him for
Grace. This Frank saw, and told her "to hang up her fiddle,
for Roger's heart was disposed of long ago to one who loved
him in return, but who was laboring under some mistake."
Bell had forgotten this, but it came back to her again with
Magdalen at her side, and she told her " rumor said there was
a cause for Roger's celibacy ; that he loved a young girl who
had once lived with him, and that he was only waiting for
chance to bring her in his way again." Then she told how pop
ular he was, and how greatly beloved by the people in Schodick
and vicinity, and how fast he was growing rich.
Oh, how Magdalen longed to go home after that, and how she
wondered that Roger did not write if he really loved her, and
MAGDALEN 13 COMING HOME. 37 J
how little she guessed that he fiad written long ago, and thai
her father had kept the letter from her. To this act Mr. Grey
had been prompted by a feeling he did not himself quite under
stand. Against Roger as a man he had nothing, but he did not
think it right that his daughter should marry the son of the
woman whose early death had been indirectly caused by himself.
Had he known how strong was Magdalen's love for Roger he
would never have withheld the letter, for, if possible, Magdalen
was dearer to him now than Alice, and he studied her happiness in
everything. But she never spoke of Roger, and he hoped that
time and absence would weaken any girlish affection she might
have cherished for him. So when the letter came, and he
saw it was from Schodick, he put it away unopened, and Mag
dalen knew nothing of it until long after Roger had ceased to
expect an answer, and hope was nearly or quite extinct in his
heart.
Perhaps she would not have known of it then if death had
not invaded their family circle and laid his grasp upon her
father, who died in Germany, in a little village on the Rhine.
His death was sudden to all but Ijimself. He had long known
that he suffered from heart disease, which might kill him at any
moment, and as far as his worldly affairs were concerned, he
was ready. Every debt in America had been paid, every busi
ness matter arranged, and his immense fortune divided equally
between his two daughters, with the exception that to Magdalen
he gave thirty thousand dollars more than he gave to Alice, this
being just the amount of poor Laura's property. He was sick
only a day or two and able to talk but little, but he spoke to
Magdalen of Roger Irving, and told her of the letter withheld
and where to find it, and said to her faintly and at long inter
vals, " Forgive me, if I did wrong. I thought it would be
better for the families not to come together. I hoped you
might forget him if you believed yourself forgotten, but I see I
was mistaken. I am sorry now for the course I pursued. I
would like to see the boy, or man he is now. I saw him once
when a little child. Jessie wanted to take him with her, but I
3/2 MAGDALEN IS COMING HOME.
refused. I hated him, because he was hers and not mine. I
hated all the Irvings. I took Alice from New Haven because
I feared she might fancy Frank. I do not hate them now, and
when I'm dead, go back to Roger and tell him so, and tell
tell Jessie if you see her ; yes, tell her and Laura, too,
that I tried I tried to pray, and I did pray and I
hope"
He did not say what he hoped, for his tongue grew stiff
and paralyzed, and only his eyes spoke the farewell which
was forever. Alice and Guy were both away at a little
town farther up the river, where Guy had some friends ;
but they hurried back to the vine-wreathed cottage they had
taken for the summer, and where their father now lay dead.
He was an old man, of nearly seventy, and had lived out his
appointed time ; but his children wept bitterly over him, and
kissed his white lips and snowy hair, and then made him read)
for the coffin, and buried him on the banks of the blue Rhine,
where the river, in its ceaseless flow, and the rustling vines of
Germany sing a requiem for the dead.
" Let us go back to America," Magdalen said, when Gu}
and Alice asked what her wishes were.
Even before her father was buried from her sight, she had found
Roger's letter, of more than two and a half years ago, and had
read it through, and her heart had leaped across the sea with
the answer she would give. She knew Roger had not for
gotten. He might have lost faith in her, from her silence ;
but he loved her still, and amid all her sorrow for her father,
there was a spring of joy in her heart as she thought of the
future opening so blissfully before her. She told Guy and
Alice everything, and while they both felt how deeply she had
been wronged, they uttered no word of censure against the
father, who had wronged her so. He was dead and gone for
ever, and they made his grave beautiful with flowers and
shrubs, and placed by it a costly stone, and dropped their tears
upon it ; and then turned their backs on Germany and travelled
night and day until the sea was reached, the glorious sea, at
MILLBANK IS SOLD AT AUCTION. S73
sight of which Magdalen wept tears of joy, blessing the dashing
waves which were to bear her home to Beechwood and to Roge
Irving.
CHAPTER LII.
MILLBANK IS SOLD AT AUCTION.
JILLBANK was to be sold, with all its furniture and
the hundred acres of land belonging to it. Five years
had sufficed for Frank to run through his princely
fortune, and he was a ruined man. Extravagant living, losses
by fire and neglect to take advantage of the markets, fast
horses, heavy bets, the dishonesty of Holt, his head man and
chief adviser, and lastly, his signing of a note of twenty thousand
dollars, every penny of which he had to pay, had done the
business for him ; and when the Greys landed in New York
the papers were full of the " great failure " at Belvidere, and
the day was fixed when Millbank was to be sold.
Guy pointed out the paragraph to Magdalen, and then
watched her as she read it. She was very white, and there was
a strange gleam in her dark eyes ; but she did not seem sorry.
On the contrary, her face fairly shone as she looked up and
said, " I shall buy Millbank and give it back to Roger."
Guy knew she would do that, and he encouraged her in the
plan, and went himself to Belvidere, where he was a stranger,
and made all needful inquiries, and reported to Magdalen.
Mrs. Frank had already left Millbank with her hundred thou
sand, not a dollar of which could Frank's creditors touch, or
Frank either, for that matter.
Bell held her own with an iron grasp, and so well had she
managed that none of the principal had been spent, and when
the final crash came and her husband told her he was mined, it
found her prepared and ready to abdicate at any moment
374 MILLBANK IS SOLD AT AUCTION.
The old home in Boston was sold, but she was able to buy a
better one, and she did so, and with her father and sister took
possession at once. To do Bell justice, she carried nothing
from Millbank but her clothing and jewelry. The rest be
longed to Frank's creditors, and she considered that it would be
stealing to take it. This she said several times for the benefil
of Mrs. Walter Scott, who, less scrupulous than her daughter-in
law, was quietly filling her trunks and boxes with articles of
value, silver and china, and linen and bedding, and curtains, and
whatever she could safely stow away. Mrs. Walter Scott was
about to buy a house, too, a cosy little cottage with handsome
grounds, just out of New York, on the New Haven road. She,
too, had managed well, as she supposed. She had speculated in
stocks and oil until she thought herself worth forty thousand
dollars. There was some of it lying in the bank, where she
could draw it at any time, and some of it still in oi/, which she
was assured she could sell at an advance upon the original
price. So, what with the forty thousand and what with the
household goods she would take from Millbank, she felt quite
comfortable in her mind, and bore the shock of her son's failure
with great equanimity and patience. She was glad, she said, of
something to break up the terrible life they were leading at Mill-
bank. For more than a year, and indeed ever since Bell's re
turn from abroad, scarcely a word had been exchanged be
tween herself and Mrs. Franklin Irving, and each lady had an
establishment of her own, with a separate table, a separate reti
nue of servants, and a separate carriage. There was no other
way of keeping the peace, and in desperation Frank himself had
suggested this arrangement, though he knew that the entire sup
port of both families would necessarily fall on him. But Frank
was reckless, and did not greatly care. He was going to de
struction any way, he said to Roger, who expostulated with him
and warned him of the sure result of such extravagance. " He
was going to ruin, and he might as well go on a grand scale, and
better, too, if that would keep peace between the women."
