Frank understood her now. He knew before that the lost will was found, and he supposed that possibly he shared equally with Roger, but he never dreamed that to him was given all, and to Roger nothing; and as Magdalen finished speaking he opened the paper nervously and read it through, while she sat watching him, her eyes growing blacker and brighter and more defiant, as she fancied she saw a half-pleased expression flit across his face when he read that he was the lawful heir of Millbank. He had been defrauded of his rights for years, had murmured against his poverty and his dependence, and thought hard things of the old man in his grave who had left him only five thousand dollars. But that was over now. Poverty and dependence were things of the past. The old man in his grave had willed to Frank, his beloved grandchild, all his property except a few legacies similar to those in the older will, and the paltry sum left to “the boy known as Roger Lennox Irving.” That was the way it was worded, not “My son Roger,” but “the boy known as Roger Lennox Irving.” To him was bequeathed the sum of Five Thousand dollars, and the farm among the New Hampshire hills known as the “Morton” place. That was all Roger’s inheritance, and it is not strange that Frank sat for a moment speechless. Had he shared equally with Roger he would not have been surprised; but why he should have the whole and Roger nothing, he did not understand. The injustice of the thing struck him at first quite as forcibly as it did Magdalen, and more to himself than her, he said, “There must be some mistake. My grandfather would never have done this thing in his right mind. Where did you find it, Magdalen?”
He did not seem elated, as she feared he might. She had done him injustice, and with far more toleration than she had felt for him at first, Magdalen told him where she had found it and why she chanced to look there, and pointed to the signatures of Hester and Aleck Floyd as witnesses to the will.
“Hester hid it,” she said, “because she knew it was unjust, and it was the fear of its being found which troubled her so much.”
“That is probable,” Frank rejoined; “but still I can see no reason for my grandfather’s cutting Roger off with a mere pittance. It is cruel. It is unjust.”
“Oh, Frank,” Magdalen cried, and the tears which glittered in her eyes softened the fiery expression they had worn a few moments before. “Forgive me; I was harsh towards you at first, but now I know you mean to do right. You will, Frank. You certainly will do right.”
Magdalen had recovered her powers of speech and she talked rapidly, begging Frank to be generous with Roger, to leave him Millbank, to let him stay in the beautiful home he loved so much. “Think of all he has done for you,” she said, clasping her hands upon his arm and looking at him with eyes from which the tears were dropping fast. “Were you his son he could hardly have done more; and he has been so kind to me,—me who have requited his kindness so cruelly. Oh, Roger, Roger, I would give my life to spare him this blow!”
She covered her face with her hands, while Frank sat regarding her intently, his affection for her at that moment mastering every other emotion and making him indifferent to the great fortune which had so suddenly come to him. Love for Magdalen was the strongest sentiment of which he was capable, and it was intensified with the suspicion that Roger was preferred to himself. He could interpret her distress and concern for his uncle in no other way. Gratitude alone could never have affected her as she was affected, and Frank’s heart throbbed with jealousy and fear and intense desire to secure Magdalen for himself. There had been a momentary feeling of exultation when he thought of his poverty as a thing of the past, but Magdalen’s love was worth more to him than a dozen Millbanks, and in his excitement no sacrifice seemed too great which would secure it.
“Oh, Roger, Roger, I would give my life to spare him this blow!” Magdalen had cried; and with these words still ringing in his ears, Frank said to her at last, “Magdalen, you need not give your life; there is a far easier way by which Roger can be spared the pain of knowing that Millbank is not his. He never need to know of this will; no one need to know of it but ourselves,—you and me, Magdalen. We will keep the secret together, shall we?”
Magdalen had lifted up her head, and was listening to him with an eager, wistful expression in her face, which encouraged him to go on.
“But, Magdalen, my silence must have its price, and that price is yourself!”