“No, leave me here with him,” Magdalen replied, and nodding assent, Hester stole softly down the stairs, while Magdalen stepped carefully across the threshold of the room, and closing the door behind her stood looking upon Roger. CHAPTER LIV. ROGER AND MAGDALEN. He was sleeping quietly, and his forehead was fully exposed to view, with the brown curls clustering around it, and an occasional frown or shadow flitting across it as if the pain were felt even in his sleep. How Magdalen’s fingers tingled to thread those curls, and smooth that broad, white brow; but she dared not for fear of waking him, and she held her breath and stood looking at him as he slept, feeling a keen throb of sorrow as she saw how he had changed and knew what had changed him. He was much thinner than when she saw him last, and there were lines about his mouth and a few threads of silver in his brown beard, while his eyes, as he slept, seemed hollow and sunken. There was a stool just at her feet, and she pushed it to his side, and seating herself upon it prepared to watch and wait until his heavy slumber ended. And while she waited she looked around and noted all the marks of a refined taste which Roger had gathered about him,—the books, the pictures, the flowers and shells, and lastly, a little crayon sketch of herself, drawn evidently from memory, and representing her as she sat by the river bank years ago, when first Roger Irving felt that his interest in his beautiful ward was more than a mere liking. It was hanging close to Jessie’s picture, and Magdalen sat gazing at it until she forgot where she was, and was back again beneath the old tree by the river bank, with Roger at her side. Suddenly she gave a long, deep sigh, and then Roger awoke, and met the glance of her bright eyes, and saw her face so near to him, and knew that his long night of sorrow was over, else she had never been there, kneeling by him as she was, with her hands holding his and her tears dropping so fast as she tried to speak to him. “Magda, Magda, my darling,” was all he could say as he drew her into his arms and held her there a moment in a close embrace. Then releasing her he lay down upon his pillow, pale as death and utterly prostrated with the neuralgic pain which the sudden excitement and surprise had brought back again. “You take my breath away; when did you come, and why?” he asked; and then releasing her hands from his, Magdalen took the deed from her pocket and changing her position held it before his eyes, saying: “_I_ came to bring this, Roger; to make restitution; to give you back Millbank, which, but for me, you would not have lost. See, it is made out to you! Millbank is yours again. I bought it with my own money,—bought it for you,—I give it to you,—it is yours.”