THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE 
 
 OF 
 
 LOS 
 
 UNIVERSITY 
 CALIFORNIA 
 
 ANGELES
 
 
 NJ 
 

 
 POPULAR, NOVELS. 
 
 By Mrs. Mary J. Holmes. 
 
 I. TEMPEST AND SUNSHINE. 
 II. ENGLISH ORPHANS. 
 III. HOMESTEAD ON THE HILLSIDE. 
 IV. LENA RITERS. 
 V. MEADOW BROOK. 
 VI. DORA DEANE. 
 VII. COOSIN MAUDE. 
 VIII. MARIAN GRAY. 
 
 IX. DARKNESS AND DAYLIGHT. 
 X HUGH WORTIIINGTON. 
 XI. CAMERON PRIDE. 
 XII. ROSE MATHER. 
 XIII. ETIIELYN'S MISTAKE. 
 XIV. MILLBAKK. 
 XV. EDNA BROWNING. (New.) 
 
 Mrs. Holmes is a peculiarly pleasant and fascinating writer. 
 Her books are always entertaining, and she has 
 the rare faculty of enlisting the sympathy 
 and affections of her readers, and of 
 holding their attention to her 
 pages with deep and 
 absorbing inter 
 est. 
 
 All published uniform with this volume. Price $1.50 each, 
 and sent free by mail, on receipt of price by 
 
 G. W. CARLETON fe CO., 
 New York.
 
 MILLBANK; 
 
 OR, 
 
 ROGER IRVING'S WARD. 
 
 BY 
 
 MRS. MARY J. HOLMES, 
 
 AUTHOR OF 
 
 TEMPEST AND SUNSHINE. 'LENA RIVERS. MARIAN GREY. MEADCW- 
 
 BROOK. ENGLISH ORPHANS. COUSIN MAUDE. HOMESTEAD. 
 
 DORA DEANE. DARKNESS AND DAYLIGHT. HUGH 
 
 WORTHINGTON. THE CAMERON PRIDE. R.OSE 
 
 MATHER. ETHEL YN'S MISTAKE. ETC. 
 
 ETC. 
 
 NEW YORK: 
 
 G. W. Carleton & Co., Publisher* 
 
 LONDON: S. LOW, SON & CO. 
 M.DCCC.LXXII.
 
 Eubered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1871, by 
 
 DANIEL HOLMES, 
 In the Office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washiagtoe.
 
 PS 
 
 TO 
 
 GEORGE W. CARLETON, ESQ., 
 
 [WHOM I ESTEEM SO HIGHLY AS A 
 
 PERSONAL FRIEND AND PUBLISHER,] 
 
 I DEDICATE 
 THIS STORY OF MILLBANK. 
 
 Brown Cottage, Brockfort, ff. Y., 
 Afril, 1871. 

 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 CHAPTER PAGH 
 
 I. EXPECTING ROGER 9 
 
 II. ROGER'S STORY 19 
 
 III. WHAT THEY DID AT MILLBANK . . . .27 
 
 IV. THE MORNING OF THE FUNERAL . . ~v -'. 33 
 V. THE FUNERAL : . 41 
 
 VI. THE EVENING AFTER THE FUNERAL ... 45 
 
 VII. MILLBANK AFTER THE DAY OF THE FUNERAL . 55 
 
 VIII. THE STRANGER IN BELVIDERE . . -. 59 
 
 IX. A STIR AT MILLBANK ...... 67 
 
 X. FRANK AT MILLBANK 74 
 
 XI. ROGER'S LETTERS AND THE RESULT . . .85 
 XII. ALICE GREY 92 
 
 XIII. A RETROSPECT 104 
 
 XIV. IN THE EVENING 108 
 
 XV. ROGER AND FRANK . . . . . .no 
 
 XVI. LIFE AT MILLBANK 117 
 
 XVII. LOVE-MAKING AT MILLBANK 130 
 
 XVIII. THE LOOSE BOARD IN THE GARRET . . . 138 
 XIX. THE BEGINNING OF TROUBLE .... 146 
 
 XX. WHAT MAGDALEN FOUND IN THE GARRET . . 156 
 XXI. FRANK AND THE WILL . ... . . . 162 
 
 XXII. MRS. WALTER SCOTT AND THE WILL . . 172 
 
 XXIII. ROGER AND THE WILL 178 
 
 XXIV. HESTER AND THE WILL 186 
 
 XXV. MAGDALEN AND ROGER 198 
 
 XXVI. 'SQUIRE IRVING'S LETTER 204 
 
 XXVII. JESSIE'S LETTER ....... 208
 
 viii CONTENTS. 
 
 CHAPTER PAGK 
 
 XXVIII. THE WORLD AND THE WILL . . -, . 216 
 XXIX. POOR MAGDA . .... 223 
 
 XXX. LEAVING MILLBANK 227 
 
 XXXI. THE HOME IN SCHODICK 236 
 
 XXXII. MAGDALEN'S DECISION . , . - .241 
 
 XXXIII. THE BEGINNING OF THE END .... 253 
 
 XXXIV. MRS. PENELOPE SEYMOUR 253 
 
 XXXV. ALICE AND MAGDALEN 262 
 
 XXXVI. MR. GREY AND MAGDALEN .... 265 
 
 XXXVII. LIFE AT BEECHWOOD 273 
 
 XXXVIII. THE MYSTERY AT BEECHWOOD .... 280 
 
 XXXIX. MAGDALEN AND THE MYSTERY . .. . 284 
 
 XL. A GLIMMER OF LIGHT . . . . - 293 
 
 XLI. MRS. SEYMOUR AND MAGDALEN .... 298 
 
 XLII. IN CINCINNATI 308 
 
 XLIII. IN CYNTHIANA . . . . . . .314 
 
 XLIV. FATHER AND DAUGHTER 320 
 
 XLV. AT BEECHWOOD 325 
 
 XLVI. THE CLOUDS BREAK OVER BEECHWOOD . . 333 
 
 XLVII. BELL BURLEIGH 337 
 
 XLVIII. THE WEDDING, AND HESTER FLOYD'S ACCOUNT 
 
 OF IT 345 
 
 XLIX. HOW THEY LIVED AT MlLLBANK .... 354 
 
 L. ROGER 362 
 
 LI. MAGDALEN is COMING HOME . 369 
 
 LII. MILLBANK is SOLD AT AUCTION . 373 
 
 LIU. MAGDALEN AT ROGER'S HOME .... 37 
 
 LIV. ROGER AND MAGDALEN , 382 
 
 LV. MILLBANK is CLEAR OF ITS OLD TENANTS . . 388 
 
 LVI. THE BRIDAL . 391 
 
 LVII. CHRISTMAS-TIDE . . 395
 
 \ 
 
 OR, 
 
 ROGER IRVING'S WARD. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 EXPECTING ROGER. 
 
 flVERY 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 pa<ticu- 
 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. " Ar<j 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 
 ha>v 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
 
 33<5 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 thfl 
 present unendurable.
 
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