 CHAPTER 47 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 scattered 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 Ducorsi connection. And he received it, but that was nothing. That he should be fated by the Ducorsi's ingressions, 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 fated, 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 Gresham's renursary, but not on that account was it the less fitting that her virtue should be acknowledged, eulogized, nay all but worshiped. How the party at the doctor's got itself broken up, I am not prepared to say. Frank, I know, stayed and dined there, and his poor mother, who would not retire to rest till she had kissed him and blessed him, and thanked him for all that he was doing for the family, was kept waiting in her dressing-room till a very unreasonable hour of the night. It was the squire who brought the news up to the house. Arabella, he said, in a low but somewhat solemn voice, you will be surprised at the news I bring you. Mary Thorn is the heiress to all the scattered property. Oh, heavens, Mr. Gresham! Yes indeed, continued the squire, so it is, it is very, very. The lady Arabella had fainted. She was a woman who generally had her feelings and her emotions much under her control, but what she now heard was too much for her. When she came to her senses the first words that escaped her lips were, Dear Mary! But the household had to sleep on the news before it could be fully realized. The squire was not by nature a mercenary man. If I have it all succeeded in putting his character before the reader, he will be recognized as one not overattached to money for money's sake. But things had gone so hard with them the world had become so rough, so ungracious, so full of thorns, the want of means had become an evil so keenly felt in every hour that it cannot be wondered at that his dreams at night should be of a golden Elysium. The wealth was not coming to him, true, but his chief sorrow had been for his son. Now that son would be his only creditor. It was as though mountains of marble had been taken from off his bosom. But Lady Arabella's dreams flew away at once into the seventh heaven. Sworded as they certainly were, they were not absolutely selfish. Frank would now certainly be the first commoner in Barsature. Of course she would represent the county. Of course there would be the house in town. It wouldn't be her house, but she was contented that the grandeur should be that of her child. He would have heaven knows what to spend per annum. And that it should come through Mary Thorn. What a blessing she had allowed Mary to be brought into the Gresham's renursary, dear Mary. She will, of course, be one now, said Beatrice to her sister. With her, at the present moment, one, of course, met one of the mevy that was to attend her at the altar. Oh, dear! How nice! I shan't know what to say to her tomorrow morning, but I know one thing. What is that? asked Augusta. She will be as mild and as meek as the little dove. If she and the doctor had lost every shilling in the world, she would have been as proud as an eagle. It must be acknowledged that Beatrice had had the wit to read Mary's character right. But Augusta was not quite pleased with the whole affair. Not that she begrudged her brother his luck or Mary her happiness, but her ideas of right and wrong, perhaps we should rather say Lady Amelia's ideas, would not be fairly carried out. After all, Beatrice, this does not alter her birth. I know it is useless saying anything to Frank. Why, you wouldn't break both their hearts now. I don't want to break their hearts, certainly, but there are those who put their dearest and warmest feelings under restraint, rather than deviate from what they know to be proper. Poor Augusta! She was the stern professor of the order of this philosophy, the last in the family who practiced with unflinching courage its cruel behests, the last always accepting the Lady Amelia. And how slept Frank that night? With him at least, let us hope, nay, let us say boldly that his happiest thoughts were not of the wealth which he was to acquire. But yet it would be something to restore a boxall-hilled Gresham spree, something to give back to his father those rumpled vellum documents, since the departure of which the squire had never had a happy day, nay, something to come forth again to his friends as a gay, young country squire, instead of as a farmer, clod-compelling for his bread. We would not have thought him to be better than he was, nor would we wish to make him of other stuff than nature generally uses. His heart did exult at Mary's wealth, but it leaped higher still when he thought of purer joys. And what shall we say of Mary's dreams? With her it was altogether what she should give, not at all what she should get. Frank had loved her so truly when she was so poor, such an utter castaway. Frank who had ever been the heir of Gresham spree, Frank who with his beauty and spirit and talents might have won the smiles of the richest, the grandest, the noblest, what lady's heart would not have rejoiced to be allowed to love her Frank. But he had been true to her through everything. Ah! How often she thought of that hour, when suddenly