And so he went to ruin, and wrote to Roger one morning,
MILLBANK IS SOLD AT AUCTION. 3/5
" The smash has come, and I'm poorer than I was when I de
pended on you for my bread. Everything is to be sold, and I
can't say I am sorry. It's been a torment to me. I've nevei
had the confidence of my men ; they always acted as if I was
an intruder, and I felt so myself. I wish I could give the thing
back to you as clear as when I took it. I'd rather saw wood
than lead the dog's life I have led for the last five years. Bell
is going to Boston. She is rich, and maybe will let me live with
her if I pay my board ! That sounds queer, don't it? but I tell
you, old chap, you are better off without a wife. I don't believe
in women any way. Mother is going to New York and I am
going to thunder."
Roger's heart gave one great throb of sorrow for his nephew
when he read this letter, and then beat wildly with the wish that
he could buy Millbank back. But he was not able, and he
could have wept bitterly at the thoughts of its going to strangers.
" Thy will be done," was a lesson Roger had learned thoroughly,
and he said it softly to himself, and was glad his father did not
know that the old place which had been in the family more
than fifty years, was about to pass from it forever.
He went to Millbank and examined Frank's affairs to see if
anything could be saved for the young man, who seemed so
crushed, so hopeless, and so stony. But matters were even
worse than he had feared. There was nothing to do but to sell
the entire property. Roger could buy the mill, and the men
were anxious for him to do so, and crowded around him with
their entreaties, which Frank warmly seconded.
" Buy it, Roger, and let me work in it as a common hajid. I'd
rather do it a thousand times than live on my wife, even if her,
money did come from me."
Frank said this bitterly, and Roger's heart ached for him as
he replied that perhaps he would buy the Mill ; he'd think of it
and decide. It was not to be sold till after Millbank, and his
decision would depend on who bought that. This comforted
Frank a little, and he felt a great deal better when he at last
MILLBANK IS SOLD AT AUCTION.
said good-by to Roger, who went back to Schodick the day
but one before Guy Seymour's arrival in Belvidere.
Guy did not go to see Frank. He found out all he cared to
know from other sources, and reported to Magdalen, who could
scarcely eat or sleep, so great was her excitement and so eager
was she for the day of the sale.
" Have you answered Roger's letter ? " Alice asked, and she
replied : " No, nor shall I till Millbank is mine. Then I shall
take my answer to him with a deed of the place."
She had it all arranged, her going to Schodick unan
nounced to see Roger, her laying the deed before him, and her
keen enjoyment of his surprise and astonishment, both at the
deed and the sight of herself.
" It is five years since I saw him. I wonder if he will know
me, and if he will think me old at twenty-four ? " she said as she
arose and glanced at herself in the mirror.
Three years of travel had not impaired but greatly improved
her looks and style, and those who thought her handsome when
she went away exclaimed now at her matchless loveliness, and
Magdalen knew herself that she was beautiful, and was glad for
Roger's sake. Every thought and feeling now had a direct
reference to him, and when at last the day of the sale arrived,
she was sick with excitement, and read Guy's message in bed.
He had promised to telegraph as soon as Millbank was hers,
and all through the morning she waited and watched and her
head throbbed with pain and she grew more and more impatient,
until at last came the telegram.
" Millbank is yours. Mr. Roger Irving neither here nor
coming. Guv."
Then Magdalen arose and dressed herself, and seemed like one
insane as she flew about the room and packed a small hat-box
preparatory for to-morrow's journey. She was going to Mill-
bank to execute the deed, and then on to Schodick with Guy.
Alice helped her all she could, and tried to keep her quiet, and
make her eat and rest lest her strength should fail entirely.
But Magdalen was not tired, she said, nor sick now. She felt
MILLBANK IS SOLD 4T AUCTION'. 377
better than she had done in years, and her eyes were bright as
stars and her cheeks like damask roses when she bade Alice
good-by and started for Belvidere.
Guy met her at the station, and conducted her to the new
hotel, which had been built since she left the place. The win
dows of her room commanded a view of Millbank, and she
looked with tearful eyes at her old home and Roger's, and
thought, " It will be ours again." She had no doubt of that, no
doubt of Roger, and her heart thrilled with ecstasy as she antici
pated the joyous future. There had not been much excite
ment at the sale, Guy told her ; but few seemed to care for so
large a house, and the bids had ceased altogether when once it
was rumored that he was merely bidding for /ier, for Mag
dalen.
" I believe they suspected your intention," Guy said, " and
you got Millbank some thousands cheaper than I thought you
would. It is a grand old place, and has not been injured by its
recent proprietors."
Magdalen did not wish to go into the house while Mrs. Walter
Scott was there, but she rode through the grounds in the after
noon, and the next day started with Guy for Schodick, which
they reached about three o'clock.
" Mr. Irving was in town," the landlord said, " and slightly
indisposed, he believed ; at least he was not at his office that
morning, and the clerk said he was at his house, sick."
"I am going to him at once," Magdalen said to Guy. "You
have been there. You can direct me, and within half an hour
after their arrival in Schodick she was on her way to Roger's
house with the deed of Millbank in her pocket.
378 MAGDALEN AT ROGER'S HOME.
CHAPTER LIU.
MAGDALEN AT ROGER'S HOME.
j|T had been some consolation to Roger to know that an
Irving was living at Millbank, even if it was no longei
his, but to have it pass into the hands of strangers was
terrible to him, and on the day of the sale he lived over again
the sorrow he had felt when first his fortune was taken from
him.
He had requested Frank to inform him at once with regard to
the purchaser, and had waited almost as impatiently as Magda
len herself, until Frank's telegram flashed along the wires,
" Sold to Guy Seymour, for Magdalen."
