Millbank; $b or, Roger Irving's ward. A novelHolmes, Mary Jane
Philosophy
Millbank; $b or, Roger Irving's ward. A novel
Holmes, Mary Jane
American fiction -- 19th century
This was Hester’s letter, over which Magdalen pondered long, wondering
if the old lady could have suspected her love for Roger, and how far she
was right in thinking he missed her more than his money. Magdalen read
that sentence many times, and her heart thrilled with delight at the
thought of being missed by Roger; but from Hester’s suggestion that she
should write him a friendly line, she turned resolutely away. The time
was gone by when she could write to Roger without his having first
written to her. After that interview in the library, when his kisses had
burned into her heart, and his passionate words, “Magda, my darling,”
had burned into her memory, she would be less than a woman to make the
first advances. Concessions, if there were any, must come from him now.
He knew how sorry she was about the will; he had exonerated her from all
blame in that matter, and now, if he had any stronger feelings for her
than that of a friend, he must make it manifest. This was Magdalen’s
reasoning over the Roger portion of Hester’s letter, and then she
thought of Frank, and felt a nervous dread lest he might follow her,
though that seemed hardly possible, even if he knew where she was. Still
he would undoubtedly write as soon as he could get her address from
Roger, and she was not at all disappointed when, a week or two after the
receipt of Hester’s letter, Mr. Grey brought her one from Belvidere,
directed in Frank’s well known handwriting. After obtaining her address
he had written at once, chiding her for having left so suddenly without
a word for him, and begging of her to return, or at least allow him to
come for her, and take her back to her rightful place at Millbank.
“I can’t imagine what freak of fortune led you to the Greys,” he wrote.
“It is the last place where I could wish you to be. Not that I do not
respect and esteem Miss Grey as the sweetest, loveliest of women, but I
distrust both her father and her aunt. For some reason they have never
seemed to like me, and may say things derogatory of me; but if they do,
I trust it will make no difference with you, for remember _you_ have
known me all your lifetime.”
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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