“Yes, a great deal better. Have I been sick long, and where are they all? Who are you, and where is Celine?” 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.