"At my poor father's death? Oh, no, no! I cannot bear the idea of this
cold-blooded calculation on a father's death. I know it is not uncommon;
I know other fellows who have done it, but they never had parents so kind
as mine; and even in them it shocked and revolted me. The contemplating
a father's death, and profiting by the contemplation it seems a kind of
parricide: it is not natural, Randal. Besides, don't you remember what
the Governor said,--he actually wept while he said it,--'Never calculate
on my death; I could not bear that.' Oh, Randal, don't speak of it!"

"I respect your sentiments; but still, all the post-orbits you could
raise could not shorten Mr. Hazeldean's life by a day. However, dismiss
that idea; we must think of some other device. Ha, Frank! you are a
handsome fellow, and your expectations are great--why don't you marry
some woman with money?"

"Pooh!" exclaimed Frank, colouring. "You know, Randal, that there is but
one woman in the world I can ever think of; and I love her so devotedly,
that, though I was as gay as most men before, I really feel as if the
rest of her sex had lost every charm. I was passing through the street
now--merely to look up at her windows."

"You speak of Madame di Negra? I have just left her. Certainly, she is
two or three years older than you; but if you can get over that
misfortune, why not marry her?"

"Marry her!" cried Frank, in amaze, and all his colour fled from his
cheeks. "Marry her! Are you serious?"

"Why not?"