Then for a moment Roger's heart gave a great throb of joy,
and a hope or expectation of something, he knew not what, flitted
through his mind. He had seen in a paper that Guy Seymour
had returned from Europe with his family, and from the same
paper learned that Mr. Grey was dead. There was no bitter
ness then in Roger's heart towards the man whose enemy he
had been. Arthur Grey was dead, and gone to One who would
deal justly with him ; and Roger was sorry he had ever felt so
hard towards him, for he had been the father of Magdalen, and
she was as dear to him now as she had been in the years gone
by, when she made the very brightness of his life. He could
not forget her, though her name was never on his lips, save as
he bore it night and morning to the Thione of Grace, or whis
pered it to himself in the loneliness of his room, or up among
the pines, where she always seemed near to him. He had given
up all hope of ever calling her his own. His unanswered letter
had driven him to that, and still the days were brighter and life
seemed far more desirable after he knew that she had returned,
that the same sky smiled on them both by day, and the same
stars kept watch over them at night.
"Guy Seymour bought it for Magdalen," he said, as he held
MAGDALEN AT ROGER'S HOME. 379
the telegram in his trembling hand. " Yes, I see ; her father
has left her rich, and she has bought Millbank, and means per
haps to live there ; but not alone, surely not alone in that great
house ; " and then Roger went off into a train of speculation
as to Magdalen's probable intentions. Was Guy to be there
with Alice, or was there a prospective husband across the sea ?
Roger grew hot and faint when he thought of that, and felt a
headache coming on, and said to his partner that he would go
home and rest a while. He told Hester of the telegram, and
with a woman's ready wit she guessed what Magdalen's inten
tions might be, but gave no sign to Roger. She saw how pale
he was looking, and was prepared to hear of his headache, and
made him some tea, and told him to keep still and not bother
about Frank's affairs.
" You've just tired yourself to death over 'em," she said,
"and it's no wonder you are sick."
He was better the next day, and went as usual to his -effice,
but the next morning his headache had returned with redoubled
violence. And while Magdalen was making her way to the
old-fashioned farm-house covered with vines and surrounded
with flowers and shrubs, he was sleeping quietly upon the
couch in his room, unmindful of the great happiness in store
for him, the great surprise, coming nearer and nearer as
Magdalen hastened her footsteps, her heart beating almost to
bursting when at a sudden turn in the road she came upon the
house which they told her was Mr. Irving' s.
"The first one round the corner. You'll know it by the
heaps of flowers, and the pretty yard," a boy had said, and
Magdalen had almost run, so eager was she to be there.
" Oh, how beautiful ! I should know Roger lived here," she
said, as she stopped to admire the velvety turf in which patches
of bright flowers were blooming, the fanciful beds, the borders
and walks, and the signs of taste and care everywhere visible.
She did not think of the old house, with its low windows and
doors, and signs of antiquity. She saw only the marks of culti
vation around it, and thought it was Roger's home. The
380 MAGDALEN AT ROGER'S HOME.
windows of an upper room were open, and a rustic basket o!
ivy and geraniums and verbenas was standing in one of them,
while a book with the paper folder in it was in the other, and
across both white curtains were hanging, the summer wind
moving them in and out with a slow, gentle motion.
" I know that this is Roger's room," Magdalen said, and a
vague desire seized her that he might receive Millbank from
her there.
Old Hester Floyd had finished her work and was about to
" tidy herself up a little," when a rustling movement at the
door attracted her attention, and she turned to find Magdalen
standing there, her dark eyes bright as diamonds, her cheeks
flushed and burning with excitement, her lips apart and her
hands clasped together, as she bent slightly forward across the
kitchen threshold. With a scream, Hester bounded toward
her, and dragging her into the room, exclaimed, " Magdalen,
Magdalen, I knew it, I knew it. I said something was going
to happen when the rooster crowed so this morning, some
body going to come ; but I did not dream of you, Magdalen,
oh ! Magdalen." She kept repeating the name, and with her
hard, rough hands held and rubbed the soft white fingers she
had clasped ; then, as the joy kept growing, she sobbed aloud
and broke down entirely.
" Oh ! Magdalen," she said, " I am so glad for him. He has
wanted you and missed you all the time, though he never
mentioned your name."
Something in the face or manner of the younger woman
must have communicated itself to the mind of the elder, for
Magdalen had^ given no reason for her sudden appearance at
Schodick, or sign of what she meant to do. But Hester took
her coming as a good omen for Roger, and kept repeating,
f " I'm so glad, so glad for Roger."
. " How do you know he wants me, if, as you say, he never
mentions my name ? " Magdalen asked, and Hester replied,
"How do we know the sun shines when we can't hear it?
MAGDALEN AT ROGER'S HOME. 381
We can see and feel, can't we ? And so I know you ain't long
out of Roger's mind, and ain't been since we moved here, and
he brung the candle-box cradle with him just because you once
slept in it."
"Did Roger do that? Did he bring my cradle from Mill
bank ? Why didn't you tell me before ? " Magdalen asked,
her eyes shining with tears of joy at this proof of Roger's love.
" I thought I did write it to you," Hester replied ; " I meant
to, but might of forgot but he brought it by express ; and it's
.upstairs now, and in it "
Hester stopped abruptly, thinking it might be premature to
speak of the cribby quilt, which did not now stand so good a
chance of reaching the heathen as it had done one hour before.
" Where is Roger ? " Magdalen asked, and Hester told her
of the headache he had complained of ever since the day of the
sale, adding, " He's in his room, which is fixed up as nice as
anybody's ; his books and pictures and a little recess for his
bed, just like any gentleman."
" Does he know who bought Millbank ? " Magdalen asked
next, and Hester replied :
" Yes, Frank telegraphed that Mr. Seymour bought it for
you, and Roger was as white as a ghost, and has been sick ever
since. Magdalen, what did you buy Millbank for ? Be you
goin' to git married?"
Hester asked this question a little anxiously, and Magdalen's
eyes fairly danced as she replied, " I think so, Hester, but
I'm not quite certain. I did not buy Millbank for myself,
though, I bought it for Roger, and "
Hester's hand deepened its grasp on Magdalen's, and
Hester's face was almost as white as her cap border, as she
bent forward to listen, saying eagerly, " and what, Magdalen ?
You bought it for Roger and what ? "
" And have given it to him. I was the means of his losing
it. It is right that I should give it back, and I am here to do so.
The deed is in my pocket, made out to him, to Roger, see,"
and she held the precious document toward Hester, who was
382 ROGER AND MAGDALEN.
on her knees now, kissing even the dress of the young girl thus
making restitution.
She could hardly believe it true, and she took the paper in
her hands and pressed it to her lips, then opened it reverent! v,
and glancing at its contents, whispered, "It is, it is. It reads
like the deed of the tavern stand. It must be true. Oh, Mag
dalen, Roger can't live there alone. Who is to live with
him ? "
"You and I, Hester, if he will let us. Do you think he
will ? " Magdalen said, with a merry gleam in her bright eyes.
" Do I think he will? Ask him, and see what he says."
Old Hester had risen to her feet, but she still held Magda
len's hand, and leading her into the next room, pointed to the
stair door, and said, " He is up there ; come on if you want to
see him."
