Doctor Thorne - Anthony Trollope (e novels to read TXT) 📗

this is no light fancy of mine. As to what he says about our being poor, why⁠—”

The doctor was very arbitrary, and would hear neither of them on this subject.

“Mr. Gresham,” said he, interrupting Frank, “of course I am well aware how very little suited Mary is by birth to marry your only son.”

“It is too late to think about it now,” said the squire.

“It is not too late for me to justify myself,” replied the doctor. “We have long known each other, Mr. Gresham, and you said here the other day, that this is a subject as to which we have been both of one mind. Birth and blood are very valuable gifts.”

“I certainly think so,” said the squire; “but one can’t have everything.”

“No; one can’t have everything.”

“If I am satisfied in that matter⁠—” began Frank.

“Stop a moment, my dear boy,” said the doctor. “As your father says, one can’t have everything. My dear friend⁠—” and he gave his hand to the squire⁠—“do not be angry if I alluded for a moment to the estate. It has grieved me to see it melting away⁠—the old family acres that have so long been the heritage of the Greshams.”

“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 tomorrow 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