Frank had spoken again and been refused, and they might lose the hundred thousand after all. Mrs. Walter Scott could not afford to lose it. She had formed too many plans which were all depending upon it to see it pass from her without an effort to keep it, and bringing a little stool to Magdalen’s side, she sat down by her and began to caress, and pity, and soothe her, and at last said to her, “Excuse me, darling, but I am almost certain that Frank has had more or less to do with your headache. I know he has been here; did you see him?”
Magdalen made no reply, only her tears fell faster, and she turned her face away from the lady, who continued, in her softest, kindest manner, “My poor boy, I know all about it; can’t you love him? Try, darling, for my sake as well as his. We could be so happy together. Tell me what you said to him.”
“No, no, not now. Please don’t talk to me now. I am so miserable,” was Magdalen’s reply, and with that Mrs. Walter Scott was obliged to be content, until she found herself alone with her son at the dinner table.
Dismissing the servant the moment dessert was brought in, she asked him abruptly “what had transpired between him and Magdalen to affect her so strangely.”
Frank’s face was very pale, and he betrayed a good deal of agitation as he asked in turn what Magdalen herself had said.
He had a kind of intuition that if his mother knew of the will, no power on earth could keep her quiet. He believed she liked Magdalen, but he knew she liked money better; and he was alarmed lest she should discover his secret, and be the instrument of his losing what seemed more and more desirable as one obstacle after another was thrown in his way.
Mrs. Irving repeated all that had passed between herself and Magdalen, and then Frank breathed more freely, and told on his part what he thought necessary to tell.
“Magdalen had been a good deal excited,” he said, “and had asked for a week in which to consider the matter, and he had granted it. And mother,” he added, “please let her alone, and not bother her with questions, and don’t mention me to her above all things. ’Twill spoil everything.”
Frank had finished his pudding by this time, and without waiting for his mother’s answer he left the dining room and went at once to his own chamber, where he passed the entire evening, thinking of the strange discovery which had been made, wondering what Magdalen’s final decision would be, and occasionally sending a feeling of longing and regret after the fortune he was giving up.