ms.

"I beg your pardon," said he, jumping up as though he had been
detected in some disgraceful act. "Upon my word, Frank, I beg your
pardon; but--well, my dear fellow, all well at Greshamsbury--eh?" and
as he shook himself, he made a lunge at one uncommonly disagreeable
fly that had been at him for the last ten minutes. It is hardly
necessary to say that he missed his enemy.

"I should have been with you before, doctor, but I was down at
Malvern."

"At Malvern, eh? Ah! so Oriel told me. The death of poor Sir Louis
was very sudden--was it not?"

"Very."

"Poor fellow--poor fellow! His fate has for some time been past
hope. It is a madness, Frank; the worst of madness. Only think of
it--father and son! And such a career as the father had--such a
career as the son might have had!"

"It has been very quickly run," said Frank.

"May it be all forgiven him! I sometimes cannot but believe in a
special Providence. That poor fellow was not able, never would have
been able, to make proper use of the means which fortune had given
him. I hope they may fall into better hands. There is no use in
denying it, his death will be an immense relief to me, and a relief
also to your father. All this law business will now, of course, be
stopped. As for me, I hope I may never be a trustee again."

Frank had put his hand four or five times into his breast-pocket, and
had as often taken out and put back again Mary's letter before he
could find himself able to bring Dr Thorne to the subject. At last
there was a lull in the purely legal discussion, caused by the doctor
intimating that he supposed Frank would now soon return to
Greshamsbury.

"Yes; I shall go to-morrow morning."

"What! so soon as that? I counted on having you one day in London
with me."

"No, I shall go to-morrow. I'm not fit for company for any one. 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 turned round from the window,