At the head of the stairs Hester paused a moment to recon
noitre, then whispered softly, "He's asleep on the lounge.
Shall we go back ? "
" No, leave me here with him," Magdalen replied, and nod
ding assent, Hester stole softly down the stairs, while Magdalen
stepped carefully across the threshold of the room, and closing
the door behind her stood locking upon Roger.
CHAPTER LIV.
ROGER AND MAGDALEN.
|E was sleeping quietly, and his forehead was fully ex
posed to view, with the brown curls clustering around
it, and an occasional frown or shadow flitting across it as
if the pain were felt even in his sleep. How Magdalen's fingers
tingled to thread those curls, and smooth that broad, white brow ;
but she dared not for fear of waking him, and she held her breath
ROGER AND MAGDALEN. 383
and stood looking at him as he slept, feeling a keen throb of sor
row as she: saw how he had changed and knew what had changed
him. He: was much thinner than when she saw him last, and
there were lines about his mouth and a few threads of silver in
his brown beard, while his eyes, as he slept, seemed hollow and
sunken.
There was a stool just at her feet, and she pushed it to his
side, and seating herself upon it prepared to watch and wait un
til his heavy slumber ended. And while she waited she looked
around and noted all the marks of a refined taste which Roger
had gathered about him, the books, the pictures, the flowers
and shells, and lastly, a little crayon sketch of herself, drawn evi
dently from memory, and representing her as she sat by the river
bank years ago, when first Roger Irving felt that his interest in his
beautiful ward was more than a mere liking. It was hanging
close to Jessie's picture, and Magdalen sat gazing at it until she
forgot where she was, and was back again beneath the old tree by
the river bank, with Roger at her side. Suddenly she gave a
long, deep sigh, and then Roger awoke, and met the glance of
her bright eyes, and saw her face so near to him, and knew that
his long night of sorrow was over, else she had never been there,
kneeling by him as she was, with her hands holding his and her
tears dropping so fast as she tried to speak to him.
"Magda, Magda, my darling," was all he could say as he
drew her into his arms and held her there a moment in a close
embrace.
Then releasing her he lay down upon his pillow, pale as
death and utterly prostrated with the neuralgic pain which the
sudden excitement and surprise had brought back again.
" You take my breath away ; when did you come, and why ? "
he asked ; and then releasing her hands from his, Magdalen
took the deed from her pocket and changing her position held
it before his eyes, saying : " / came to bring this, Roger ; to
make restitution ; to give you back Millbank, which, but for me,
you would not have lost. See, it is made out 'to you ! Mill-
384 ROGER AND MAGDALEN.
bank is yours again. I bought it with my own money,
bought it for you, I give it to you, it is yours."
She spoke rapidly and kept reiterating that Millbank was /,
because of the look on his face which she did not quite under
stand. He was too much bewildered and confounded to know
what to say, and for a moment was silent, while his eyes ran
rapidly over the paper, which, beyond a doubt, made him
master of Millbank again.
"Why did you do this, Magda ? " he said at last, and his chin
quivered a little as he said it.
Then Magdalen burst out impulsively, " Oh, Roger, don't
look as if you were not glad. I've thought so much about it,
and wanted to do something by way of amends. 1 saved all
my salary, every dollar, before I knew I was Magdalen Grey,
and was going to send it to you, but Guy laughed me out of it,
and said you did not need it : then, when father died and
I knew I was rich, my first thought was of you, and when I heard
Millbank was to be sold, I said, ' I'll buy it for Roger if it
takes every cent I am worth ; ' and I have bought it, and given
it to you, and you must take it and go back there and live. I
shall never be happy till you do."
She stopped here, but she was kneeling still, and her tearful,
Hushed face was very near to Roger, who could interpret her
words and manner in only one way, and that a way which made
the world seem like heaven to him.
" Magda," he said, winding his arm around her and drawing
her hot cheek close to his own, "let me ask one question.
I can't live at Millbank alone. If I take it of you, who will
live there with me ? "
Hester had asked a similar question, but Magdalen did not
reply to Roger just as she had to the old lady. There was a
little dash of coquetry in her manner, which would not per
haps have appeared had she been less sure of her position.
" I suppose Hester will live with you, of course," she said.
" She does nicely for you here. She is not so very old."
There was a teasing look in Magdalen's eyes, which told Roger
ROGER AND MAGDALEN. 385
he had nothing to fear, and raising himself up he drew her down
beside him and said : " I ask you to be candid with me, Magda.
We have wasted too much time not to be in earnest now.
Your coming to me as you have could only be construed in
one way, were you like most girls ; but you are not. You are
impulsive. You think no evil, see no evil, but do just what
your generous heart prompts you to do. Now, tell me, dar
ling, was it sympathy and a desire to make restitution, as you de
signate it, or was it love which sent you here when I had ceased
to hope you would ever come. Tell me, Magda, do you, can.
you love your old friend and guardian, who has been foolish
enough to hold you in his heart all these many years, even when
he believed himself indifferent to you ? "
Roger was talking in sober earnest, and his arm deepened its
clasp around Magda' s waist, and his lips touched the shining
hair of the bowed head which drew back a moment from him,
then drooped lower and lower until it rested in his bosom, as
Magdalen burst into a flood of tears and sobs. For a moment
she did not try to speak ; then, with a desperate effort to be calm,
she lifted up her head and burst out with, " I never got your
letter, never knew it was written until a few weeks ago.
Father kept it. Forgive him, Roger; remember he was my
father, and he is dead," she cried vehemently, as she saw the
dark frown gathering on Roger's face. Yes, he was her father,
and he was dead, and that kept Roger from cursing the man
who had wronged him in his childhood, through his mother,
and touched him still closer in his later manhood, by keeping
him so long from Magdalen.
" Father told me at the last," Magdalen said. " He was sor
ry he kept it, arxd he bade me tell you so. He did not dislike
you. It was the name, the association ; and he hoped I might
forget you, but I didn't. I have remembered you all through the
long years since that dreadful day when I found the will, and
it hurt me so to think you wanted me to marry Frank. That
was the hardest of all."
" But you know better now. I told you in my letter of Frank's
386 ROGER AND MAGDALEN.
confession.," Roger said, and Magdalen replied, " Yes, I know
better now. Everything is clear, else I had never come here
to bring you Millbank, and and, myself, if you will take me.
Will you, Roger ? It is leap year, you know. I have a right
to ask."
She spoke playfully, and her eyes looked straight into his own,
while for answer he took her in his arms, and kissed her forehead
and lips and hair, and she felt that he was praying silently over her,
thanking Heaven for this precious gift which had come to him at
last. Then he spoke to her and said, " I take you, Magda, will
ingly, gladly ; oh how gladly Heaven only knows, and as I cannot
well take you without the incumbrance of Millbank, I accept that,
too ; and darling, though this may not be the time to say it, there
has already been so much of business and money and lands
mixed up with our love, that I may, I am sure, tell you I am
able of myself to buy the mill in Belvidere and the site of the
old shoe-shop. Frank wanted me to do it, and I put him off
with saying I would wait until I knew who was to live at Mill-
bank. I know now," and again he rained his kisses upon the
face of her who was to be his wife and the undisputed mis
tress, as he was the master, of Millbank.
A long time they talked together of the past, which now
seemed to fade away so fast in the blissful joy of the present ;
and Magdalen told him of little Roger Irving, whose god
mother she was, and of her mother and Alice, and the home at
Beech wood, where Guy Seymour's family would continue to live.
"It's the same house my father built for Jessie, for your
mother," Magdalen said, softly, and glanced up at the pic
ture on the wall, whose blue eyes seemed to look down in bless
ing upon this pair to whom the world was opening so brightly.
Then they talked of Frank and Bell and Mrs. Walter Scott,
and by that time the summer sun was low in the western hori
zon, and Hester's tea-table was spread with every delicacy the
place could afford ; while Hester herself was fine and grand in
her second-best black silk, which nothing less than Magdalen'i
arrival could have induced her o wear on a week-day.
ROGER AND MAGDALEN. 387
Guy, too, had made his appearance after waiting in vain foi
Magdalen's return. Hester remembered him, and welcomed
him warmly, and told him " the young folks was up chamber,
billin' and cooin' like two turtle doves," whereupon Guy began
to whistle " Highland Mary," which Magdalen heard, and start
ing up, exclaimed :
" There's Guy come for me ! I must go now back to the
hotel."
But she did not go, for Roger would not permit it, and he
kept her there that night, and the next day took her to his
favorite place of resort, the rock under the pine, and seat
ing her upon the mossy bank knelt beside her, and gave thanks
anew to Heaven, who had heard and answered the prayer made
so often under that tasselled pine, that if it were right Magda
should one day come to him as his. Then they went all over
the farm and down to the mill, where some of the operatives
who had lived in Belvidere and knew Magdalen came to speak
with her, thus raising themselves in the estimation of the less
favored ones, who gazed admiringly at the beautiful young girl,
rightly guessing the relation she held to Mr. Irving, and feeling
glad for him.
No repairs were needed at Millbank, and but few changes ;
so that the house was ready any time for its new proprietors,
but Magdalen would not consent to going there as its mistress
until September, for she wanted the atmosphere thoroughly
cleared from the taint of Mrs. Walter Scott's presence, and
it would take more than a few weeks for that. She liked
Bell and she pitied Frank ; but Mrs. Walter Scott was her
special aversion, and so long as she remained at Millbank,
Magdalen could not endure even to cross its threshold. Still
it seemed necessary that she should do so before her return to
Beechwood, and on the morning following the peaceful Sunday
spent at Schodick she returned to Belvidere, which by this
time was rife with the conjectures that Roger was coming
back to Millbank and Magdalen vas coming with him.
388 MILLBANK IS CLEAR OF ITS OLD TENANTS
CHAPTER LV.
MILLBANK IS CLEAR OF ITS OLD TENANTS.
JHAT afternoon Magdalen went with Guy over th
house, where she was met by Frank, and welcomed as
the new mistress. Appropriating her at once to him
self, Frank led her from room to room, seeming pleased at
her commendations of the taste which had been displayed in
the selection of furniture and the care which had evidently
been given to everything.
"It was Bell," Frank said. "She is a good housekeeper,
and after the split with mother she attended to things. They
had separate apartments, you know, at the last; didn't
speak a word, which I liked better than a confounded quarrel.
I tell you, Magdalen, I've seen sights of trouble since you
found that will, and I am happier to-day, knowing I've got
out of the scrape, than I've been before in years."
He seemed disposed to be very communicative, and was go
ing on to speak of his domestic troubles ; but Magdalen quietly
checked him, and then asked where his mother was intending
to go.
" The mills of the gods grind slowly, but fine, exceedingly
fine," Frank said ; and then he told of his mother's fears for
her money deposited in the bank of . There was a rumor
that the bank had failed, but as it was only a rumor he still
hoped for the best
" At the first alarm, mother went to bed," he said, " and she
is there still ; so you must excuse her not seeing you."
Magdalen had no desire to see her, and when on her way to
Beechwood she read in the paper of the total failure of the
bank where Frank had told her his mother's money was de
posited, she did not greatly sympathize with the artful, design
ing woman, who almost gnashed her teeth when she, too, heard
MILLBANK IS CLEAR OF ITS OLD TENANTS. 389
of her loss. She was all ready for removal to " Rose Cottage,"
for which a friend was negotiating, and her trunks and boxes
were packed with every conceivable valuable which could by
any means be crowded into them oil paintings, chromos, steel
engravings, costly vases, exquisite shells, knives, forks, spoons,
china, cut glass, table linen, bed linen, and even carpets formed
a part of her spoil, intended for that cottage, which now was
not within her reach. There was still her oil stock left, and
with that she might manage to live respectably, she thought,
and resolving that no one should exult over her disappoint
ment from any change they saw in her, she tried to appear
natural, and when an attempt was made at sympathy, answered
indifferently " that she was sorry, of course, as she could have
done so much good with the money ; but the Lord knew what
was best, and she must bear patiently what was sent upon her."
This was what she said to her clergyman, who came to sympa
thize with her ; but when he was gone, she looked the house
over again, to see if there was anything more which she could
take, and in case of necessity turn into money. Some one in
Belvidere wrote to Roger that the house at Millbank was being
robbed, and advised strongly that means be taken to prevent
further depredations ; and a few days after Mrs. Walter Scott
was met in the hall by a stern-looking man, who said he came,
at Mr. Irving' s request, to take an inventory of all the articles
of furniture in the house, and also to remain there and see that
nothing was harmed or removed.
He laid great stress on the last word, and the lady grew hot
and red, and felt that she was suspected and looked upon as a
thief, and resented it accordingly ; but after that there was no
more hiding of articles under lock and key, for the stranger
always seemed to be present, and she knew that she was
watched ; and when he inquired for a small and expensive oil
painting which Roger had bought in Rome, and an exquisite
French chromo, and certain pieces of silver and cut glass
which he had on his list as forming a part of the household
goods he was appointed to care for, she found them and gave
390 MILLBANK IS CLEAR OF ITS OLD TENANTS.
them, one by one, into his hands. And so her stock of goods
diminished and she hastened to get away before everything was
taken from her ; and one morning in August finally departed
for a boarding-house in New York, where she intended staying
until something better offered.
As soon as she was gone, a bevy of servants came out from
Beechwood, and Roger came from Schodick to superintend
them, and old Hester came to oversee him, and the renovating
process went rapidly on, while crowds of the villagers flocked
to the house, curious to see the costly articles of furniture
which, during the last few years, had been constantly arriving,
and of which the house was full to overflowing.
