And so he went to ruin, and wrote to Roger one morning, “The smash has come, and I’m poorer than I was when I depended on you for my bread. Everything is to be sold, and I can’t say I am sorry. It’s been a torment to me. I’ve never had the confidence of my men; they always acted as if I was an intruder, and I felt so myself. I wish I could give the thing back to you as clear as when I took it. I’d rather saw wood than lead the dog’s life I have led for the last five years. Bell is going to Boston. She is rich, and maybe will let me live with her if I pay my board! That sounds queer, don’t it? but I tell you, old chap, you are better off without a wife. I don’t believe in women any way. Mother is going to New York and I am going to thunder.”
Roger’s heart gave one great throb of sorrow for his nephew when he read this letter, and then beat wildly with the wish that he could buy Millbank back. But he was not able, and he could have wept bitterly at the thoughts of its going to strangers. “Thy will be done,” was a lesson Roger had learned thoroughly, and he said it softly to himself, and was glad his father did not know that the old place which had been in the family more than fifty years, was about to pass from it forever.
He went to Millbank and examined Frank’s affairs to see if anything could be saved for the young man, who seemed so crushed, so hopeless, and so stony. But matters were even worse than he had feared. There was nothing to do but to sell the entire property. Roger could buy the mill, and the men were anxious for him to do so, and crowded around him with their entreaties, which Frank warmly seconded.
“Buy it, Roger, and let me work in it as a common hand. I’d rather do it a thousand times than live on my wife, even if her money did come from me.”
Frank said this bitterly, and Roger’s heart ached for him as he replied that perhaps he would buy the Mill; he’d think of it and decide. It was not to be sold till after Millbank, and his decision would depend on who bought that. This comforted Frank a little, and he felt a great deal better when he at last said good-by to Roger, who went back to Schodick the day but one before Guy Seymour’s arrival in Belvidere.
Guy did not go to see Frank. He found out all he cared to know from other sources, and reported to Magdalen, who could scarcely eat or sleep, so great was her excitement and so eager was she for the day of the sale.
“Have you answered Roger’s letter?” Alice asked, and she replied: “No, nor shall I till Millbank is mine. Then I shall take my answer to him with a deed of the place.”
She had it all arranged,—her going to Schodick unannounced to see Roger, her laying the deed before him, and her keen enjoyment of his surprise and astonishment, both at the deed and the sight of herself.
“It is five years since I saw him. I wonder if he will know me, and if he will think me old at twenty-four?” she said as she arose and glanced at herself in the mirror.
Three years of travel had not impaired but greatly improved her looks and style, and those who thought her handsome when she went away exclaimed now at her matchless loveliness, and Magdalen knew herself that she was beautiful, and was glad for Roger’s sake. Every thought and feeling now had a direct reference to him, and when at last the day of the sale arrived, she was sick with excitement, and read Guy’s message in bed.