m, and went on together more lovingly than
before.

The doctor was quite as weak as his niece; nay, weaker. She hesitated
fearfully as to what she ought to do: whether she should obey her
heart or the dictates of Greshamsbury. But he had other doubts than
hers, which nearly set him wild when he strove to bring his mind to
a decision. He himself was now in possession--of course as a trustee
only--of the title-deeds of the estate; more of the estate, much
more, belonged to the heirs under Sir Roger Scatcherd's will than to
the squire. It was now more than probable that that heir must be Mary
Thorne. His conviction became stronger and stronger that no human
efforts would keep Sir Louis in the land of the living till he
was twenty-five. Could he, therefore, wisely or honestly, in true
friendship to the squire, to Frank, or to his niece, take any steps
to separate two persons who loved each other, and whose marriage
would in all human probability be so suitable?

And yet he could not bring himself to encourage it then. The idea
of "looking after dead men's shoes" was abhorrent to his mind,
especially when the man whose death he contemplated had been so
trusted to him as had been Sir Louis Scatcherd. He could not speak
of the event, even to the squire, as being possible. So he kept his
peace from day to day, and gave no counsel to Mary in the matter.

And then he had his own individual annoyances, and very aggravating
annoyances they were. The carriage--or rather post-chaise--of Dr
Fillgrave was now frequent in Greshamsbury, passing him constantly
in the street, among the lanes, and on the high roads. It seemed as
though Dr Fillgrave could never get to his patients at the big house
without showing himself to his beaten rival, either on his way
thither or on his return. This alone would, perhaps, not have hurt
the doctor much; but it did hurt him to know that Dr Fillgrave was
attending the squire for a little incipient gout, and that dear Nina
was in measles under those unloving hands.

And then, also, the old-fashioned phaeton, of old-fashioned old
Dr Century was seen to rumble up to the big house, and it became
known that Lady Arabella was not very well. "Not very well," when
pronounced in a low, grave voice about Lady Arabella, always meant
something serious. And, in this case, something serious was meant.
Lady Arabella was not only ill, but frightened. It appeared, even to
her, that Dr Fillgrave himself hardly knew wh