That was what Alice said, and Magdalen’s tears fell like rain to hear this young girl pleading for her as she had never pleaded for herself. She had prayed, it is true. She always prayed both morning and at night, but they were mere formal prayers, and not at all like Alice’s. Hers were earnest, hers were heartfelt, and Magdalen knew that she was speaking to a real, living presence; that the Saviour to whom she talked was there with her in the moonlit room as really as if she saw him bodily. Alice’s was a living faith, which brought Heaven down to her side, and Magdalen felt that there were indeed angels abiding round about her, and that Alice was one of them.
CHAPTER XXXVII.
LIFE AT BEECHWOOD.
The next morning was bright and beautiful, as mornings in early October often are, when the summer seems to linger amid flower and shrub, as if loth to quit the glories its own sunshine and showers had created.
The mist still lay in soft clouds upon the river and on the mountain sides, when Magdalen arose, and, leaning from her window, drank in the bracing morning air, and acknowledged to herself that Beechwood was almost as beautiful as Millbank. She had slept quietly, and felt her old life and vigor coming back to her again as she hastened to dress herself.
She had heard no sound as yet, except the tread of a servant in the yard, and the baying of the Newfoundland dog up the mountain path.
Alice was not in her own room. She must have dressed and gone out before Magdalen awoke, and the latter was hesitating whether to go down to the parlor, or to remain where she was, when Alice appeared, her blue eyes shining brightly, and a faint flush upon her cheek.
“I slept so well because you were here near me,” she said as she linked her arm in Magdalen’s, and started for the dining-room.
As they passed through the hall, Magdalen noticed at the farther extremity a green baize door, which seemed to divide that part of the hall from the other, and which she knew by the location was the door which she had heard shut so many times. Where did it lead to? What was there behind it? What embodiment of sorrow and pain was hidden away in that portion of the building? That there was somebody there, Magdalen was sure; for, just as she reached the head of the stairs she saw a servant girl coming up a side staircase, bearing in her arms a silver tray, on which was arranged a tempting breakfast for an invalid.
“I shall know all in good time,” she thought, and she pretended not to see the girl, and kept on talking to Alice until the dining-room was reached, where Mr. Grey and his sister were waiting for them. Both seemed in unusually good spirits, and Mr. Grey kissed his daughter fondly as she nestled close to him and smiled up into his face with all the love of a trusting, affectionate daughter. The sight for a moment smote Magdalen with a keen sense of desolation and loneliness. Never had she known,—never could know the happiness of a father’s watchful love and care, and never had she felt its loss as keenly as she felt it now, when she saw the caressing tenderness which Mr. Grey bestowed upon his daughter and the eagerness with which it was returned. They were both very kind to her, and treated her more like a guest than one who had come to them as a hired companion.