“I’d better go away for a day or two, until the matter is settled, for if I stay I might say that to Magdalen which would hardly be fair to say, after Frank’s confiding in me as he has,” Roger thought; and, after the mail came in, and he had some pretext for doing so, he announced his intention of going to New York in the afternoon train. “I shall not go to the house,” he said, “as I have some writing to do; so please tell your mother where I have gone, and that I may not return until day after to-morrow.”
With all his efforts to seem natural, there was something hurried and excited in his manner, which Frank observed and wondered at, but he attributed it to some perplexity in business matters, and never suspected that it had anything to do with him and his prospective affairs.
Roger talked but little that morning, but busied himself at his own desk, until time for the train, when, with some directions to Frank as to what to do in case certain persons called, he left his office and went on his way to New York.
After Roger’s departure, Frank grew tired of staying alone. The day had continued wet and uncomfortable, and few had dropped in at the office, and these for only a moment. So, after a little, he started for Millbank, resolving, if a good opportunity occurred, to speak to Magdalen again on the subject uppermost in his mind. He did not see his mother as he entered the house, but he met a servant in the hall and asked for Magdalen.
“Miss Lennox was in Mrs. Floyd’s room,” the servant said, and Frank went there to find her.
“I sent her up garret to shet a winder and hain’t seen her sense,” Hester said in answer to his question. “She’s somewheres round, most likely. Did you want anything particular?”
“No, nothing very particular,” was Frank’s reply, as he left the room and continued his search for Magdalen, first in the parlors, and then in the little room at the end of the upper hall, which had been fitted up for a fernery.
Not finding her there and remembering what Hester had said about the garret, he started at last in that direction, though he had but little idea that she was there. If she had come down, as he supposed, she had left the door open behind her, and he was about to shut it, when a sound met his ear, which made him stop and listen until it was repeated. It came again ere long,—a sound half way between a moan and a low, gasping sob, and Frank ran swiftly up the stairs, for it was Magdalen’s voice, and he knew now that Magdalen was in the garret.
CHAPTER XX.
WHAT MAGDALEN FOUND IN THE GARRET.