The mill was Roger's now, as well as the site of the old shoe-
shop. He had bought them both on the day of their sale, and
the operatives of the mill had hurrahed with might and main
for their new master, never heeding the old one, who still re
mained in town, and who, whatever he might have felt, put a
good face on the matter, and seemed as glad and as interested
as the foremost of them. Only once did he manifest the slight
est feeling, and that was when with Roger he entered Bell's
sleeping-room, where the silken curtains were hanging and the
many expensive articles of the toilet were still lying as Bell had
left them. Then sitting down by the window, he cried ; and,
when Roger looked at him questioningly, he told of his little boy
born in that room, and dead before it was born.
"Bell was glad, he said, she does not like children ; but I
was so sorry, for if that boy had lived I should have been a
better man ; but it died, and Bell has left me, and mother's
gone, and my money's gone, and I am a used-up dog gener
ally," he added bitterly ; and then with a sudden dashing away
of his tears he brightened into his former self, and said, laugh
ingly, "But what's the use of fretting? I shall get along some
way. I always have, you know."
In his heart he knew Roger would not let him suffer, and
when Roger said as much by way of comforting him, he took
THE BRIDAL. 391
it as a matter of course, and secretly hoped " the governor
would give him something handsome, and let him keep a
horse!"
CHAPTER LVI.
THE BRIDAL.
|ILLBANK was ready at last for its new mistress. But
few changes had been made, and these in the library
and the suite of rooms set apart for the bride. Her
tastes were simpler than Bell's, and some of the gorgeous trap
pings had been removed and soberer ones put in their place.
The house at Schodick had been despoiled of a portion of its
furniture, which now formed a part of Millbank; Jessie's pic
ture and the candle-box cradle were both brought back, and
Hester had the little quilt safe in her trunk, and had bought a
new gray satin dress for the wedding party to be given at Mill-
bank, September i5th, the day after the bridal. The idea of
gray satin Hester had gotten from Mrs. Penelope Seymour, who
came to Millbank to see that everything was as it should be for
the reception of her niece. She had stayed three days and
nights, and Hester had admired her greatly and copied her
dress, and had it made in Springfield, and fitted over hoops and
cotton, and then tried to fix up Aleck into something a little
more modern. But Aleck was incorrigible, and would wear
his short pants and cowhide shoes tied with leather strings,
and so she gave him up, and comforted herself with the fact
that he stayed mostly in his room, and would not run much
risk of being laughed at by the "grandees" expected with
the bridal party from New York.
Roger had already gone to Beechwood, where Magdalen was
waiting for him. It was his first visit there, and there were
39-2 THE BRIDAL.
strange thoughts crowding upon his mind as he rode up
the mountain side toward the house which had been built
for his mother, and whither she once hoped to come as a
bride. Now she was dead, her grave the ocean bed, her shroud
the ocean grass, and he, her son, was going for his bride, the
daughter of Arthur Grey. " Surely the ways of Providence are
inscrutable ; who can know them?" he said, just as a turn in
the road brought the house and grounds fully into view, togethei
with Magdalen, who, in her evening dress of white, was standing
on the piazza, her face glowing with health and beauty and
eager expectation. Very joyfully she received him, and leading
him into the house presented him to Alice and her aunt, and
then went for her little nephew, whom she brought to his
" Uncle Roger."
They were a very merry party at Beechwood that night, and
not a shadow rested on the hearts of any one. It was better
that Laura should be gone, better for her, better for them ail ;
and when Magdalen saw how white Roger turned at the sight
of her father's picture, she felt that it was well perhaps that he,
too, was dead, for the two men could not have been wholly con
genial to each other. The bridal was the next day but one, and
Magdalen in her plain travelling dress was very beautiful, as
she pledged herself to the man whose face wore a look of per
fect peace and thankfulness as he clasped her hand and knew
it was his forever. He made no demonstrations before the
people, but when for a moment they were alone, as she went
up for her hat and shawl, he opened his arms to her, and clasp
ing her tightly to his bosom, showered his kisses upon her face
and hands and hair, and called her his precious wife, his
darling, won at last after many years of sorrow.
They went to New York that night, and the next day arrived
at Millbank, with Mrs. Seymour, Guy, and Alice, and a few
friends, the Dagons and Draggons, whose quiet, unostentatious
elegance of manner created quite as great a sensation as Mrs
Walter Scott's more showy guests had done when her son was
THE BRIDAL. 393
the groom and Bell Burleigh the bride. Roger had given his
men a holiday, and had ordered a dinner for them upon the
Millbank grounds, but he had not hinted at a demonstration
or bonfire, and was surprised when the New York train came
r;jtind the bend in the meadow to see the crowds and crowds
uf people assembled before the depot, some on the fence, some
on the woodpile, some on the platform, and all glad and excited
and eager to see him. The Belvidere Band was there also, and
preceded the carriage up to the house, which had never seemed
so pleasant and desirable to Roger as now, when he came back
to it with Magdalen, and felt that both were his beyond a possi
bility of doubt. Old Hester received them, and no one but
herself was allowed to remove the bride's wrappings, or conduct
her to her room. Hester was in her element, and Mrs. Walter
Scott never bore herself more proudly than did the old lady on
that eventful day, when she seemed suddenly to have grown
young again, and to be in every place at once, her cap-strings
flying behind her, and her black silk pinned about her waist.
The gray was reserved for the evening, when, instead of a
party proper, to which a few were bidden, a general reception
was held, which all were welcome to attend. There was a great
crowd, for rich and poor, old and young, plebeian and aristocrat,
came to pay their respects to the newly married pair ; but not
a rude thing was done, or a rough word spoken by any one.
Roger, himself, did not know them all, and Magdalen only a
few; but her greeting was just as cordial to one as to another.
Her travelling-dress had been very plain, but this evening she
was radiant in white satin and lace and pearls, with the bridal
veil floating back from her head, and the orange wreath crown
ing her shining hair ; and those who had never seen such dress
and style before held their breath in wonder, and for months
after talked with pride of the night when all the town was per
mitted to see and shake hands with the sweet lady of Millbank,
Mrs. Roger Irving. Roger had forbidden a bonfire, but there
were lanterns hung in the trees all over the grounds, and the
17*
394 THE BRIDAL.
young people danced there upon the floor which had been tem
porarily laid down, until midnight was passed, and the moon was
so high in the horizon that the glare of lamps was no longei
needed to light up the festal scene.
Mrs. Franklin Irving had been invited to be present, but
she wisely declined, and sent instead a most exquisite ring to
Magdalen, who let Frank put it upon her finger and kiss her hand
as he did so, a privilege he claimed because the ring was said
to be his gift and Bell's. His wife had conceded so much to him,
though Frank had known nothing of the ring until he saw it in its
velvet box on his wife's bureau. Unlike her, he had no feelings
of delicacy to prevent his being present at Roger's bridal party.