appearing before her he had strained her to his breast, just as she had resolved how best to bear the deathlike chill of his supposed estrangements. She was always thinking of that time. She fed her love by recurring over and over again to the altered feeling of that moment. And now she could pay him for his goodness. Pay him? No, that would be a base word, a base thought. Her payment must be made, if God would so grant it, in many, many years to come. But her store, such as it was, should be emptied into his lap. It was soothing to her pride that she would not hurt him by her love, that she would bring no injury to the old house. Dear, dear Frank, she murmured, as her waking dreams conquered at last by sleep, gave way to those of the fairy world. But she thought not only of Frank, dreamed not only of him. What had he not done for her, that uncle of hers, who had been more loving to her than any father? How was he too to be paid? Paid indeed. Love can only be paid in its own coin. It knows of no other legal tender. Well, if her home was to be Greshamsbury, at any rate she would not be separated from him. What the doctor dreamed of that, neither he nor anyone ever knew. Why, uncle, I think you've been asleep, said Mary to him that evening, as he moved for a moment uneasily on the sofa. He had been asleep for the last three quarters of an hour. But Frank, his guest, had felt no offence. No, I've not exactly been asleep, said he, but I'm very tired. I wouldn't do it all again, Frank, to double the money. You haven't got any more tea, have you, Mary? On the following morning Beatrice was, of course, with her friend. There was no awkwardness between them in meeting. Beatrice had loved her when she was poor, and though they had not lately thought alike on one very important subject, Mary was too gracious to impute that to Beatrice as a crime. You will be one now, Mary. Of course you will. If Lady Arabella will let me come. Oh, Mary, let you! Do you remember what you said once about coming and being near me? I have so often thought of it, and now, Mary, I must tell you about Caleb. And the young lady settled herself on the sofa, so as to have a comfortable long talk. Beatrice had been quite right. Mary was as meek with her, and as mild as a dove. And then patience Oriole came. My fine, young, darling, magnificent, overgrown heiress, said patience embracing her. My breath deserted me, and I was nearly stunned when I heard of it. How small we shall all be, my dear! I am quite prepared to toadie to you immensely, but pray be a little gracious to me for the sake of Alt Langzine. Mary gave her a long, long kiss. Yes, for Alt Langzine patience, when you took me away under your wing to Richmond. Patience also had loved her when she was in her trouble, and that love too should never be forgotten. But the great difficulty was Lady Arabella's first meeting with her. I think I'll go down to where after breakfast said her ladyship to Beatrice, as the two were talking over the matter while the mother was finishing her toilet. I am sure she will come up, if you like it, mamma. She is entitled to every courtesy, as Franks accepted bride, you know, said Lady Arabella. I would not for worlds fail in any respect to her for his sake. She will be glad enough for her to come, I am sure, said Beatrice. I was talking with Caleb this morning, and he says the matter was of importance, and Lady Arabella gave it her most mature consideration. The manner of receiving it to one's family, and Eris, whose wealth is to cure all one's difficulties, disperse all one's troubles, give a balm to all the wounds of misfortune, must, under any circumstances, be worthy of much care. But when that Eris has been already treated as Mary had been treated, I must see her at any rate before I go to Corsi, said Lady Arabella. Are you going to Corsi, mamma? Oh, certainly, yes. I must see my sister-in-law now. You don't seem to realize the importance, my dear, of Frank's marriage. He will be in a great hurry about it, and indeed I cannot blame him. I expect that they will all come here. Who, mamma, to the Corsis? Yes, of course. I shall be very much surprised if the Earl does not come now, and I must consult my sister-in-law as to asking the Duke of Omnium. Poor Mary! And I think it will perhaps be better, continued Lady Arabella, that we should have a larger party than we intended at your affair. The Countess, I'm sure, would come now. We couldn't put it off for ten days, could we, dear? Put it off ten days? Yes, it would be convenient. I don't think Mr. Orile would like that at all, mamma. You know he has made all his arrangements for his Sundays. Sure. The idea of the Parsons Sundays being allowed to have any bearing on such a matter as Frank's wedding would now become. Why, they would have how much? Between twelve and fourteen thousand a year? Lady Arabella, who had made her calculations a dozen times during the night, had never found it to be much less than the larger some. Mr. Orile's Sundays, indeed. After much doubt, Lady Arabella acceded to her daughter's suggestion that Mary should be received at Greshamsbury instead of being called on at the doctor's house. If you think she won't mind the coming up first at her ladyship, I certainly could receive her better here. I should be more, more, more able, you know, to express what I feel. We had better go into the big drawing-room today, Beatrice, will you remember to tell Mrs. Richards? Oh, certainly was Mary's answer when Beatrice, with the voice a little trembling, proposed to her to walk up to the house. Certainly I will, if Lady Arabella will receive me. Only one thing, Tritchie. What's that, dearest? Frank will think that I come after him. Never mind what he thinks. To tell you the truth, Mary, I often call upon patients for the sake of finding Caleb. That's all fair now, you know. Mary very quietly put on her straw bonnet, and said she was ready to go up to the house. Beatrice was a little fluttered and showed it. Mary, perhaps, was a good deal fluttered, but she did not show it. She had thought a good deal of her first interview with Lady Arabella, of her first return to the house, but she had resolved to carry herself as though the matter were easy to her. She would not allow it to be seen, that she felt she had brought with her digressions free comfort, ease, and renewed opulence. So she put on her straw bonnet and walked up with Beatrice. Everybody about the place had already heard the news. The old woman at the lodge curtsied low to her. The gardener who was mowing the lawn. The butler who opened the front door. He must have been watching Mary's approach, had manifestly put on a clean white netcloth for the occasion. "'God bless you once more, Miss Thorn,' said the old man and a half whisper. Mary was somewhat troubled for everything seemed in a manner to bow down to her. And why should not everything bow down before her, seeing that she was, in truth, the owner of Gresham spree?' And then a servant in livery would open the big drawing-room door. This rather upset both Mary and Beatrice. It became almost impossible for Mary to enter the room, just as she would have done two years ago. But she got through the difficulty with much self-control. "'Mama, here's Mary,' said Beatrice. Norba's Lady Arabella quite mistress of herself, although she had studied minutely how to bear herself. "'Oh, Mary, my dear Mary, what can I say to you?' And then, with a handkerchief to her eyes, she ran forward and hid her face on Miss Thorn's shoulders. "'What can I say? Can you forgive me my anxiety for my son?' "'How do you do, Lady Arabella?' said Mary. "'My daughter, my child, my Frank's own bride, oh Mary, oh my child! If I have seemed unkind to you, it has been through love to him.' "'All these things are over now,' said Mary. Mr. Gresham told me yesterday that I should be received as Frank's future wife, and so, you see, I have come.' And then she slipped through Lady Arabella's arms and sat down, meekly down, on a chair. In five minutes she had escaped with Beatrice into the school room, and was kissing the children and turning over the new true soul. They were, however, soon interrupted, and there was perhaps some other kissing besides that of the children. "'You have no business in here at all,' Frank said Beatrice. "'Has he, Mary?' "'None in the world, I should think. See what he has done to my poplin. I hope you won't have your things treated so cruelly. He'll be careful enough about them.' "'Is Oriole a good hand at packing up finery, eh, Beatrice?' asked Frank. He is, at any rate, too well behaved to spoil it. Beatrice Mary was again made at home in the household of Greshamsbury. Lady Arabella did not carry out her little plan delaying the Oriole wedding. Her idea had been to add some grandeur to it, in order to make it a more fitting precursor of that other greater wedding, which was to follow so soon in its wake. But this, with the assistance of the Countess, she found herself able to do without interfering with poor Mr. Oriole's Sunday arrangements. The Countess herself, with the ladies Alexandrina and Margarita, now promised to come even to this first affair, and for the other, the whole D'Corsi family would turn out, Count and Countess, lords and ladies, honorable Georges and honorable Johns? What honour indeed could be too great to show to a bride who had fourteen thousand a year in her own right, or to a cousin who had done his duty by securing such a bride to himself? If the duke be in the country, I am sure he will be happy to come, said the Countess. Of course he will be talking to Frank about politics. I suppose the squire won't expect Frank to belong to the old school now. Frank of course will judge for himself for Zyna, with his position, you know. And so things were settled at Corsi Castle. And then Beatrice was wedded and carried off to the lakes. Only as she had promised did stand near her, but not exactly in the gingham frock of which she had once spoken. She wore on that occasion, but it will be too much perhaps to tell the reader what she wore as Beatrice's bridesmaid, seeing that a couple of pages at least must be devoted to her marriage dress, and seeing also that we have only a few pages to finish everything, the list of visitors, the marriage settlements, the dress, and all included. It was in vain that Mary endeavored to repress Lady Arabella's ardor for grand doings. After all, she was to be married from the doctor's house, and not from Greshamsbury, and it was the doctor who should have invited the guests, but in this matter he did not choose to oppose her ladyship spirit, and she had it all her own way. What can I do? said he to Mary. I have been contradicting her in everything for the last two years. The least we can do is to let her have her own way now in a trifle like this. But there was one point on which Mary would let nobody have his or her own way. On which the way to be taken was very manifestly to be her own. This was touching the marriage settlements. It must not be supposed that if Beatrice were married on a Tuesday Mary could be married on the Tuesday week following. Ladies with twelve thousand a year cannot be disposed of in that way, and bridegrooms who do their duty by marrying money often have to be kept waiting. It was spring, the early spring, before Frank was made altogether a happy man. But a word about the settlements. On this subject the doctor thought he would have been driven mad, messes slow and by the while as the lawyers of the Gresham Spree family. It will be understood that Mr. Gaysby's law business was of quite a different nature, and his work as regarded Gresham Spree was now nearly over. Messes slow and by the while declared that it would never do for them to undertake a loan to draw out the settlements. An heiress such as Mary must have lawyers of her own, half a dozen at least, according to the apparent opinion of Messes slow and by the while, and so the doctor had to go to other lawyers, and they had again to consult Sir Abraham and Mr. Snilam on a dozen different heads. If Frank became tenet entail in right of his wife, but under his father, would he be able to grant leases for more than twenty-one years? And if so, to whom would the right of trover belong? As to Flotsam and Jetsam there was a little property, Mr. Critic, on the seashore, that was a matter that had to be left unsettled at the last. Such points as these do take a long time to consider. All this bewildered the doctor sadly, and Frank himself began to make accusations that he was to be done out of his wife altogether. But as we have said, there was one point on which Mary would have her own way. The lawyers might tie up, as they would on her behalf, all the money and shares and mortgages which had belonged to the late Sir Roger. With this exception, all that had ever appertained to Greshamspree should belong to Greshamspree again, not in perspective, not to her children, or to her children's children, but at once. Frank should be lord of Boxall Hill and his own right, and as to those other leans on Greshamspree, let Frank manage that with his father as he might think fit. She would only trouble herself to see that he was empowered to do as he did think fit. But, argued the ancient, respectable family attorney to the doctor, that amounts to two thirds of the whole estate. Two thirds, Dr. Thorne, it is preposterous, I should almost say impossible, and the scanty hairs on the poor man's head almost stood on end as he thought of the outrageous manner in which the heiress prepared to sacrifice herself. It will all be the same in the end, said the doctor, trying to make things smooth. Of course their joint object will be to put the Greshamspree property together again. But my dear sir, and then for twenty minutes the lawyer went on proving that it would by no means be the same thing, but nevertheless Mary Thorne did have her own way. In the course of the winter Lady DeCorsi tried very hard to induce the heiress to visit Corsi Castle, and this request was so backed by Lady Arabella that the doctor said he thought she might as well go there for three or four days, but here again Mary was obstinate. I don't see it at all, she said. If you make a point of it, or Frank or Mr. Gresham, I will go, but I can't see any possible reason. The doctor went so appeal to, would not absolutely say that he made a point of it, and Mary was tolerably safe as regarded Frank or the squire. If she went, Frank would be expected to go, and Frank disliked Corsi Castle almost more than ever. His aunt was now more than civil to him, and when they were together never ceased to complement him on the desirable way in which he had done his duty by the family. And soon after Christmas a visitor came to Mary and stayed a fortnight with her, one whom neither she nor the doctor had expected, and of whom they had not much more than heard. This was the famous Miss Dunstable. Birds of a feather flocked together, said Mrs. Rantaway, late Miss Gushing, when she heard of the visit. The railwayman's niece, if you can call her a niece, and the quack's daughter, will do very well together, no doubt. At any rate they can count their money-bags, said Mrs. Umblby. And in fact Mary and Miss Dunstable did get on very well together, and Miss Dunstable made herself quite happy at Greshamsbury, although some people, including Mrs. Rantaway, contrived to spread a report that Dr. Thorn, jealous of Mary's money, was going to marry her. "'I shall certainly come and see you turned off,' said Miss Dunstable, taking leave of her new friend. Miss Dunstable, it must be acknowledged, was a little too fond of slang. But then a lady with her fortune, and of her age, may be fond of almost whatever she pleases. And so by degrees the winter wore away, very slowly to Frank, as he declared often enough, and slowly perhaps to Mary also, though she did not say so. The winter wore away, and the chill, bitter, windy early spring came round. The comic almanacs give us dreadful pictures of January and February, but in truth the months which should be made to look gloomy in England are March and April. But no man boast himself that he has got through the perils of winter at least till the seventh of May. It was early in April, however, that the great doings were to be done at Greshamsbury. Not exactly on the first. It may be presumed that in spite of the practical, common-sense spirit of the age, very few people do choose to have themselves united on that day. But some day in the first week of that month was fixed for the ceremony, and from the end of February all through March Lady Arabella worked and strove in a manner that entitled her to profound admiration. It was at last settled that the breakfast should be held in the large dining-room at Greshamsbury. There was a difficulty about it which taxed Lady Arabella to the utmost, for in making the proposition she could not but seem to be throwing some slight on the house in which the heiress had lived. But when the affair was once open to Mary, it was astonishing how easy it became. Of course, said Mary, all the rooms in our house would not hold half the people you were talking about if they must come. Lady Arabella looked so beseechingly, nay so piteously, that Mary had not another word to say. It was evident that they must all come. The decorses to the fifth generation, the Duke of Omnium himself, and others in concatenation accordingly. But will your uncle be angry if we have the breakfast up here? He has been so very handsome to Frank that I wouldn't make him angry for all the world. If you don't tell him anything about it, Lady Arabella, he'll think that it is all done properly. He will never know if he's not told that he ought to give the breakfast and not you. Won't he, my dear? And Lady Arabella looked her admiration for this very talented suggestion. And so the matter was arranged, the doctor never knew, till Mary told him some year or so afterwards, that he had been remiss in any part of his duty. And who was asked of the wedding? In the first place we have said that the Duke of Omnium was there. This was, in fact, the one circumstance that made this wedding so superior to any other that had ever taken place in that neighborhood. The Duke of Omnium never went anywhere, and yet he went to Mary's wedding. And Mary, when the ceremony was over, absolutely found herself kissed by a Duke. "'Dearest Mary,' exclaimed Lady Arabella, in her ecstasy of joy, when she saw the honor that was done to her daughter-in-law. "'I hope we shall induce you to come to Gatherham Castle soon,' said the Duke to Frank. "'I shall be having a few friends there in the autumn. Let me see. I declare I have not seen you since you were good enough to come to my collection. It wasn't bad fun, was it?' Frank was not very cordial with his answer. He had not quite reconciled himself to the difference of his position. When he was treated as one of the collection at Gatherham Castle he had not married money. It would be vain to enumerate all the decoracies that were there. There was the Earl, looking very gracious, and talking to the squire about the county. And there was Lord Porlock, looking very ungracious, and not talking to anybody about anything. And there was the Countess, who for the last week passed had done nothing but pat Frank on the back whenever she could catch him. And there were the ladies Alexandrina, Margherita, and Salina, smiling at everybody, and the Honorable George talking in whispers to Frank about his widow. Not such a catch as yours, you know, but something extremely snug, and have it all my own way too, old fellow, or I shan't come to the scratch. And the Honorable John prepared to toadie Frank about his string of hunters, and the Lady Amelia by herself, not quite contented with these democratic nuptials. After all, she is so absolutely nobody, absolutely, absolutely, she said confidentially to Augusta, shaking her head. But before Lady Amelia had left Greshamsbury, Augusta was quite at a loss to understand how there could be need for so much conversation between her cousin and Mr. Mortimer Gaysby. And there were many more decoracies whom to enumerate would be much too long. But the Bishop of the Diocese and Mrs. Proudie were there. A hint had even been given that his lordship would himself condescend to perform the ceremony, if this should be wished, but that work had already been anticipated by a very old friend of the Greshams. Archdeacon Grantley, the rector of plums that Episcopie had long since undertaken this part of the business, and the knot was eventually tied by the joint efforts of himself and Mr. Oriole. Mrs. Grantley came with him, and so did Mrs. Grantley's sister, the new dean's wife. The dean himself was at the time, unfortunately, absent at Oxford. And all the bakers and the jacksons were there. The last time they had all