And thus after all did Frank perform his duty; he did marry money; or rather, as the wedding has not yet taken place, and is, indeed, as yet hardly talked of, we should more properly say that he had engaged himself to marry money. And then, such a quantity of money! the Scatcherd wealth greatly exceeded the Dunstable wealth; so that our hero may be looked on as having performed his duties in a manner deserving the very highest commendation from all classes of the De Courcy connexion.

And he received it. But that was nothing. That he should be feted by the De Courcys and the Greshams, now that he was about to do his duty by his family in so exemplary a manner: that he should be patted on the back, now that he no longer meditated that vile crime which had been so abhorrent to his mother’s soul; this was only natural; this is hardly worthy of remark. But there was another to be feted, another person to be made a personage, another blessed human mortal about to do her duty by the family of Gresham in a manner that deserved, and should receive, Lady Arabella’s warmest caresses.

Dear Mary! It was, indeed, not singular that she should be prepared to act so well, seeing that in early youth she had had the advantage of an education in the Greshamsbury nursery; but not on that account was it the less fitting that her virtue should be acknowledged, eulogized, nay, all but worshipped.

How the party at the doctor’s got itself broken up, I am not prepared to say. Frank, I know, stayed, and dined there, and his poor mother, who would not retire to rest till she had kissed him, and blessed him, and thanked him for all he was doing for the family, was kept waiting in her dressing-room till a very unreasonable hour of the night.

It was the squire who brought the news up to the house. ‘Arabella,’ he said, in a low, but somewhat solemn voice, ‘you will be surprised at the news I bring you. Mary Thorne is the heiress to all the Scatcherd property!’

‘Oh, heavens! Mr Gresham.’

‘Yes, indeed,’ continued the squire. ‘So it is; it is very, very —’ But Lady Arabella had fainted. She was a woman who generally had her feelings and her emotions much under her own control; but what she now heard was too much for her. When she came to her senses, the first words that escaped her lips were, ‘Dear Mary!’

But the household had to sleep on the news before it could be fully realized. The squire was not by nature a mercenary man. If I have at all succeeded in putting his character before the reader, he will be recognized as one not over attached to money for money’s sake. But things had gone so hard with him, the world had become so rough, so ungracious, so full of thorns, the want of means had become an evil so keenly felt in every hour, that it cannot be wondered at that his dreams that night should be of a golden Elysium. The wealth was not coming to him. True. But his chief sorrow had been for his son. Now that son would be his only creditor. It was as though mountains of marble had been taken off his bosom.

But Lady Arabella’s dreams flew away at once into the seventh heaven. Sordid as they certainly were, they were not absolutely selfish. Frank would now certainly be the first commoner in Barsetshire; of course he would represent the county; of course there would be the house in town; it wouldn’t be her house, but she was contented that the grandeur should be that of her child. He would have heaven knows what to spend per annum. And that it should come through Mary Thorne! What a blessing she had allowed Mary to be brought into the Greshamsbury nursery! Dear Mary!

‘She will of course be one now,’ said Beatrice to her sister. With her, at the present moment, ‘one’ of course meant one of the bevy that was to attend her at the altar. ‘Oh dear! how nice! I shan’t know what to say to her tomorrow. But I know one thing.’

‘What is that?’ asked Augusta.

‘She will be as mild and meek as a little dove. If she and the doctor had lost every shilling in the world, she would have been proud as an eagle.’ It must be acknowledged that Beatrice had had the wit to read Mary’s character right.

But Augusta was not quite pleased with the whole affair. Not that she begrudged her brother his luck, or Mary her happiness. But her ideas of right and wrong — perhaps we should rather say Lady Amelia’s ideas — would not be fairly carried out.

‘After all, Beatrice, this does not alter her birth. I know it is useless saying anything to Frank.’

‘Why, you wouldn’t break both their hearts now?’

