ROGER AND FRANK.
The steamer in which Roger and Frank sailed for America had reached New
York three days before Magdalen believed it due. In her tasteful parlor,
where her handsomest furniture was arranged, Mrs. Walter Scott had
received the travellers, lamenting to Roger amid her words of welcome
that she could not entertain him now as she could once have done when at
the head of her own household. She was a boarder still, and her income
had not increased during the last five years. Her dresses were made to
last longer than of old, and she always thought twice before indulging
in any new vanity. Still she was in excellent spirits, induced in part
by meeting her son again, and partly by a plan which she had in her mind
and meant to carry out. It appeared in the course of the evening, when
speaking of Magdalen, who was so soon to be graduated and return to
Millbank.
“You’ll be wanting some lady of experience and culture as a companion
for Miss Lennox. Have you decided upon any one in particular?” she said
to Roger, who looked at her in astonishment, wondering what she meant.
She explained her meaning, and made him understand that to a portion of
the world at least it would seem highly improper for a young lady like
Magdalen to live at Millbank without some suitable companion as a
chaperone. She did not hint that she would under any circumstances fill
that place. Neither did Roger then suspect her motive. He was a little
disappointed and a little sorry, too, that any one should think it
necessary for a second party to stand between him and Magdalen. He had
met with many brilliant belles in foreign lands, high-born dames and
court ladies with titles to their names, and some of these had smiled
graciously upon the young American, and thought it worth their while to
flatter and admire him, but not one of all the gay throng had ever made
Roger’s heart beat one throb the faster. Women were not to him what they
were to fickle, flirting Frank, and that he would ever marry did not
seem to him very probable, unless he found some one widely different
from the ladies with whom he had come in contact. Of Magdalen, his baby,
he always thought as he had last seen her, with her shaker-bonnet
hanging down her back, and eyes brimfull of tears as she leaned over the
gate watching him going down the avenue and away from Millbank. To him
she was only a child, whose frolicsome ways and merry laugh, and
warm-hearted, impulsive manner he liked to remember as something which
would still exist when he returned to Millbank. But Mrs. Walter Scott
tore the veil away. Magdalen was a young lady, a girl of eighteen, and
Roger began to feel a little uneasy with regard to the manner in which
he would be expected to treat her. As a father, or at most as her elder
brother and guardian, he thought; but he could not see the necessity for
that third person at Millbank just because a few of Mrs. Grundy’s
daughters might require it. At all events he would wait and see what
Magdalen was like before he decided. He was to start next day for
Millbank, whither a telegram had been sent telling of his arrival, and
producing a great commotion among the servants.
Hester was an old woman now of nearly seventy, but her form was square
and straight as ever, and life was very strong within her yet. With
Aleck, whom time had touched less lightly, she still reigned supreme at
Millbank. Ruey was long since married and gone, and six children played
around her door. Rosy-cheeked Bessie, who had taken Ruey’s place, was
lying out in the graveyard not far from Squire Irving’s monument, and
Ruth now did her work, and came at Hester’s call, after the telegram was
read. The house was always kept in order, but this summer it had
undergone a thorough renovation in honor of Roger’s expected arrival,
and so it was only needful that the rooms should be opened and aired,
and fresh linen put upon the beds, and water carried to the chambers,
for Frank was to accompany Roger. When all was done, the house looked
very neat and cool and inviting, and to Roger, who had not seen it for
eight years, it seemed, with its pleasant grounds and the scent of
new-mown hay upon the lawn, like a second Eden, as he rode up the avenue
to the door, where his old servants welcomed him so warmly. Hester, who
was not given to tears, cried with joy and pride as she led her boy into
the house, and looked into his face and told him he had not grown old a
bit, and that she thought him greatly improved, except for that hair
about his mouth. “She’d cut that off, the very first thing she did, for
how under the sun and moon was he ever going to _eat_?”
And Roger laughed good-humoredly, and told her his mustache was his pet,
and wound his arm around her and kissed her affectionately, and said she
was handsomer than any woman he’d seen since he left home.
“In the Lord’s name, what kind of company must the boy have kept?” old
Hester retorted, feeling flattered nevertheless, and thinking her boy
the handsomest and best she had ever seen.
