collapse of energy and spirit, that Dr. Thorne thought it prudent to remove his razors from his reach.
'For God's sake do let me have a little chasse-café; I'm always used to it; ask Joe if I'm not? You don't want to kill me, do you?' And the baronet cried piteously, like a child, and, when the doctor left him for the breakfast-table, abjectly implored Janet to get him some curaçoa, which he knew was in one of his portmanteaus. Janet, however, was true to her master.
The doctor did give him some wine; and then, having left strict orders as to his treatment—Bridget and Thomas being now both in the house—went forth to some of his too much neglected patients.
Then Mary was again alone, and her mind flew away to her lover. How should she be able to compose herself when she should first see him? See him she must. People cannot live in the same village without meeting. If she passed him at the church-door, as she so often passed Lady Arabella, what should she do? Lady Arabella always smiled a peculiar, little, bitter smile, and this, with half a nod of recognition, carried off the meeting. Should she try the bitter smile, the half-nod with Frank? Alas! she knew it was not in her to be so much mistress of her own heart's blood.
As she thus thought, she stood at the drawing-room window, looking out into her garden; and, as she leant against the sill, her head was surrounded by the sweet creepers. 'At any rate, he won't come here,' she said: and so, with a deep sigh, she turned from the window into the room.
There he was, Frank Gresham himself, standing there in her immediate presence, beautiful as Apollo. Her next thought was how she might escape from out of his arms. How it happened that she had fallen into them, she never knew.
'Mary! my own, own love! my own one! sweetest! dearest! best! Mary! dear Mary! have you not a word to say to me?'
No; she had not a word, though her life had depended on it. The exertion necessary for not crying was quite enough for her. This, then, was the bitter smile and the half-nod that was to pass between them; this was the manner in which estrangement was to grow into indifference; this was the mode of meeting by which she was to prove that she was mistress of her conduct, if not her heart! There he held her close bound to his breast, and she could only protect her face, and that all ineffectually, with her hands. 'He loves another,' Beatrice had said. 'At any rate, he will not love me,' her own heart had said, also. Here was now the answer.
'You know you cannot marry him,' Beatrice had said, also.
