Doctor Thorne, Anthony Trollope [an ebook reader .TXT] 📗

go all right for a while, and live⁠—live just as you tell me, you know?”

“All of us are in God’s hands, Sir Louis. By so doing you will, at any rate, give yourself the best chance.”

“Best chance? Why, d⁠⸺⁠n, doctor! there are fellows have done ten times worse than I; and they are not going to kick. Come, now, I know you are trying to frighten me; ain’t you, now?”

“I am trying to do the best I can for you.”

“It’s very hard on a fellow like me; I have nobody to say a kind word to me; no, not one.” And Sir Louis, in his wretchedness, began to weep. “Come, doctor; if you’ll put me once more on my legs, I’ll let you draw on the estate for five hundred pounds; by G ⸻, I will.”

The doctor went away to his dinner, and the baronet also had his in bed. He could not eat much, but he was allowed two glasses of wine, and also a little brandy in his coffee. This somewhat invigorated him, and when Dr. Thorne again went to him, in the evening, he did not find him so utterly prostrated in spirit. He had, indeed, made up his mind to a great resolve; and thus unfolded his final scheme for his own reformation:⁠—

“Doctor,” he began again, “I believe you are an honest fellow; I do indeed.”

Dr. Thorne could not but thank him for his good opinion.

“You ain’t annoyed at what I said this morning, are you?”

The doctor had forgotten the particular annoyance to which Sir Louis alluded; and informed him that his mind might be at rest on any such matter.

“I do believe you’d be glad to see me well; wouldn’t you, now?”

The doctor assured him that such was in very truth the case.

“Well, now, I’ll tell you what: I’ve been thinking about it a great deal today; indeed, I have, and I want to do what’s right. Mightn’t I have a little drop more of that stuff, just in a cup of coffee?”

The doctor poured him out a cup of coffee, and put about a teaspoonful of brandy in it. Sir Louis took it with a disconsolate face, not having been accustomed to such measures in the use of his favourite beverage.

“I do wish to do what’s right⁠—I do, indeed; only, you see, I’m so lonely. As to those fellows up in London, I don’t think that one of them cares a straw about me.”

Dr. Thorne was of the same way of thinking, and he said so. He could not but feel some sympathy with the unfortunate man as he thus spoke of his own lot. It was true that he had been thrown on the world without anyone to take care of him.

“My dear friend, I will do the best I can in every way; I will, indeed. I do believe that your companions in town have been too ready to lead you astray. Drop them, and you may yet do well.”

“May I though, doctor? Well, I will drop them. There’s Jenkins; he’s the best of them; but even he is always wanting to make money of me. Not but what I’m up to the best of them in that way.”

“You had better leave London, Sir Louis, and change your old mode of life. Go to Boxall Hill for a while; for two or three years or so; live with your mother there and take to farming.”

“What! farming?”

“Yes; that’s what all country gentlemen do: take the land there into your own hand, and occupy your mind upon it.”

“Well, doctor, I will⁠—upon one condition.”

Dr. Thorne sat still and listened. He had no idea what the condition might be, but he was not prepared to promise acquiescence till he heard it.

“You know what I told you once before,” said the baronet.

“I don’t remember at this moment.”

“About my getting married, you know.”

The doctor’s brow grew black, and promised no help to the poor wretch. Bad in every way, wretched, selfish, sensual, unfeeling, purse-proud, ignorant as Sir Louis Scatcherd was, still, there was left to him the power of feeling something like sincere love. It may be presumed that he did love Mary Thorne, and that he was at the time earnest in declaring, that if she could be given to him, he would endeavour to live according to her uncle’s counsel. It was only a trifle he asked; but, alas! that trifle could not be vouchsafed.

“I should much approve of your getting married, but I do not know how I can help you.”

“Of course, I mean to Miss Mary: I do love her; I really do, Dr. Thorne.”

“It is quite impossible, Sir Louis; quite. You do my niece much honour; but I am able to answer for her, positively, that such a proposition is quite out of the question.”

“Look here now, Dr. Thorne; anything in the way of settlements⁠—”

“I will not hear a word on the subject: you are very welcome to the use of my house as long as it may suit you to remain here; but I must insist that my niece shall not be troubled on this matter.”

“Do you mean to say she’s in love with that young Gresham?”

This was too much for the doctor’s patience. “Sir Louis,” said he, “I can forgive you much for your father’s sake. I can also forgive something on the score of your own ill health. But you ought to know, you ought by this time to have learnt, that there are some things which a man cannot forgive. I will not talk to you about my niece; and remember this, also, I will not have her troubled by you,” and, so saying, the doctor left him.

On the next day the baronet was sufficiently recovered to be able to resume his braggadocio airs. He swore at Janet; insisted on being served by his own man; demanded in a loud voice, but in vain, that his liqueur-case should be restored to him; and desired that post-horses might be ready for him on the morrow. On