She was ringing her hands, in her distress at having believed in and even hunted for a will which would take Millbank from Roger, who looked at her in astonishment, and asked what she meant.
“Have you, too, heard of the will trouble; who told you?” he asked. And with her eyes full of tears, which with a quick nervous motion of her fingers she dashed away, Magdalen replied:
“Frank told me first years ago, and his mother told me again, but not of the disinheritance. She said the will was better for Frank, and I—oh, Mr. Irving, forgive me,—I hunted for it ever so much, in all of the rooms, and in the garret, where Hester found me, and seemed so angry, that I remember thinking she knew something about it if there was one, and like a silly, curious girl I said to myself, I’ll keep hunting till I find it; but I didn’t. Oh, Mr. Irving, believe me, I didn’t! Don’t look at me so, please,” Magdalen exclaimed in a tremor of distress at the troubled, sorry look in Roger’s face,—a look as if he had been wounded in his own home by his own friends. “I might have hunted more, perhaps,” Magdalen went on, too truthful to keep back anything which concerned herself; “but so much happened, and I went away to school and forgot all about it. Will you forgive me for trying to turn you out of doors.” She was kneeling by him now as he sat upon the bank, and her hands were clasped upon his arm, while her tearful face was turned imploringly to his.
Unclasping her hands from his arm, and keeping them between his own, Roger said to her:
“You distress yourself unnecessarily about a thing which was done with no intention to injure me. I know, of course, that you would not wish me to give up the home I love so well; but, Magdalen, if there was a later will it ought to be found, and restitution made.”
“You do not believe there was such a will,—you surely do not,” Magdalen asked, excitedly; and Roger replied:
“No, I do not. If I did I would move heaven and earth to find it, for in that case I should have been living all these years on what belonged to others. Don’t look so frightened, Magdalen,” Roger continued, playfully touching her cheek, which had grown pale at the mere idea of his being obliged to give up Millbank. “No harm should come to you. I should take care of my little girl. I would work with my hands if necessary, and you could help me. How would you like that?”
It was rather a dangerous situation for a girl like Magdalen. Her hands were imprisoned by Roger, whose eyes rested so kindly upon her as he spoke of their working for each other and asked how she would like it.
How would she like it? She was a woman, with all a woman’s impulses. And Roger Irving was a splendid-looking man, with something very winning in his voice and manner, and it is not strange if at that moment a life of toil with Roger looked more desirable to Magdalen than a life of ease at Millbank without him.
“If it ever chances that you leave Millbank, I will gladly work like a slave for you, to atone, if possible, for my meddlesome curiosity in trying to find that will,” Magdalen replied; and Roger responded: