Frank Raynor returned to his place. He drank his tea, but declined to eat, and began to speak of Mrs. Atkinson's will.
"Did you hear any particulars about it, Edina?"
"No," replied Edina. "Excepting the one fact that she did not make a second will. There were doubts upon the point, you know."
"Uncle Francis never entertained any doubt about it, Edina; and he was the best judge, I think, of what his sister would or would not do. I am very glad, though, for his and Charley's sake."
"For all their sakes," added Edina.
"I rather wonder we have not heard from him," resumed Frank. "The funeral took place three or four days ago."
"You were not able to go to it, papa?" said Edina.
"No, child. Neither could Frank be spared. It would have taken three days, you see, to go and return comfortably."
Rising from the tea-table as soon as he could make a decent excuse for it, for he had no business calls on his time this evening, Frank set off on his usual walk to The Mount. On five evenings, since Edina left, had he so gone; but never with any success: not once had Daisy come out to him. She was being watched closer than ever.
"And I suppose I shall have my walk for nothing this evening also!" thought Frank, as he plucked a wild-rose from a fragrant roadside hedge. "This shall not go on long: but I should like to present myself to Mrs. St. Clare with an assured sum to start us in life. I wonder Uncle Francis does not write! He must know I am anxious—if he thinks about it at all. Up to his ears in his new interests, he forgets other people's."