Nor am I fit for anything. Read that, doctor. It's no use putting it off any longer. I must get you to talk this over with me. Just read that, and tell me what you think about it. It was written a week ago, when I was there, but somehow I have only got it to-day.' And putting the letter into the doctor's hands, he turned away to the window, and looked out among the Holborn omnibuses. Dr. Thorne took the letter and read it. Mary, after she had written it, had bewailed to herself that the letter was cold; but it had not seemed cold to her lover, nor did it appear so to her uncle. When Frank again turned round from the window, the doctor's handkerchief was up to his eyes; who, in order to hide the tears that were there, was obliged to go through a rather violent process of blowing his nose.
'Well,' he said, as he gave back the letter to Frank.
Well! what did well mean? Was it well? or would it be well, were he, Frank, to comply with the suggestion made to him by Mary?
'It is impossible,' he said, 'that matters should go on like that. Think what her sufferings must have been before she wrote that. I am sure she loves me.'
'I think she does,' said the doctor.
'And it is out of the question that she should be sacrificed; nor will I consent to sacrifice my own happiness. I am quite willing to work for my bread, and I am sure that I am able. I will not submit to— Doctor, what answer do you think I ought to give to that letter? There can be no person so anxious for her happiness as you are—except myself.' And, as he asked the question, he again put into the doctor's hand, almost unconsciously, the letter which he had still been holding in his own.
The doctor turned it over and over, and then opened it again.
'What answer ought I to make to it?' demanded Frank, with energy.
'You see, Frank, I have never interfered in this matter, otherwise than to tell you the whole truth about Mary's birth.'
'Oh, but you must interfere: you should say what you think.'
'Circumstanced as you are now—that is, just at the present moment—you could hardly marry immediately.'
'Why not let me take a farm? My father could, at any rate, manage a couple of thousand pounds or so for me to stock it. That would not be asking much. If he could not give it me, I would not scruple to borrow so much elsewhere.' And Frank bethought him of all Miss Dunstable's offers.
'Oh, yes; that could be managed.'
'Then why not marry immediately; say in six months or so? I am not unreasonable; though, heaven knows, I have been kept
