Mr. Craven wisely kept out of the way for a time. He wanted to introduce business matters, and so carry out the concluding portion of his arrangement, but he felt that it would be impolitic to do it at once. Mrs. Craven was in no frame of mind to give attention to such things. He could wait, though it was irksome to do so.
Several days passed. Mrs. Craven's sharp sorrow had given way to a dull feeling of utter despondency. She kept to her room the greater part of the time, looking as if she had just emerged from a lengthened sickness. Mr. Craven wandered about the village, suppressing his good spirits with difficulty when he was at home, and assuming an expression of sympathetic sadness. But, when by himself, he would rub his hands and congratulate himself on the near accomplishment of his plans.
One day, when matters were in this state of depression, Ben Cameron knocked at the door. He had received Frank's letter, and had come over at once to deliver his message.
The door was opened by Katy, who knew Ben well as the most intimate friend of our hero.
"Oh, Ben, we've had bad news," said Katy, wiping her eyes.
"Yes, I've heard it," said Ben. "How is Mrs. Craven?"
"Poor lady! she's struck down wid grief. It's killin' her. She doted on that boy."
"Can I see her?" asked Ben.
"She don't feel like seein' anybody."
"I think she'll see me, because I was Frank's friend."