and settle himself there to-morrow if he
pleases."

"Stop a moment, Dr Thorne," said Frank. These were the only words
which he had yet uttered since the tidings had been conveyed to him.

"And these, squire, are the Greshamsbury papers:" and the doctor,
with considerable ceremony, withdrew the covering newspapers. "Look
at them; there they all are once again. When I suggested to Mr Snilam
that I supposed they might now all go back to the Greshamsbury
muniment room, I thought he would have fainted. As I cannot return
them to you, you will have to wait till Frank shall give them up."

"But, Dr Thorne," said Frank.

"Well, my boy."

"Does Mary know all about this?"

"Not a word of it. I mean that you shall tell her."

"Perhaps, under such very altered circumstances--"

"Eh?"

"The change is so great and so sudden, so immense in its effects,
that Mary may perhaps wish--"

"Wish! wish what? Wish not to be told of it at all?"

"I shall not think of holding her to her engagement--that is, if--I
mean to say, she should have time at any rate for consideration."

"Oh, I understand," said the doctor. "She shall have time for
consideration. How much shall we give her, squire? three minutes? Go
up to her Frank: she is in the drawing-room."

Frank went to the door, and then hesitated, and returned. "I could
not do it," said he. "I don't think that I understand it all yet. I
am so bewildered that I could not tell her;" and he sat down at the
table, and began to sob with emotion.

"And she knows nothing of it?" said the squire.

"Not a word. I thought that I would keep the pleasure of telling her
for Frank."

"She should not be left in suspense," said the squire.

"Come, Frank, go up to her," again urged the doctor. "You've been
ready enough with your visits when you knew that you ought to stay
away."

"I cannot do it," said Frank, after a pause of some moments; "nor is
it right that I should. It would be taking advantage of her."

"Go to her yourself, doctor; it is you that should do it," said the
squire.

After some further slight delay, the doctor got up, and did go
upstairs. He, even, was half afraid of the task. "It must be done,"
he said to himself, as his heavy steps mounted the stairs. "But how
to tell it?"

When he entered, Mary was standing half-way up the room, as though
she had risen to meet him. Her face was troubled, and her eyes were
almost wild. The emotion, the hopes, the fears of that morn