Doctor Thorne, Anthony Trollope [best book reader .txt] 📗

>conveyed back discreetly to George’s hands. The correspondence ran as

follows:—

 

Courcy Castle, Aug. —, 185—.

 

MY DEAREST MISS DUNSTABLE,

 

I cannot but flatter myself that you must have perceived

from my manner that you are not indifferent to me. Indeed,

indeed, you are not. I may truly say, and swear [these

last strong words had been put in by the special counsel

of the Honourable John], that if ever a man loved a woman

truly, I truly love you. You may think it very odd that

I should say this in a letter instead of speaking it out

before your face; but your powers of raillery are so great

[“touch her up about her wit” had been the advice of the

Honourable John] that I am all but afraid to encounter

them. Dearest, dearest Martha—oh do not blame me for so

addressing you!—if you will trust your happiness to me

you shall never find that you have been deceived. My

ambition shall be to make you shine in that circle which

you are so well qualified to adorn, and to see you firmly

fixed in that sphere of fashion for which all your tastes

adapt you.

 

I may safely assert—and I do assert it with my hand on

my heart—that I am actuated by no mercenary motives. Far

be it from me to marry any woman—no, not a princess—on

account of her money. No marriage can be happy without

mutual affection; and I do fully trust—no, not trust, but

hope—that there may be such between you and me, dearest

Miss Dunstable. Whatever settlements you might propose,

I should accede to. It is you, your sweet person, that I

love, not your money.

 

For myself, I need not remind you that I am the second son

of my father; and that, as such, I hold no inconsiderable

station in the world. My intention is to get into

Parliament, and to make a name for myself, if I can, among

those who shine in the House of Commons. My elder brother,

Lord Porlock, is, you are aware, unmarried; and we

all fear that the family honours are not likely to be

perpetuated by him, as he has all manner of troublesome

liaisons which will probably prevent his settling in life.

There is nothing at all of that kind in my way. It will

indeed be a delight to place a coronet on the head of my

lovely Martha: a coronet which can give no fresh grace to

her, but which will be so much adorned by her wearing it.

 

Dearest Miss Dunstable, I shall wait with the utmost

impatience for your answer; and now, burning with hope

that it may not be altogether unfavourable to my love, I

beg permission to sign myself—

 

Your own most devoted,

 

GEORGE DE COURCY.

 

The ardent lover had not to wait long for an answer from his

mistress. She found this letter on her toilet-table one night as she

went to bed. The next morning she came down to breakfast and met her

swain with the most unconcerned air in the world; so much so that

he began to think, as he munched his toast with rather a shamefaced

look, that the letter on which so much was to depend had not yet come

safely to hand. But his suspense was not of a prolonged duration.

After breakfast, as was his wont, he went out to the stables with his

brother and Frank Gresham; and while there, Miss Dunstable’s man,

coming up to him, touched his hat, and put a letter into his hand.

 

Frank, who knew the man, glanced at the letter and looked at his

cousin; but he said nothing. He was, however, a little jealous, and

felt that an injury was done to him by any correspondence between

Miss Dunstable and his cousin George.

 

Miss Dunstable’s reply was as follows; and it may be remarked that

it was written in a very clear and well-penned hand, and one which

certainly did not betray much emotion of the heart:—

 

MY DEAR MR DE COURCY,

 

I am sorry to say that I had not perceived from your

manner that you entertained any peculiar feelings towards

me; as, had I done so, I should at once have endeavoured

to put an end to them. I am much flattered by the way in

which you speak of me; but I am in too humble a position

to return your affection; and can, therefore, only express

a hope that you may be soon able to eradicate it from your

bosom. A letter is a very good way of making an offer, and

as such I do not think it at all odd; but I certainly did

not expect such an honour last night. As to my raillery, I

trust it has never yet hurt you. I can assure you it never

shall. I hope you will soon have a worthier ambition than

that to which you allude; for I am well aware that no

attempt will ever make me shine anywhere.

 

I am quite sure you have had no mercenary motives: such

motives in marriage are very base, and quite below your

name and lineage. Any little fortune that I may have must

be a matter of indifference to one who looks forward, as

you do, to put a coronet on his wife’s brow. Nevertheless,

for the sake of the family, I trust that Lord Porlock, in

spite of his obstacles, may live to do the same for a wife

of his own some of these days. I am glad to hear that

there is nothing to interfere with your own prospects of

domestic felicity.

 

Sincerely hoping that you may be perfectly successful in

your proud ambition to shine in Parliament, and regretting

extremely that I cannot share that ambition with you, I

beg to subscribe myself, with very great respect,—

 

Your sincere well-wisher,

 

MARTHA DUNSTABLE.