It was Frank who proposed going on to Charlestown to escort Magdalen
home, and who suggested that they should not introduce themselves until
they had first seen her, and Roger consented to the plan and went with
his nephew to Charlestown, and took his seat among the spectators,
feeling very anxious for Magdalen to appear, and wondering how she would
look as a young lady. He could not realize the fact that she was
eighteen. In his mind she was the little girl leaning over the gate with
her eyes swimming in tears, while Frank remembered her standing upon the
wharf, her face very red with the autumnal wind which tossed her dress
so unmercifully, and showed her big feet, wrinkled stockings, and
shapeless ankles. Neither of them had a programme, and they did not know
when she was coming, and when at last she came, Roger did not recognize
her at first. But Frank’s exclamation of something more than surprise as
he suddenly rose to his feet, warned him that it was Magdalen who bore
herself so like a queen as she took her seat at the piano. The little
girl in the shaker, leaning over the gate, faded before this vision of
beautiful girlhood, and for a moment Roger felt as a father might feel
who after an absence of eight years returns to find his only child
developed into a lovely woman. His surprise and admiration kept him
silent, while his eyes took in the fresh, glowing beauty of Magdalen’s
face, and his well-trained ears drank in the glorious music she was
making. Frank, on the contrary, was restless and impatient. Had it been
possible, he would have gone to Magdalen at once, and stood guard over
her against the glances of those who, he felt, had no right to look at
her as they were looking. He saw that she was the bright star, around
which the interest of the entire audience centred, and he wanted to
claim her before them all as something belonging exclusively to the
Irving family, but, wedged in as he was, he could not well effect his
egress, and he sat eagerly listening or rather looking at Magdalen. He
could hardly be said to hear her, although he knew how well she was
acquitting herself. He was watching her glowing face and noticing the
glossy waves of her hair, the long curls on her neck, and the graceful
motions of her white hands and arms, and was thinking what a
regal-looking creature she was, and how delightful it would be at
Millbank, where one could have her all to himself. He did not regard
Roger as in his way at all. Roger never cared for women as he did. Roger
was wholly given to books, and would not in the least interfere with the
long walks, and rides, and _tête-à-têtes_ which Frank had rapidly
planned to enjoy with Magdalen even before she left the stage for the
first time. When she came back to sing he could sit still no longer, but
forced his way through the crowd, and went round to her just in time to
escort her from the stage. His appearance was so sudden, and Magdalen
was so surprised, that ere she realized at all what it meant, she had
taken Frank’s offered arm, and he was leading her past the group of
young girls who sent many curious glances after him, and whispered to
each other that he must be the younger Mr. Irving.
Frank was wonderfully improved in looks, and there was in his manner a
watchful tenderness and deference toward ladies, very gratifying to
those who like to feel that they are cared for and looked after, and
their slightest wish anticipated. And Magdalen felt it even during the
moment they were walking down the hall to the little reception room,
where Frank turned her more fully to the light, and said: “Excuse me,
but I must look at you again. Do you know how beautiful you have grown?
As your brother, I think I might kiss you after my long absence.”
Magdalen did not tell him he was not her brother, but she took a step
backward, while a look flashed into her eyes, which warned Frank that
his days for kissing her were over.
“Where is Mr. Irving?” she asked; and then, seating her in a chair, and
thoughtfully dropping the curtain so that the cool night air, which had
in it a feeling of rain, should not blow so directly upon her uncovered
neck, Frank left her and went for Roger.
Magdalen would have kissed Roger as she thought of him while sitting
there waiting for him, but when he came, and stood before her, she would
as soon have kissed Frank himself, as the elegant-looking young man
whose dark-blue eyes and rich, brown hair with a dash of gold in it,
were all that were left of the Roger who went from her eight years ago.
He was entirely different from Frank, both in looks and style and
manner. He could not bend over a woman with such brooding tenderness,
and make her think every thought and wish were subservient to his own,
but there was something about him which impressed one with the genuine
goodness and honesty of the man who was worth a dozen Franks. And
Magdalen felt it at once, and gave her hand trustingly to him, and did
not try to draw back from him when, as a father would have kissed his
child, he bent over her, and kissed her fair brow, and told her how glad
he was to see her, and how much she was improved.
“I should never have recognized you but for Frank,” he said. “You have
changed so much from the little girl who leaned over the gate to bid me
good-by. Do you remember it?”
Magdalen did remember it, and her sorrow at parting with Roger, and
could hardly realize that he had come back to her again. He was very
kind, very attentive; and she felt a thrill of pride as she walked
through the halls or talked to her companions, with Roger and Frank on
either side of her, Frank so absorbed in her as to pay no heed to those
around him, while Roger never for a moment forgot that something was due
to others as well as to Magdalen. He saw her all the time, and heard
every word she said, and marked how well she said it, but he was
attentive and courteous to others, and made himself so agreeable to
Nellie Freeman, to whom Magdalen introduced him, that she dreamed of him
that night, and went next morning to the depot on pretence of bidding
Magdalen good-by a second time, but really for the sake of seeing Mr.
Irving.
As Roger was anxious to return home as soon as possible, they left
Charlestown on an early train and reached Millbank at two o’clock.
Dinner was waiting for them, while Hester in her clean brown gingham,
with her white apron tied around her waist, stood in the door, ready to
welcome her young people.
Magdalen was her first object of attention, and the old lady kissed her
lovingly, and then went with her to her pleasant chamber, which looked
so cool and airy with its matting, and curtains of muslin looped with
blue, and its snowy white bed in the corner. She could not change her
dress before dinner, for her trunks had not been sent up, but she bathed
her heated face, and put on a fresh pair of cuffs and a clean linen
collar, and then, with her damp hair one mass of waves and little curls,
she went down to the dining-room, where Roger met her at the door and
led her to the head of his table, installing her as mistress, and
bidding her do the honors as the young lady of the house. In spite of
her gray dress, unrelieved by any color except the garnet pin which
fastened her collar, Magdalen looked very handsome as she presided at
Roger’s table, and her white hands moved gracefully among the silver
service; for there was fragrant coffee for dinner, with rich sweet cream
from the morning’s milk, and Hester, who cared little for fashions, had
sent it up with the meats, because she knew Roger would like it best
that way.
The dinner over, the party separated, Magdalen going to her room to put
her things away, Frank sauntering off to the summer-house, with his box
of cigars, and Roger joining Hester, who had so much to tell him of the
affairs at Millbank since he went away.