‘Shall I go now,’ said the doctor, ‘and send Lady Scatcherd to you?’

’Wait a while, doctor; just one minute longer.  So you will do nothing for Louis, then?’

‘I will do everything for him that I can do.’

’Ah, yes! everything but the one thing that will save him.  Well, I will not ask you again.  But remember, Thorne, I shall alter my will to-morrow.’

’Do so, by all means; you may well alter it for the better.  If I may advise you, you will have down your own business attorney from London.  If you will let me send he will be here before to-morrow night.’

’Thank you for nothing, Thorne:  I can manage that matter myself.  Now leave me; but remember, you have ruined that girl’s fortune.’

The doctor did leave him, and went not altogether happy to his room.  He could not but confess to himself that he had, despite himself as it were, fed himself with hope that Mary’s future might be made more secure, aye, and brighter too, by some small unheeded fraction broken off from the huge mass of her uncle’s wealth.  Such hope, if it had amounted to hope, was now all gone.  But this was not all, nor was this the worst of it.  That he had done right in utterly repudiating all idea of a marriage between Mary and her cousin—­of that he was certain enough; that no earthly consideration would have induced Mary to plight her troth to such a man—­that, with him, was as certain as doom.  But how far had he done right in keeping her from the sight of her uncle?  How could he justify it to himself if he had thus robbed her of her inheritance, seeing that he had done so from a selfish fear lest she, who was now all his own, should be known to the world as belonging to others rather than to him?  He had taken upon him on her behalf to reject wealth as valueless; and yet he had no sooner done so than he began to consume his hours with reflecting how great to her would be the value of wealth.  And thus, when Sir Roger told him, as he left the room, that he had ruined Mary’s fortune, he was hardly able to bear the taunt with equanimity.

On the next morning, after paying his professional visit to his patient, and satisfying himself that the end was now drawing near with steps terribly quickened, he went down to Greshamsbury.

‘How long is this to last, uncle?’ said his niece, with sad voice, as he again prepared to return to Boxall Hill.

‘Not long, Mary; do not begrudge him a few more hours of life.’

’No, I do not, uncle.  I will say nothing more about it.  Is his son with him?’ And then, perversely enough, she persisted in asking numerous questions about Louis Scatcherd.

‘Is he likely to marry, uncle?’

‘I hope so, my dear.’

‘Will he be so very rich?’

‘Yes; ultimately he will be very rich.’

‘He will be a baronet, will he not?’

‘Yes, my dear.’

‘What is he like, uncle?’