met together under the squire's roof was on the occasion of Frank's coming of age. The present gala doings were carried on in a very different spirit. That had been a very poor affair. But this was worthy of the best days of Greshamsbury. Occasion also had been taken of this happy moment to make up or rather to get rid of the last shreds of the last feud that had so long separated Dr. Thorn from his own relatives. The thorns of Ullathorn had made many overtures in a covert way. But our doctor had contrived to reject them. They would not receive Mary, as their cousin said he, and I will go nowhere that she cannot go. But now, this was all altered. Mrs. Gresham would certainly be received in any house in the county. And thus Mr. Thorn of Ullathorn, an amiable, popular old bachelor, came to the wedding, and so did his maiden sister, Miss Monica Thorn, than whose no kind of heart glowed through all barcature. My dear, said she to Mary, kissing her, and offering her some little tribute, I am very glad to make your acquaintance very—it was not her fault, she added, speaking to herself, and now that she will be Gresham, that need not be any longer thought of. Nevertheless could Miss Thorn have spoken her inward thoughts out loud? She would have declared that Frank would have done better to have borne his poverty than Mary wealth without blood. But then there are but few so staunch as Miss Thorn, perhaps none in that county, always accepting Lady Amelia. And Miss Dunstable also was a bridesmaid. Oh, no, said she when asked, you should have them young and pretty. But she gave way when she found that Mary did not flatter her by telling her that she was either one or the other. The truth is, said Miss Dunstable, I have always been a little in love with your Frank, and so I shall do it for his sake. There were but four, the other two were the Gresham twins. Lady Arabella exerted herself greatly in framing hints to induce Mary to ask some of the decorsi ladies to do her so much honour, but on this head Mary would please herself. Rank, said she to Beatrice with a curl on her lip, has its drawbacks and must put up with them. And now I find that I have not one page, not half a page, for the wedding dress. But what matters? Will it not all be found written in the columns of the morning post? Thus Frank married money and became a great man. Let us hope that he will be a happy man. As the time of the story has been brought down so near to the present era, it is not practicable for the novelist to tell much of his future career. When I last heard from Barsacher, it seemed to be quite settled that he is to take the place of one of the old members at the next election, and they say also that there is no chance of any opposition. I have heard, too, that there have been many very private consultations between him and various gentlemen of the county with reference to the hunt, and the general feeling is said to be that the hounds should go to Boxall Hill. At Boxall Hill the young people established themselves on their return from the continent, and that reminds me that one word must be said of Lady Scatchard. You will always stay here with us, said Mary to her, caressing her ladyship's rough hand, and looking kindly into that kind face. But Lady Scatchard would not consent to this. I will come and see you sometimes, and then I shall enjoy myself. Yes, I will come and see you, and my own dear boy. The affair was ended by her taking Mrs. Opie Green's cottage, in order that she might be near the doctor, Mrs. Opie Green having married somebody. And of whom else must we say a word? Patience also, of course, got a husband, or will do so. Dear patience, it would be a thousand pitties that so good a wife should be lost to the world. Whether Miss Dunstable will ever be married, or Augusta Gresham, or Mr. Moffat, or any of the tribe of the Decorses, except Lady Amelia, I cannot say. They have all of them still their future before them, that Bridget was married to Thomas, that I am able to assert, for I know that Janet was very much put out by their joint desertion. Lady Arabella has not yet lost her admiration for Mary, and Mary in return behaves admirably. Another event is expected, and her ladyship is almost as anxious about that as she was about the wedding. A matter you know of such importance in the county, she whispered to Lady Decorsi. Nothing can be more happy than the intercourse between the squire and his son. What their exact arrangements are, we need not specially inquire, but the demon of pecuniary embarrassment has lifted his black wings from the demean of Gresham's spree. And now we have but one word left for the doctor. If you do not come and dine with me, said the squire to him, when they found themselves both deserted, mind I shall come and dine with you, and on this principle they seem to act. Dr. Thorn continues to extend his practice to the great disgust of Dr. Philgrave, and when Mary suggested to him that he should retire, he almost boxed her ears. He knows the way, however, to Boxall Hill as well as he ever did, and is willing to acknowledge that the tea there is almost as good as it ever was at Gresham's spree. End of Chapter 47. End of Dr. Thorn. Read by Nicholas Clifford.