"At my poor father's death? Oh, no, no! I cannot bear the idea of this cold-blooded calculation on a father's death. I know it is not uncommon; I know other fellows who have done it, but they never had parents so kind as mine; and even in them it shocked and revolted me. The contemplating a father's death, and profiting by the contemplation it seems a kind of parricide: it is not natural, Randal. Besides, don't you remember what the Governor said,—he actually wept while he said it,—'Never calculate on my death; I could not bear that.' Oh, Randal, don't speak of it!"
"I respect your sentiments; but still, all the post-orbits you could raise could not shorten Mr. Hazeldean's life by a day. However, dismiss that idea; we must think of some other device. Ha, Frank! you are a handsome fellow, and your expectations are great—why don't you marry some woman with money?"
"Pooh!" exclaimed Frank, colouring. "You know, Randal, that there is but one woman in the world I can ever think of; and I love her so devotedly, that, though I was as gay as most men before, I really feel as if the rest of her sex had lost every charm. I was passing through the street now—merely to look up at her windows."
"You speak of Madame di Negra? I have just left her. Certainly, she is two or three years older than you; but if you can get over that misfortune, why not marry her?"
"Marry her!" cried Frank, in amaze, and all his colour fled from his cheeks. "Marry her! Are you serious?"
"Why not?"
"But even if she, who is so accomplished, so admired, even if she would accept me, she is, you know, poorer than myself. She has told me so frankly. That woman has such a noble heart,—and—and—my father would never consent, nor my mother either. I know they would not."
"Because she is a foreigner?"
"Yes—partly."
"Yet the squire suffered his cousin to marry a foreigner."