 | CHAPTER XVII.
LOVE-MAKING AT MILLBANK. Millbank, or, Roger Irving's ward |  |
17. CHAPTER XVII.
LOVE-MAKING AT MILLBANK.
THE 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 penchant
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 allowing
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,
broken, and though she liked him greatly and showed that she
did so, she knew that any stronger feeling towards him was utterly
impossible, and was delighted at the prospect of his transferring
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 conversation
woman, had grown very confidential, and been led on
to admit that in case he never married, or even if he did, Magdalen
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 matter.
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 Magdalen
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 portion,
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 writing-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
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 Magdalen.
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 concerning
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 opportunity
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 subject
by asking how long he intended to let matters go on as
they were going, and why he did not at once propose to Magdalen,
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 girl 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 since
we came from New York, I know, and has not kept me quite
so much at arm's-length. Mother,” and Frank spoke more
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 sensation
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 kingdoms
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 exercise
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 something
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.”
That 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 her, had looked
into her bright face and starry eyes, and asked if she was comfortable.
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 Magdalen'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
them. 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 were
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 be
ever urge it upon her. With the remembrance of Roger's
words and manner thrilling every nerve, she was in an unusually
soft, amiable mood 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 mesmerism
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 forehead
and passing lightly over his throbbing temples until it was
not in human nature to endure any longer, and rising suddenly
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
earnest, and she pitied him so much, knowing as she did how
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, Frank,
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
friendly, — nothing more; and I cannot flatter myself that she
would feel one heart-throb were she to hear to-day of my marriage
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 XVII.
LOVE-MAKING AT MILLBANK. Millbank, or, Roger Irving's ward | |