 | CHAPTER XXXII.
MAGDALEN'S DECISION. Millbank, or, Roger Irving's ward |  |
32. CHAPTER XXXII.
MAGDALEN'S DECISION.
IT was a warm morning in early August when Magdalen
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 darling,
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
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 settled
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 asked, and the girl replied, “She left here some two
weeks ago and I came in her place; I am Sarah King; can I
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 somewhere
now, I heard madam say. I have never seen him, nor
Mrs. Floyd.”
She meant Roger by old Mr. Irving, and ordinarily Magdalen
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 Millbank
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 homesickness
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.
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 morning
cap of the softest Valenciennes, with a bit of lavender ribbon
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 Millbank,
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 replied,
“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, Magdalen
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
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 flattered 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, who 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
he never for a moment wavered in his allegiance to Magdalen.
Bell's influence could not make him do that; but it inflated his
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 anything.
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 adjusting
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 crimson
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 because
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
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 out
of the question.
Something in her tone startled him, and he sat where she
bade him sit and then listened breathlessly while she went over
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 flattery he had received in Springfield, and wished Magdalen
could know how highly some people esteemed him.
Magdalen understood him in part, and smiled a little derisively
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 provided,”
Magdalen answered sadly, her heart going out in a longing
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 unmaidenly 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 went
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 understand
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 irritated,
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 necessary;
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 indifference
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
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 engagement,
and Magdalen must be won, or at least kept at Millbank,
and in order to do this there must be a perfect understanding
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 Magdalen
to a knowledge of Roger's love for her, and so separated
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 confounded
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 never
be his wife.
| CHAPTER XXXII.
MAGDALEN'S DECISION. Millbank, or, Roger Irving's ward | |