 | CHAPTER XXX.
LEAVING MILLBANK. Millbank, or, Roger Irving's ward |  |
30. CHAPTER XXX.
LEAVING MILLBANK.
IT was in vain that Frank protested against the pride
which refused to receive anything from the Irving estate.
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 comparatively
young yet. I can study and catch up in my profession.
I passed a good examination years ago. I have tried by reading
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
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 wrappers
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 remember
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 prevent
you from throwing yourself away on a girl whose parentage
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
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 will 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 distrusted
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 horses,
— 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 preparations
went rapidly forward, until, at last, the day but one
came, when, with her boxes and Aleck and Matty, her grandniece,
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, conveyed
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 qualities
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, surrounded
with piles of rubbish and covered with dirt and cobwebs;
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 departure
for the West he went to look at her for the last time.
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 illness,
and sometimes feared her lungs were affected. With all
her languor and weakness, she could not quite conceal her
clation at the near prospect of being entirely alone in her glory,
and it showed itself in her face and in her eyes, which, nevertheless,
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 he
which they always wore when she wanted to be particularly interesting,
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?”
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 watching
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, however,
there was this difference: Magdalen was with him; her
hand lay in his, her eyes shone upon him, and turned the midnight
into noonday. Now he was alone, so far as she was concerned.
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;
and leaned his head against the side of the carriage, he went
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 village,
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 be the lady of Millbank, I s'pose, but I don't begrutch
her her happiness with that old sarpent for a mother-in-law
and that white-livered critter for a husband,” Hester thought
as she stole softly from the room and went down to where the
drayman was loading her numerous boxes and bundles. Frank
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 receding
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 intending
to leave her that night, with the exception of Celine,
who had promised Mrs. Floyd to stay till Miss Lennox's mind
was restored.
With a haughty, “Very well, do as you like,” Mrs. Walter
Scott swept out of the kitchen and made the circuit of
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 Holt, 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
see 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
eleven hundred dollars.
Holt, the agent, was not dismissed!
| CHAPTER XXX.
LEAVING MILLBANK. Millbank, or, Roger Irving's ward | |