Few men, seeing Magdalen moved as she was then, would have urged their own claims upon her; but Frank was different from most men. He had set his hopes on Magdalen, and he must win her, and the more obstacles he found in his way the more he was resolved to succeed. He would not see the love for Roger which was so apparent in all Magdalen said and did. He would ignore that altogether, and he replied, “Most certainly he wishes it, or he would not have given his consent for me to speak to you again. I talked with him about it the last thing this morning before he started for New York. Did I tell you he had gone there? He has, and expects it to be settled before his return. I am well aware that this is not the time or place for love-making, but your great desire to spare Roger from a knowledge of the will wrung from me what otherwise I would have said at another time. Magdalen, I have always loved you, from the morning I put you in your candle-box and knelt before you as my princess. You were the sweetest baby I ever saw. You have ripened into the loveliest woman, and I want you for my wife. I have wanted money badly, but now that I have it, I will gladly give it all for you. Only say that you will be mine, and I’ll burn this paper before your eyes, and swear to you solemnly that not a word regarding it shall ever pass my lips. Shall I do it?” Magdalen was not looking at him now. When he assured her of Roger’s consent to woo her for himself, and that he “expected it to be settled before his return,” she had turned her face away to hide the bitter pain she knew was written upon it. She had been terribly mistaken. She had believed that Roger cared for her, and the knowing that he did not, that he could even give his consent for her to marry _Frank_, was more than she could bear, and she felt for a moment as if every ray of happiness had, within the last hour, been stricken from her life. “Shall I do it? only speak the word, and every trace of the will shall be destroyed.” That was what Frank said to her a second time, and then Magdalen turned slowly toward him, but made him no reply. She scarcely realized what he was asking, or what he meant to do, as he took a match from his pocket and struck it across the floor. Gradually a ring of smoke came curling up and floated toward Magdalen, who sat like a stone gazing fixedly at the burning match, which Frank held near to the paper. “Tell me, Magdalen, will you be my wife, if I burn the will?” he asked again; and then Magdalen answered him, “Oh, Frank, don’t tempt me thus. How can I? Oh, Roger, Roger!”