Frank brought his visit to a close next day, and left the old-fashioned farm-house among the Schodick hills, which seemed a paradise compared with Millbank, where he found his wife cool and quiet and self-possessed as ever, and his mother angry, defiant, and terribly outraged with some fresh slight put upon her by her daughter-in-law. With all his little strength he threw himself into the breach, and showed so much discretion in steering clear of both Scylla and Charybdis, that Bell felt a glow of something like respect for him, and thought that one or two more visits to his uncle might make a man of him. Poor Frank, with all his wealth and elegance, and his handsome wife, was far more to be pitied than Roger, to whom had been suddenly opened a new world of happiness, and whose face ceased to wear the old tired look it had worn so long, and who the people said was growing young every day. He felt within himself new life and vigor, and thanked Heaven for the hope sent at last to lighten the thick darkness in which he had groped so long. Very anxiously he waited for Frank’s letter, which was to give him Mr. Grey’s address, and when at last it came he wrote at once to Magdalen, and told her of his love and hopes, and asked if she would let him come for her when she returned to America, and take her with him to his home among the hills. “It is not Millbank,” he wrote, “but, save that Millbank is sacred to me for the reason that your dear presence has hallowed every spot, I love this home as well as I did that, or think I do. But you may not, and if you come to me I shall build another house, more in accordance with my bright bird, whose cage must be a handsomer one than this old New England farm-house.” This letter was sent to the care of Mr. Grey, and then, long before he could reasonably hope for an answer, Roger began to expect one, and the daily mail was waited for with an eagerness and excitement painful to endure, especially as constant disappointment was the only result of that watching and waiting and terrible suspense. Magdalen did not write, and days and weeks and months went by, and Roger grew old again, and there were more white hairs in his brown beard, and he ceased to talk about the new house he was going to build, and seemed indifferent to everything but the troubles at Millbank, which were upon the increase, and which finally resulted in Mrs. Franklin Irving taking her father and brother and sister, and going off to Europe on a pleasure tour. Frank was glad to have them go, and feeling free once more, plunged into all his former habits of dissipation, and kept Holt with him constantly as his chief man of business, and rarely examined his accounts, and knew less how he stood than did his neighbors, who were watching his headlong course and predicting that it would soon end in ruin. CHAPTER LI. MAGDALEN IS COMING HOME.