With no business on his hands, and nothing to expect from his
wife besides his board, he was quite as willing to stay at Mill-
bank as in Boston, and seemed to take it for granted that he
was welcome there. And nobody cared much about his move
ments except Hester, who wondered " Why the lazy lout didn't
go to work and earn his own vittles, instead of hangin' on to
Roger. She vummed if she'd stan' it much longer. She'd set
him to work if Roger didn't."
And so as time went on and Frank still lingered about the
place, Hester gradually impressed him into her service, and
made him do some of the things which Aleck once had done
and which he was unable to do now. Sometimes he brought
water for her, or split her kindlings, or went to the village on
an errand, and did it willingly, too, though he always wore his
gloves, and generally carried his cane and eye-glass, which last
article he had of late adopted. It was Magdalen who finally
interfered and stood between Hester and Frank, and said he
was welcome to remain at Millbank as long as he chose, and
that if Hester had not servants enough another should be pro
cured at once. This was the first and only time that Magdalen
asserted her right as mistress in opposition to old Hester, who
submitted without a word and ever after left Frank in peace.
September passed quickly, and in the late October days,
when the New England woods were gorgeous with crimson
CHRISTMAS-TIDE. 395
and gold, and Millbank was still beautiful with its autumn
flowers, Mrs. Franklin Irving came up to visit Mr. and Mrs.
Roger, and was received by them with all the cordiality due
so near a relative. Not by a word or look did she betray
the slightest regret for the past, when she had been mistress
where she was now only a guest. Millbank was to her as any
stranger's house, and she bore herself naturally and pleasantly,
and made herself very agreeable to Roger, and devoted herself
to Magdalen, whom she liked so much, and was civil and almost
kind to her husband, who was still there, and as Hester said,
"just as shiftless as ever."
Bell saw the state of affairs, and while she despised her hus
band more than ever for his indolence and lack of sensibility,
she resolved to give Magdalen a rest, and leave her alone with
Roger for a time ; so when in November she returned to Bos
ton, she invited Frank to go with her, and secured him a place as
book-keeper in a merchant's counting-house, and stimulated
perhaps by the perfect happiness and confidence she had seen
existing between Roger and Magdalen, tried by being kind and
even deferential to him to mould him into something of which
she would not be so terribly ashamed as she was now of the care
less, shambling, listless, lazy man, whom everybody knew as Mrs.
Franklin Irving' s husband.
CHAPTER LVII.
CHRISTMAS-TIDE.
jjT was the second Christmas after Magdalen's bridal,
and fires were kindled in all the rooms at Millbank,
and pantries and closets groaned with their loads and,
loads of eatables ; and Hester Floyd bustled about, important
as ever, ordering everybody except the nurse who had come
396 CHRISTMAS-TIDE.
with Mrs. Guy Seymour and her baby, the little four-months-
old girl, whose name was Laura Magdalen, and who, with hel
warm milk and cold milk, and numerous paraphernalia of baby
hood, kept the kitchen a good deal stirred up, and made Hester
chafe a little inwardly. But, then, she said " she s'posed she
must get used to these things," and her face cleared up, and
her manner was very soft and gentle every time she thought of
the crib in Magdalen's room, where, under the identical quilt
the poor heathen would never receive, slumbered another baby
girl, Magdalen's and Roger's, which had come to Millbank
about six weeks before, and over whose birth great rejoicings
were made. Jessie Morton was its name, and Guy and Alice
had stood for it the Sunday before, and with Aunt Pen were
to remain at Millbank through the holidays, and help Magdalen
to entertain the few friends invited to pass the week under
Roger's hospitable roof.
The world had gone well with Roger since he came back to
Millbank. Everything had prospered with which he had any
thing to do. The shoe-shop had been rebuilt, and the mill was
never more prosperous, and Roger bade fair soon to be as rich a
man as he had supposed himself to be before the will was found.
On his domestic horizon no cloud, however small, had ever
rested. Magdalen was his all-in-all, his choicest treasure, for
which he daily thanked Heaven more fervently than for all his
other blessings combined. And, amid his prosperity, Roger
did not forget to render back to Heaven a generous portion of
his gifts, and many and many a sad heart was made glad, and
many a poor church and clergyman were helped, quietly, unos
tentatiously, and oftentimes so secretly that they knew not
whence came the aid, but for which they might have given up
in utter despair and hopelessness.
Magdalen approved and assisted in all her husband's char
ities, and her heart went out after the sad, sorrowful ones, with
a yearning desire to make them as happy as herself. Especially
was this the case that Christmas time, when to all her othei
CHRISTMAS-TIDE. 397
blessings a baby had been added, and she made it a season foi
extra gifts to the poor and needy who, through all the long
winter, would be more comfortable because of her generous
remembrance.
When the list of guests to be invited for the holidays was
being made out, she sat for a moment by Roger's side, with
her eyes fixed musingly on the bright fire in the grate.- Mr.
and Mrs. Franklin Irving' s names were on the list, with that of
Grace and the young clergyman to whom she was engaged,
and Roger waited for Magdalen to say if there was any one
else whom she would have.
"Yes, Roger, there is. Perhaps you won't approve, but I
should like to ask Mrs. Walter Scott, if you don't object too
much. She has a dreary time at best, and this will be a change.
She may not come, it's true ; but she will be pleased to know
we remember her."
Roger had entertained the same thought, but refrained from
giving expression to it from a fear lest Magdalen would not
like it r and so that day a cordial invitation to pass the holidays
at Millbank was forwarded to the boarding-house in New York
which Mrs. Walter Scott was actually keeping as a means of
support. Her oil had failed, as well as the bank which held
her money. " There might be something for her some time,
perhaps, but there was nothing now," was the report of the
lawyer employed to investigate the matter, and then she began
to realize how utterly destitute she was. Frank could not help
her, and as she, was too proud to ask help of Roger, she finally
did what so many poor, discouraged women do, opened a
boarding-house in a part of the city where she would not be
likely to meet any of her former friends, and there, in dull,
dingy rooms, with forlorn, half-worn furniture and faded drap
ery, all relics like herself of former splendors, she tried to earn
her living. The goods which she managed to smuggle away
from Millbank served her a good turn now, and pawnbrokers
and buyers of old silver and pictures soon made the acquaint
ance of the tall lady with light hair and traces of great beauty,
CHRISTMAS-TIDE.
who came so ften to their shops, and seemed so sad and deso
late. Roger and Magdalen had been to see her once, and
Frank had been many times ; but Bell never deigned to notice
her, though she was frequently in New York, and once drove
past the boarding-house in a stylish carriage with her velvets
and ermine around her. Mrs. Walter Scott did not see her,
and so that pang was spared her. She had finished her book,
but the publishers one and all showed a strange obtuseness
with regard to its worth, and it was put away in her trunk,
where others thing pertaining to the past were buried.
