Millbank;

by Mary Jane Holmes

Magdalen had not forgotten “the loose plank,” but since the night of her adventure in the garret she had never been near that part of the building, though sorely tempted to do so every day and hour of her life. It seemed to her as if some powerful influence was urging her on toward the garret, while a still more powerful influence to which she gave no name was constantly holding her back. She had puzzled over the loose plank, and dreamed of it, and speculated upon it, and wondered if there was anything under it, and if so, was it—, she never quite said what, even to herself, for it seemed to her that she should in some way be wronging Roger if she breathed the name of will. Of one thing, however, she felt certain; if there was a paper secreted in the garret, old Hester knew of it, and had had a hand in hiding it; and once she thought of quizzing Aleck to see if he too knew about it. She could not have done much with him, for had he known of the will, he would, if questioned with regard to it, have been so deaf that everybody in the house would have heard the conversation. Aleck was not fond of talking, and in order to avoid it, had a way, as Hester said, of affecting to be deafer than he was, and so was usually left in peace. He always heard Roger, and generally Magdalen; but to the rest of the household he was as deaf as a post unless it suited him to hear. It was useless to question him, and so Magdalen kept her own counsel for two weeks after that memorable night when Roger had shared her vigils, and from which time Hester’s recovery had been rapid.

She was able now to sit up all day, but had not yet been to the kitchen, and when she asked Magdalen to go and shut the garret window which she had left open in the morning and into which she was sure the rain was pouring, Magdalen expressed a good deal of surprise that she should have ventured into the garret, and asked why she went there.

“I wanted to look over them clothes in the chest; I knew they needed airin’,” Hester said, and Magdalen accepted the explanation and started for the garret.

It was raining fast, and as she opened the door which led up the stairs, a gust of wind blew down into her face, and she heard the heavy rain drops on the roof. The window was open as Hester had said, and Magdalen shut it, and then stood a moment looking off upon the river and the hills over which the April shower was sweeping in misty sheets. To the right lay the little village of Belvidere, where Roger’s office was. She could see the white building nestled among the elms in one corner of the common, and the sight of it made her heart beat faster than its wont, and brought before her the scene of the morning when Roger had held her hand in his, and looked so kindly into her eyes. She could feel the pressure of his broad, warm hand even now, and she felt her cheeks grow hot beneath the look which seemed to beam upon her here in the gloomy garret where there was only rubbish, and rats, and barrels, and chests, and loose planks under the roof. She started, almost guiltily, when she remembered the latter, and turned her face resolutely from that part of the room, lest she should go that way and see for herself what was hidden there. Hester had said, “I went to air the clothes in the old chest,” and Magdalen turned to the chest and looked at it, carelessly at first, then more closely, and finally went down on her knees to examine something which made her grow cold and faint for a moment.

It was nothing but a large cobweb, but it covered the entire fastening of the chest, stretching from the lid down across the keyhole, and showing plainly that the chest had not been open in weeks. It could not be opened without disturbing the cobweb, for Magdalen tried it, and saw the fleecy thing torn apart as she lifted the lid. There was a paper package lying on top of the linen, and from a rent in one corner Magdalen saw a bit of the dress she had worn to Millbank. It was years since she had seen it, and at the sight of it now she felt a thrill of pain, and turned her head away. There was too much of mystery and humiliation connected with that little dress for her to care to look at it; and she shut the lid quickly, and said to herself, as she turned away:

“Hester has not opened the chest to-day. What, then, was she here for?”

Then, swift as lightning, the answer came:

“She was here to look after whatever is hidden under that loose plank, and probably to remove it.”

Yes, that was the solution of the mystery. If there had been anything under the floor, it had been transferred to some other hiding-place, and, woman-like, Magdalen began to feel a little sorry that she had lost her chance for knowing what was there.

“There can be no harm in looking now, if it is really gone,” she said; and following some impulse she did not try to resist, she went toward that part of the garret, putting a broken chair out of her way, and bending down beneath the slanting rafters.