“You think you have done your duty,” said Augustus.

“I do not care two straws about doing my duty, young man.”  Here Mr. Scarborough raised himself in part, and spoke in that strong voice which was supposed to be so deleterious to him.  “Or rather, in seeking my duty, I look beyond the conventionalities of the world.  I think that you have behaved damnably, and that I have punished you.  Because of Mountjoy’s weakness, because he had been knocked off his legs, I endeavored to put you upon yours.  You at once turned upon me, when you thought the deed was done, and bade me go—­and bury myself.  You were a little too quick in your desire to become the owner of Tretton Park at once.  I have stayed long enough to give some farther trouble.  You will not say, after this, that I am non compos, and unable to make a will.  You will find that, under mine, not one penny-piece, not one scrap of property, will become yours.  Mountjoy will take care of you, I do not doubt.  He must hate you, but will recognize you as his brother.  I am not so soft-hearted and will not recognize you as my son.  Now you may go away.”  So saying, he turned himself round to the wall, and refused to be induced to utter another word.  Augustus began to speak, but when he had commenced his second sentence the old man rung his bell.  “Mary,” said he to his sister, “will you have the goodness to get Augustus to go away?  I am very weak, and if he remains he will be the death of me.  He can’t get anything by killing me at once; it is too late for that.”

Then Augustus did leave the room, and before the night came had left Tretton also.  He presumed there was nothing for him to do there.  One word he did say to Mountjoy,—­“You will understand, Mountjoy, that when our father is dead Tretton will not become your property.”

“I shall understand nothing of the kind,” said Mountjoy “but I suppose Mr. Grey will tell me what I am to do.”

CHAPTER LVII.

MR. PROSPER SHOWS HIS GOOD-NATURE.

While these things were going on at Tretton, and while Mr. Scarborough was making all arrangements for the adequate disposition of his property,—­in doing which he had happily come to the conclusion that there was no necessity for interfering with what the law had settled,—­Mr. Prosper was lying very ill at Buston, and was endeavoring on his sick-bed to reconcile himself to what the entail had done for him.  There could be no other heir to him but Harry Annesley.  As he thought of the unmarried ladies of his acquaintance, he found that there was no one who would have done for him but Miss Puffle and Matilda Thoroughbung.  All others were too young or too old, or chiefly penniless.  Miss Puffle would have been the exact thing—­only for that intruding farmer’s son.

As he lay there alone in his bedroom his mind used to wander a little, and he would send for Matthew, his butler, and hold confidential discussions with him.  “I never did think, sir, that Miss Thoroughbung was exactly the lady,” said Matthew.