‘I don’t want to break their hearts, certainly. But there are those who put their dearest and warmest feelings under restraint rather than deviate from what they know to be proper.’ Poor Augusta! she was the stern professor of the order of this philosophy; the last in the family who practised with unflinching courage its cruel behests; the last, always excepting the Lady Amelia.

And how slept Frank that night? With him, at least, let us hope, nay, let us say boldly, that his happiest thoughts were not with the wealth which he was to acquire. But yet it would be something to restore Boxall Hill to Greshamsbury; something to give back to his father those rumpled vellum documents, since the departure of which the squire had never had a happy day; nay, something to come forth again to his friends as a gay, young country squire, instead of a farmer, clod-compelling for his bread. We would not have him thought to be better than he was, nor would we wish him to make him of other stuff than nature generally uses. His heart did exult at Mary’s wealth; but it leaped higher still when he thought of purer joys.

And what shall we say of Mary’s dreams? With her, it was altogether what she should give, not at all what she should get. Frank had loved her so truly when she was so poor, such an utter castaway; Frank, who with his beauty, and spirit, and his talents might have won the smiles of the richest, the grandest, the noblest! What lady’s heart would not have rejoiced to be allowed to love her Frank? But he had been true to her through everything. Ah! how often she thought of that hour, when suddenly appearing before her, he had strained her to his breast, just as she had resolved how best to bear the death-like chill of his supposed estrangements! She was always thinking of that time. She fed her love by recurring over and over to the altered feeling of that moment. Any now she could pay him for his goodness. Pay him! No, that would be a base word, a base thought. Her payment must be made, if God would so grant it, in many, many years to come. But her store, such as it was, should be emptied into his lap. It was soothing to her pride that she would not hurt him by her love, that she would bring no injury to the old house. ‘Dear, dear Frank’ she murmured, as her waking dream, conquered at last by sleep, gave way to those of the fairy world.

But she thought not only of Frank; dreamed not only of him. What had he not done for her, that uncle of hers, who had been more loving to her than any father! How was he, too, to be paid? Paid, indeed! Love can only be paid in its own coin: it knows of no other legal tender. Well, if her home was to be Greshamsbury, at any rate she would not be separated from him.

What the doctor dreamed of that, neither he or anyone ever knew. ‘Why, uncle, I think you’ve been asleep,’ said Mary to him that evening as he moved for a moment uneasily on the sofa. He had been asleep for the last three-quarters of an hour;— but Frank, his guest, had felt no offence. ‘No, I’ve not been exactly asleep,’ said he; ‘but I’m very tired. I wouldn’t do it all again, Frank, to double the money. You haven’t got any more tea, have you, Mary?’

On the following morning, Beatrice was of course with her friend. There was no awkwardness between them in meeting. Beatrice had loved her when she was poor, and though they had not lately thought alike on one very important subject, Mary was too gracious to impute that to Beatrice as a crime.

‘You will be one now, Mary; of course you will.’

‘If Lady Arabella will let me come.’

‘Oh, Mary; let you! Do you remember what you said once about coming, and being near me? I have so often thought of it. And now, Mary, I must tell you about Caleb;’ and the young lady settled herself on the sofa, so as to have a comfortable long talk. Beatrice had been quite right. Mary was as meek with her, and as mild as a dove.

And then Patience Oriel came. ‘My fine, young darling, magnificent, overgrown heiress,’ said Patience, embracing her. ‘My breath deserted me, and I was nearly stunned when I heard of it. How small we shall all be, my dear! I am quite prepared to toady to you immensely; but pray be a little gracious to me, for the sake of auld lang syne.’

Mary gave a long, long kiss. ‘Yes, for auld lang syne, Patience; when you took me away under your wing to Richmond.’ Patience also had loved her when she was in trouble, and that love, too, should never be forgotten.

But the great difficulty was Lady Arabella’s first meeting with her. ‘I think I’ll go down to her after breakfast,’ said her ladyship to Beatrice, as the two were talking over the matter while the mother was finishing her toilet.

‘I am sure she will come up if you like it, mamma.’

