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