e nor land of his own. After
all, might it not be possible for him also to put his arm round
Mary's knees;--her knees, or her waist, or, perhaps, even her neck?
Faint heart never won fair lady. At any rate, he would try.

And he did try. With what result, as regards Mary, need hardly be
told. He certainly did not get nearly so far as putting his hand even
upon her knee before he was made to understand that it "was no go,"
as he graphically described it to his mother. He tried once and
again. On the first time Mary was very civil, though very determined.
On the second, she was more determined, though less civil; and then
she told him, that if he pressed her further he would drive her from
his mother's house. There was something then about Mary's eye, a
fixed composure round her mouth, and an authority in her face, which
went far to quell him; and he did not press her again.

He immediately left Boxall Hill, and, returning to London, had more
violent recourse to the curacoa. It was not long before the doctor
heard of him, and was obliged to follow him, and then again occurred
those frightful scenes in which the poor wretch had to expiate,
either in terrible delirium or more terrible prostration of spirits,
the vile sin which his father had so early taught him.

Then Mary returned to her uncle's home. Frank was gone, and she
therefore could resume her place at Greshamsbury. Yes, she came back
to Greshamsbury; but Greshamsbury was by no means the same place that
it was formerly. Almost all intercourse was now over between the
doctor and the Greshamsbury people. He rarely ever saw the squire,
and then only on business. Not that the squire had purposely
quarrelled with him; but Dr Thorne himself had chosen that it should
be so, since Frank had openly proposed for his niece. Frank was now
gone, and Lady Arabella was in arms against him. It should not be
said that he kept up any intimacy for the sake of aiding the lovers
in their love. No one should rightfully accuse him of inveigling the
heir to marry his niece.

Mary, therefore, found herself utterly separated from Beatrice. She
was not even able to learn what Beatrice would think, or did think,
of the engagement as it now stood. She could not even explain to
her friend that love had been too strong for her, and endeavour to
get some comfort from that friend's absolution from her sin. This
estrangement was now carried so far that she and Beatrice did not
even meet on neu