“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 Roger, and if he refused to take it, he would deed it to Magdalen, 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, who went as maid of all work, she was to start for 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, 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. Only Celine was with her and she thoughtfully withdrew, leaving 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.