University of Virginia Library

14. CHAPTER XIV.
IN THE EVENING.

MAGDALEN was very beautiful in her white, fleecy
dress, which swept backward with as broad and graceful
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-consciousness
in her manner as she went through the various parts assigned
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. Irving
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.”

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
on to 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 looking?”

“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 herself
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 estimation.
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 bracelets
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 showered
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 before
she left the stage. Was it Frank who was standing on his
feet and applauding her so heartily, and was that Roger beside

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 took
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 pathetic
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.”