“How do you know he wants me, if, as you say, he never mentions my name?” Magdalen asked, and Hester replied, “How do we know the sun shines when we can’t _hear_ it? We can see and feel, can’t we? And so I know you ain’t long out of Roger’s mind, and ain’t been since we moved here, and he brung the candle-box cradle with him just because you once slept in it.” “Did Roger do that? Did he bring my cradle from Millbank? Why didn’t you tell me before?” Magdalen asked, her eyes shining with tears of joy at this proof of Roger’s love. “I thought I did write it to you,” Hester replied; “I meant to, but might of forgot but he brought it by express; and it’s upstairs now, and in it—” Hester stopped abruptly, thinking it might be premature to speak of the cribby quilt, which did not now stand so good a chance of reaching the heathen as it had done one hour before. “Where is Roger?” Magdalen asked, and Hester told her of the headache he had complained of ever since the day of the sale, adding, “He’s in his room, which is fixed up as nice as anybody’s; his books and pictures and a little recess for his bed, just like any gentleman.” “Does he know who bought Millbank?” Magdalen asked next, and Hester replied: “Yes, Frank telegraphed that Mr. Seymour bought it for _you_, and Roger was as white as a ghost, and has been sick ever since. Magdalen, what did you buy Millbank for? Be you goin’ to git married?” Hester asked this question a little anxiously, and Magdalen’s eyes fairly danced as she replied, “I think so, Hester, but I’m not quite certain. I did not buy Millbank for myself, though, I bought it for Roger, and—” Hester’s hand deepened its grasp on Magdalen’s, and Hester’s face was almost as white as her cap border, as she bent forward to listen, saying eagerly, “and what, Magdalen? You bought it for Roger and what?” “And have given it to him. I was the means of his losing it. It is right that I should give it back, and I am here to do so. The deed is in my pocket, made out to him, to Roger,—see,” and she held the precious document toward Hester, who was on her knees now, kissing even the dress of the young girl thus making restitution. She could hardly believe it true, and she took the paper in her hands and pressed it to her lips, then opened it reverently, and glancing at its contents, whispered, “It is, it is. It reads like the deed of the tavern stand. It must be true. Oh, Magdalen, Roger can’t live there alone. Who is to live with him?” “You and I, Hester, if he will let us. Do you think he will?” Magdalen said, with a merry gleam in her bright eyes. “Do I think he will? Ask him, and see what he says.” Old Hester had risen to her feet, but she still held Magdalen’s hand, and leading her into the next room, pointed to the stair door, and said, “He is up there; come on if you want to see him.” At the head of the stairs Hester paused a moment to reconnoitre,—then whispered softly, “He’s asleep on the lounge. Shall we go back?”