The invitation from Millbank took her by surprise and made
her cry a little, but she hastened to accept it, and was there
before her daughter-in-law, and an occupant of her former
room. She was old and broken, and faded, and poor, and
seemed very quiet, and very fond of Magdalen's baby, which
she kept a great deal in her room, calling herself its grandma,
and thinking, perhaps, of another little one whose loss no one
had regretted save Frank, the father. He came at last with
Bell, who was very polite and gracious to her mother-in-law,
whom she had not expected to meet.
" Of course I am sorry for her," she said to Magdalen, who
was one day talking of her, and wishing something might be
done to better her condition. " But what can I do. She
refuses to receive money from me, and as for having her in my
house no power on earth could induce me to do that."
Alas ! for Bell. Man proposes, but God disposes, and the
thing which no power on earth could induce her to do was to
be forced upon her whether she would have it or not.
The Christmas dinner was a sumptuous one, and after it was
over the guests repaired to the parlors, where music and a little
dance formed a part of the evening's entertainment. Mrs.
Walter Scott was playing for the dance. Her fingers had not
yet forgotten their skill, and she had good-naturedly offered to
take the place of Grace Burleigh, who gave up the more will
ingly because of the young clergyman looking over a book of
engravings and casting wistful glances toward her. Whether it
CHRISTMAS-TIDE. 399
was the dinner, or the excitement, or a combination of both,
none could tell, but there was suddenly a cessation of the
music, a crash among the keys, and Mrs. Walter Scott turned
toward the astonished dancers a face which frightened them, it
was so white, so strange, and so distorted. Paralysis of one
entire side was the verdict of the physician who was summoned
immediately and did all he could for the stricken woman, from
one-half of whose body the sense of feeling was gone, and who
lay in her room as helpless as a child. Gradually her face
began to look more natural, her speech came back again, thick
and stammering, but tolerably intelligible, and her limp right
hand moved feebly, showing that she was in part recovering.
For three weeks they nursed her with the utmost care, and
Bell stayed by and shrank from the future which she saw before
her, and from which she wished so much to escape. In her
womanly pity and sympathy Magdalen would have kept the
paralytic woman at Millbank, but Roger was not willing that
her young life should be burdened in this way, and he said to
Frank and Bell :
" Your mother's place is with her children. If you are not
able to take care of her, I am willing to help ; but I cannot
suffer Magdalen to take that load of care."
So it was settled, and Bell went home to Boston and prepared
an upper room, which overlooked the Common, and then came
back to Millbank, where they made the invalid ready for the
journey. Her face was very white and there was a look of
dreary despair and dread in her eyes, but she uttered no word
of protest against the plan, and thanked Roger for his kindness,
and kissed the little Jessie and cried softly over her, and whis
pered to Magdalen : " Come and see me often. It is the only
pleasant thing I can look forward too."
And then Frank and Roger carried her out to the carriage
which took her to the cars, and that night she heard the winter
wind howl around the winddws of the room to which she felt
that she was doomed for life, and which, taking that view of it
seemed to her like a prison.
4OO CHRIS TMAS- TIDE.
" The Lord is sure to remember first or last," old Hester said,
as she watched the carriage moving slowly down the avenue,
" and though I can't say I would have given her the shakin'
palsy if I'd of been the Lord, I know it's right and just, and a
warnin' to all liars and deceitful, snoopin' critters."
Still Hester was sorry for the woman, and went to see her
almost as often as Magdalen herself, and once stayed three
whole weeks, and took care of her when Mrs. Franklin was
away. Bell did not trouble herself very much about her mother-
in-law, or spend much time with her. She gave orders that she
should be well cared for and have everything she wished for,
and she saw that her orders were obeyed. She also went once
a day to see her and ask if she was comfortable ; but after that
she felt that nothing further was incumbent upon her. And so
for all Mrs. Walter Scott knew of the outer world and the life
she had once enjoyed so much, she was indebted to Grace,
who before her marriage passed many hours with the invalid,
telling her of things which she thought would interest her, and
sometimes reading to her until she fell asleep. But after Grace
was gone Mrs. Walter Scott's days passed in dreary loneliness
and wretched discontent. She had no pleasure in recalling the
past, and nothing to look forward to in the future. The remain
der of her wretched life she knew must be passed where she
was not wanted, and where her son came but once a day to see
her and that in the evening just after dinner, when he usually
fell asleep while she was trying to talk to him.
Bell would not suffer Frank to go into the city evenings unless
she accompanied him, for she had no fancy for having him
brought to her in a state of intoxication, as was once the case.
And Frank, who was a good deal afraid of her, remained obe
diently at home, and, preferring his mother's society to that of
his wife, stayed in the sick room a portion of every evening;
then, when wholly wearied there, went to his own apartment
and smoked in dreary solitude until midnight.
Such was Frank's life and such the life of his mother, until
there came to her a change in the form of a second shock,
CHRISTMAS- TIDE. 40 1
which rendered one hand and foot entirely helpless, and distorted
her features so badly that she insisted that the blinds should be
kept closed and the curtains down, so that those who came
into her room could not see how disfigured she was. And so
in darkness and solitude her days pass drearily, with impatient
longings for the night, and when the night comes she moans
and weeps, and wishes it was morning. Poor woman ! She is
a burden to herself and a terrible skeleton to her fashionable
daughter-in-law, who in the gayest scenes in which she mingles
never long forgets the paralytic at home, sinking so fast into
utter imbecility, and as she becomes more and more childish
and helpless, requiring more and more care^and attention.
The curse of wrong-doing is resting on Bell as well as on her
husband and his mother, and though she is proud and haughty
and reserved as ever, she is far from being happy, and her
friends say to each other that she is growing old and losing her
brilliant beauty. Frank often tells her of it when he has been
drinking wine. He is not afraid of her then, and after he
found that it annoyed her he delighted to tease her about her
fading beauty, and to ask why she could not keep as young
and fresh and handsome as Magdalen. There was not a
wrinkle in her face, he said, and she looked younger and hand
somer than when he first came home from Europe and saw her
at the Exhibition.
And well might Magdalen retain her girlish beauty, for if
ever the fountain of youth existed anywhere it was in her home
at Miilbank. Exceedingly popular with the villagers, idolized
by her husband, perfectly happy in her baby, surrounded by
2very luxury which wealth can furnish and every care lifted
from her by old Hester's thoughtfulness, there has as yet been
no shadow, however small, upon her married life, and her face
is as fair and beautiful, and her voice as full of glee as when she
sat with Roger by the river side and felt the first awakenings of
the love which has since grown to be her life.
And now we say farewell to Miilbank, knowing that when
sorrow comes to its inmates, as it must some day come, it will
402 CHRISTMAS-TIDE.
not be such a sorrow as enshrouds that gloomy house in Boston,
for there is perfect love and faith between the husband and the
wife, with no sad, dreary retrospects of wrong to make the
present unendurable.