 

The Honourable George, with that modesty which so well became him,

accepted Miss Dunstable’s reply as a final answer to his little

proposition, and troubled her with no further courtship. As he said

to his brother John, no harm had been done, and he might have better

luck next time. But there was an inmate of Courcy Castle who was

somewhat more pertinacious in his search after love and wealth. This

was no other than Mr Moffat: a gentleman whose ambition was not

satisfied by the cares of his Barchester contest, or the possession

of one affianced bride.

 

Mr Moffat was, as we have said, a man of wealth; but we all know,

from the lessons of early youth, how the love of money increases and

gains strength by its own success. Nor was he a man of so mean a

spirit as to be satisfied with mere wealth. He desired also place and

station, and gracious countenance among the great ones of the earth.

Hence had come his adherence to the de Courcys; hence his seat in

Parliament; and hence, also, his perhaps ill-considered match with

Miss Gresham.

 

There is no doubt but that the privilege of matrimony offers

opportunities to money-loving young men which ought not to be lightly

abused. Too many young men marry without giving any consideration to

the matter whatever. It is not that they are indifferent to money,

but that they recklessly miscalculate their own value, and omit to

look around and see how much is done by those who are more careful.

A man can be young but once, and, except in cases of a special

interposition of Providence, can marry but once. The chance once

thrown away may be said to be irrevocable! How, in after-life, do

men toil and turmoil through long years to attain some prospect of

doubtful advancement! Half that trouble, half that care, a tithe of

that circumspection would, in early youth, have probably secured to

them the enduring comfort of a wife’s wealth.

 

You will see men labouring night and day to become bank directors;

and even a bank direction may only be the road to ruin. Others will

spend years in degrading subserviency to obtain a niche in a will;

and the niche, when at last obtained and enjoyed, is but a sorry

payment for all that has been endured. Others, again, struggle

harder still, and go through even deeper waters: they make wills for

themselves, forge stock-shares, and fight with unremitting, painful

labour to appear to be the thing that they are not. Now, in many

of these cases, all this might have been spared had the men made

adequate use of those opportunities which youth and youthful charms

afford once—and once only. There is no road to wealth so easy and

respectable as that of matrimony; that, is of course, provided that

the aspirant declines the slow course of honest work. But then, we

can so seldom put old heads on young shoulders!

 

In the case of Mr Moffat, we may perhaps say that a specimen was

produced of this bird, so rare in the land. His shoulders were

certainly young, seeing that he was not yet six-and-twenty; but

his head had ever been old. From the moment when he was first put

forth to go alone—at the age of twenty-one—his life had been one

calculation how he could make the most of himself. He had allowed

himself to be betrayed into no folly by an unguarded heart; no

youthful indiscretion had marred his prospects. He had made the

most of himself. Without wit, or depth, or any mental gift—without

honesty of purpose or industry for good work—he had been for two

years sitting member for Barchester; was the guest of Lord de Courcy;

was engaged to the eldest daughter of one of the best commoners’

families in England; and was, when he first began to think of Miss

Dunstable, sanguine that his re-election to Parliament was secure.

 

When, however, at this period he began to calculate what his position

in the world really was, it occurred to him that he was doing an

ill-judged thing in marrying Miss Gresham. Why marry a penniless

girl—for Augusta’s trifle of a fortune was not a penny in his

estimation—while there was Miss Dunstable in the world to be won?

His own six or seven thousand a year, quite unembarrassed as it was,

was certainly a great thing; but what might he not do if to that

he could add the almost fabulous wealth of the great heiress? Was

she not here, put absolutely in his path? Would it not be a wilful

throwing away of a chance not to avail himself of it? He must, to

be sure, lose the de Courcy friendship; but if he should then have

secured his Barchester seat for the usual term of parliamentary

session, he might be able to spare that. He would also, perhaps,

encounter some Gresham enmity: this was a point on which he did think

more than once: but what will not a man encounter for the sake of two

hundred thousand pounds?

 

It was thus that Mr Moffat argued with himself, with much prudence,

and brought himself to resolve that he would at any rate become a

candidate for the great prize. He also, therefore, began to say

soft things; and it must be admitted that he said them with more

considerate propriety than had the Honourable George. Mr Moffat had

an idea that Miss Dunstable was not a fool, and that in order to

catch her he must do more than endeavour to lay salt on her tail,

in the guise of flattery. It was evident to him that she was a bird

of some cunning, not to be caught by an ordinary gin, such as those

commonly in use with the Honourable Georges of Society.

 

It seemed to Mr Moffat,