Doctor Thorne - Anthony Trollope (historical books to read .txt) 📗
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“We need not talk about that now, Dr Thorne,” said Frank, in an
almost angry tone.
“But I must, Frank, for one moment, to justify myself. I could not
have excused myself in letting Mary think that she could become your
wife if I had not hoped that good might come of it.”
“Well; good will come of it,” said Frank, who did not quite
understand at what the doctor was driving.
“I hope so. I have had much doubt about this, and have been sorely
perplexed; but now I do hope so. Frank—Mr Gresham—” and then Dr
Thorne rose from his chair; but was, for a moment, unable to go on
with his tale.
“We will hope that it is all for the best,” said the squire.
“I am sure it is,” said Frank.
“Yes; I hope it is. I do think it is; I am sure it is, Frank. Mary
will not come to you empty-handed. I wish for your sake—yes, and for
hers too—that her birth were equal to her fortune, as her worth is
superior to both. Mr Gresham, this marriage will, at any rate, put an
end to your pecuniary embarrassments—unless, indeed, Frank should
prove a hard creditor. My niece is Sir Roger Scatcherd’s heir.”
The doctor, as soon as he made the announcement, began to employ
himself sedulously about the papers on the table; which, in the
confusion caused by his own emotion, he transferred hither and
thither in such a manner as to upset all his previous arrangements.
“And now,” he said, “I might as well explain, as well as I can, of
what that fortune consists. Here, this is—no—”
“But, Dr Thorne,” said the squire, now perfectly pale, and almost
gasping for breath, “what is it you mean?”
“There’s not a shadow of doubt,” said the doctor. “I’ve had Sir
Abraham Haphazard, and Sir Rickety Giggs, and old Neversaye Die, and
Mr Snilam; and they are all of the same opinion. There is not the
smallest doubt about it. Of course, she must administer, and all
that; and I’m afraid there’ll be a very heavy sum to pay for the tax;
for she cannot inherit as a niece, you know. Mr Snilam pointed that
out particularly. But, after all that, there’ll be—I’ve got it down
on a piece of paper, somewhere—three grains of blue pill. I’m really
so bothered, squire, with all these papers, and all those lawyers,
that I don’t know whether I’m sitting or standing. There’s ready
money enough to pay all the tax and all the debts. I know that, at
any rate.”
“You don’t mean to say that Mary Thorne is now possessed of all Sir
Roger Scatcherd’s wealth?” at last ejaculated the squire.
“But that’s exactly what I do mean to say,” said the doctor, looking
up from his papers with a tear in his eye, and a smile on his
mouth; “and what is more, squire, you owe her at the present moment
exactly—I’ve got that down too, somewhere, only I am so bothered
with all these papers. Come, squire, when do you mean to pay her?
She’s in a great hurry, as young ladies are when they want to get
married.”
The doctor was inclined to joke if possible, so as to carry off, as
it were, some of the great weight of obligation which it might seem
that he was throwing on the father and son; but the squire was by no
means in a state to understand a joke: hardly as yet in a state to
comprehend what was so very serious in this matter.
“Do you mean that Mary is the owner of Boxall Hill?” said he.
“Indeed, I do,” said the doctor; and he was just going to add, “and
of Greshamsbury also,” but he stopped himself.
“What, the whole property there?”
“That’s only a small portion,” said the doctor. “I almost wish it
were all, for then I should not be so bothered. Look here; these are
the Boxall Hill title-deeds; that’s the simplest part of the whole
affair; and Frank may go and settle himself there to-morrow if he
pleases.”
“Stop a moment, Dr Thorne,” said Frank. These were the only words
which he had yet uttered since the tidings had been conveyed to him.
“And these, squire, are the Greshamsbury papers:” and the doctor,
with considerable ceremony, withdrew the covering newspapers. “Look
at them; there they all are once again. When I suggested to Mr Snilam
that I supposed they might now all go back to the Greshamsbury
muniment room, I thought he would have fainted. As I cannot return
them to you, you will have to wait till Frank shall give them up.”
“But, Dr Thorne,” said Frank.
“Well, my boy.”
“Does Mary know all about this?”
“Not a word of it. I mean that you shall tell her.”
“Perhaps, under such very altered circumstances—”
“Eh?”
“The change is so great and so sudden, so immense in its effects,
that Mary may perhaps wish—”
“Wish! wish what? Wish not to be told of it at all?”
“I shall not think of holding her to her engagement—that is, if—I
mean to say, she should have time at any rate for consideration.”
“Oh, I understand,” said the doctor. “She shall have time for
consideration. How much shall we give her, squire? three minutes? Go
up to her Frank: she is in the drawing-room.”
Frank went to the door, and then hesitated, and returned. “I could
not do it,” said he. “I don’t think that I understand it all yet. I
am so bewildered that I could not tell her;” and he sat down at the
table, and began to sob with emotion.
