But Frank was well; both in health and spirits. He also felt as Mary did, that the day was to bring forth something which should end his present troubles; and he could not but be happy to think that he could now tell Dr Thorne that his father's consent to his marriage had been given.
The doctor shook hands with them both, and then they sat down. They were all rather constrained in their manner; and at first it seemed that nothing but little speeches of compliment were to be made. At last, the squire remarked that Frank had been talking to him about Miss Thorne.
'About Mary?' said the doctor.
'Yes; about Mary,' said the squire, correcting himself. It was quite unnecessary that he should use so cold a name as the other, now that he had agreed to the match.
'Well!' said Dr Thorne.
'I suppose it must be so, doctor. He has set his heart upon it, and God knows, I have nothing to say against her--against her personally. No one could say a word against her. She is a sweet, good girl, excellently brought up; and, as for myself, I have always loved her.' Frank drew near to his father, and pressed his hand against the squire's arm, by way of giving him, in some sort, a filial embrace for his kindness.
'Thank you, squire, thank you,' said the doctor. 'It is very good of you to say that. She is a good girl, and if Frank chooses to take her, he will, in my estimation, have made a good choice.'
'Chooses!' said Frank, with all the enthusiasm of a lover.
The squire felt himself perhaps a little ruffled at the way in which the doctor received his gracious intimation; but he did now show it as he went on. 'They cannot, you know, doctor, look to be rich people--'
'Ah! well, well,' interrupted the doctor.
'I have told Frank so, and I think that you should tell Mary. Frank means to take some land into his hand, and he must farm it as a farmer.
I will endeavour to give him three, or perhaps four hundred a year. But you know better--'
'Stop, squire; stop a minute. We will talk about that presently. This death of poor Sir Louis will make a difference.'
'Not permanently,' said the squire mournfully.
'And now, Frank,' said the doctor, not attending to the squire's last words, 'what do you say?'
'What do I say? I say what I said to you in London the other day. I believe Mary loves me; indeed, I won't be affected--I know she does. I have loved her--I was going to say always; and, indeed, I almost might say so. My father knows that 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 the 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 that 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 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 Dis, 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 out that 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.
