He spoke bitterly, for he felt bitterly, and when he saw how white Magdalen grew, and how she gasped for breath, he went on pitilessly,—“I think I know what stands between us. You fancy you love Roger best.”
“Hush! Frank, hush!” Magdalen cried, and the color came rushing back into her face. “If I do love Roger best, it is not to be mentioned between us, and you must respect the feeling. He does not care for me, or he would not have left me here so sick, without a word of farewell to be given when I could understand it. Did he leave any message, Frank?”
Had Magdalen been stronger, she would never have admitted what she was admitting to Frank, who, still more piqued and irritated, answered her, “None that I ever heard of.”
“Or come to see me either? Didn’t he do so much as that?”
Frank could have told her of the many nights and days when Roger never left her side, except as it was absolutely necessary; but he would not even tell her that; he merely said: “I dare say he looked in upon you before he left, but I do not know. He was very busy those last few days, and had a great deal to do.”
Magdalen’s lip quivered, but she made a great effort not to show how much she was pained by Roger’s seeming indifference and neglect. Still, it did show upon her face, for she was weak, and tired, and worn, and the great tears came dropping from her eyes, as she thought how mistaken she had been, and how desolate and alone she was in the great world. And Frank pitied her at last, and tried to comfort her, but would not say a word which would give her hope, with regard to Roger. He should not consider her answer as final, he said, when she begged him to leave her. She would feel differently by and by, when she saw matters as they really were. She had no other home but Millbank, as she, of course, would not follow Roger to Schodick. He placed great emphasis on the word follow, and Magdalen felt her blood tingle to her finger tips as he went on to say, that, let her decision be what it might, her rightful place was there at Millbank, which he wished her to consider her home, just as she always had done. She surely ought to be as willing to look to him for support as to Roger, who was in no condition now to enlarge his household, even if he wished to do it.
He left her then, and went at once to his mother. He had staked his all on Magdalen, and he must not lose her,—for aside from the great trial it would be to him, there was the bitter mortification he would be compelled to endure, for he had suffered the people of Belvidere to believe in his engagement, and Magdalen must be won, or at least kept at Millbank and in order to do this there must be a perfect understanding between himself and his mother. And after a half hour’s interview there was a perfect understanding, and Mrs. Walter Scott knew that if by word or sign she helped Magdalen to a knowledge of Roger’s love for her, and so separated her from Frank, just so sure would he carry out his former threat, of deeding Millbank away. That point was settled, and another too, which was, that Magdalen should be treated with all the kindness and attention due to an inmate of the house, and one who might, perhaps, be its mistress.
“But whether she is or not, mother, you’ve got to come down from your stilts, and treat her as you did before the confounded will was found, or, by the Harry, I’ll do something you’ll be sorry for.”
Frank’s recent intercourse with horse-jockeys, and men of the race-course, had not improved his language; but he was in earnest, and his mother promised whatever he required, and kept her promise all the more readily, because she knew that do what he would, and plead as he might, Magdalen would never be his wife.