“And she knows nothing of it?” said the squire.
“Not a word. I thought that I would keep the pleasure of telling her
for Frank.”
“She should not be left in suspense,” said the squire.
“Come, Frank, go up to her,” again urged the doctor. “You’ve been
ready enough with your visits when you knew that you ought to stay
away.”
“I cannot do it,” said Frank, after a pause of some moments; “nor is
it right that I should. It would be taking advantage of her.”
“Go to her yourself, doctor; it is you that should do it,” said the
squire.
After some further slight delay, the doctor got up, and did go
upstairs. He, even, was half afraid of the task. “It must be done,”
he said to himself, as his heavy steps mounted the stairs. “But how
to tell it?”
When he entered, Mary was standing half-way up the room, as though
she had risen to meet him. Her face was troubled, and her eyes were
almost wild. The emotion, the hopes, the fears of that morning had
almost been too much for her. She had heard the murmuring of the
voices in the room below, and had known that one of them was that
of her lover. Whether that discussion was to be for her good or ill
she did not know; but she felt that further suspense would almost
kill her. “I could wait for years,” she said to herself, “if I did
but know. If I lost him, I suppose I should bear it, if I did but
know.”—Well; she was going to know.
Her uncle met her in the middle of the room. His face was serious,
though not sad; too serious to confirm her hopes at that moment of
doubt. “What is it, uncle?” she said, taking one of his hands between
both of her own. “What is it? Tell me.” And as she looked up into his
face with her wild eyes, she almost frightened him.
“Mary,” he said gravely, “you have heard much, I know, of Sir Roger
Scatcherd’s great fortune.”
“Yes, yes, yes!”
“Now that poor Sir Louis is dead—”
“Well, uncle, well?”
“It has been left—”
“To Frank! to Mr Gresham, to the squire!” exclaimed Mary, who felt,
with an agony of doubt, that this sudden accession of immense wealth
might separate her still further from her lover.
“No, Mary, not to the Greshams; but to yourself.”
“To me!” she cried, and putting both her hands to her forehead, she
seemed to be holding her temples together. “To me!”
“Yes, Mary; it is all your own now. To do as you like best with it
all—all. May God, in His mercy, enable you to bear the burden, and
lighten for you the temptation!”
She had so far moved as to find the nearest chair, and there she
was now seated, staring at her uncle with fixed eyes. “Uncle,” she
said, “what does it mean?” Then he came, and sitting beside her, he
explained, as best he could, the story of her birth, and her kinship
with the Scatcherds. “And where is he, uncle?” she said. “Why does he
not come to me?”
“I wanted him to come, but her refused. They are both there now, the
father and son; shall I fetch them?”
“Fetch them! whom? The squire? No, uncle; but may we go to them?”
“Surely, Mary.”
“But, uncle—”
“Yes, dearest.”
“Is it true? are you sure? For his sake, you know; not for my own.
The squire, you know—Oh, uncle! I cannot go.”
“They shall come to you.”
“No—no. I have gone to him such hundreds of times; I will never
allow that he shall be sent to me. But, uncle, is it true?”
The doctor, as he went downstairs, muttered something about Sir
Abraham Haphazard, and Sir Rickety Giggs; but these great names were
much thrown away upon poor Mary. The doctor entered the room first,
and the heiress followed him with downcast eyes and timid steps. She
was at first afraid to advance, but when she did look up, and saw
Frank standing alone by the window, her lover restored her courage,
and rushing up to him, she threw herself into his arms. “Oh, Frank;
my own Frank! my own Frank! we shall never be separated now.”
How the Bride Was Received, and Who Were Asked to the Wedding
And thus after all did Frank perform his great duty; he did marry
money; or rather, as the wedding has not yet taken place, and is,
indeed, as yet hardly talked of, we should more properly say that
he had engaged himself to marry money. And then, such a quantity of
money! The Scatcherd wealth greatly exceeded the Dunstable wealth; so
that our hero may be looked on as having performed his duties in a
manner deserving the very highest commendation from all classes of
the de Courcy connexion.
And he received it. But that was nothing. That he should be fêted
by the de Courcys and Greshams, now that he was about to do his duty
by his family in so exemplary a manner: that he should be patted on
the back, now that he no longer meditated that vile crime which had
been so abhorrent to his mother’s soul; this was only natural; this
is hardly worthy of remark. But there was another to be fêted,
another person to be made a personage, another blessed human mortal
about to do her duty by the family of Gresham in a manner that
deserved, and should receive, Lady Arabella’s warmest caresses.
Dear Mary! It was, indeed, not singular that she should be prepared
to act so well, seeing that in early youth she had had the advantage
of an education in the Greshamsbury nursery; but not
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