‘She is entitled to every courtesy — as Frank’s accepted bride, you know,’ said Lady Arabella. ‘I would not for worlds fail in any respect to her for his sake.’

‘He will be glad enough for her to come, I am sure,’ said Beatrice. ‘I was talking to Caleb this morning, and he says —’

The matter was of importance, and Lady Arabella gave it her most mature consideration. The manner of receiving into one’s family an heiress whose wealth is cure all one’s difficulties, disperse all one’s troubles, give a balm to all the wounds of misfortune, must under any circumstances, be worthy of much care. But when that heiress had been treated as Mary had been treated!

‘I must see her, at any rate, before I go to Courcy.’ said Lady Arabella.

‘Are you going to Courcy, mamma?’

‘Oh, certainly; yes, I must see my sister-inlaw now. You don’t seem to realize the importance, my dear, of Frank’s marriage. He will be in a great hurry about it, and, indeed, I cannot blame him. I expect they will all come here.’

‘Who, mamma? The De Courcys?’

‘Yes, of course. I shall be very much surprised if the earl does not come now. And I must consult my sister-inlaw as to the asking of the Duke of Omnium.’

Poor Mary!

‘And I think it will perhaps be better,’ continued Lady Arabella, ‘that we should have a larger party than intended at your affair. The countess, I’m sure, would come now. We couldn’t put it off for ten days; could we, dear?’

‘Put it off ten days!’

‘Yes; it would be convenient.’

‘I don’t think Mr Oriel would like that at all, mamma. You know he has made all his arrangements for his Sundays —’

Pshaw! The idea of the parson’s Sundays being allowed to have any bearing on such a matter as Frank’s wedding would now become! Why, they would have — how much? Between twelve and fourteen thousand a year! Lady Arabella, who had made her calculations a dozen times during the night, had never found it to be much less than the larger sum. Mr Oriel’s Sundays indeed!

After much doubt, Lady Arabella acceded to her daughter’s suggestion, that Mary should be received at Greshamsbury instead of being called on at the doctor’s house. ‘If you think she won’t mind the coming up first,’ said her ladyship. ‘I certainly could receive her better here. I should be more — more — more able, you know, to express what I feel. We had better go into the big drawing-room today, Beatrice. Will you remember to tell Mrs Richards?’

‘Oh, certainly,’ was Mary’s answer when Beatrice, with a voice a little trembling, proposed her to walk up to the house. ‘Certainly I will, if Lady Arabella will receive me;— only, one thing, Trichy.’

‘What’s that, dearest?’

‘Frank will think that I come after him.’

‘Never mind what he thinks. To tell you the truth, Mary, I often call on Patience for the sake of finding Caleb. That’s all fair now, you know.’

Mary very quietly got put on her straw bonnet, and said she was ready to go up to the house. Beatrice was a little fluttered, and showed it. Mary was, perhaps, a good deal fluttered, but she did not show it. She had thought a good deal about her first interview with Lady Arabella, of her first return to the house; but she had resolved to carry herself as though the matter were easy to her. She would not allow it to be seen that she felt that she brought with her to Greshamsbury, comfort, ease, and renewed opulence.

So she put on her straw bonnet and walked up with Beatrice. Everybody about the place had already heard the news. The old woman at the lodge curtsied low to her; the gardener, who was mowing the lawn. The butler, who opened the front door — he must have been watching Mary’s approach — had manifestly put on a clean white neckcloth for the occasion.

‘God bless you once more, Miss Thorne!’ said the old man, in a half-whisper. Mary was somewhat troubled, for everything seemed, in a manner, to bow down before her. And why should not everything bow down before her, seeing that she was in truth the owner of Greshamsbury?

And then a servant in livery would open the big drawing-room door. This rather upset both Mary and Beatrice. It became almost impossible for Mary to enter the room just as she would have done two years ago; but she got through the difficulty with much self-control.

‘Mamma, here’s Mary,’ said Beatrice.

Nor was Lady Arabella quite mistress of herself, although she had studied minutely how to bear herself.

‘Oh, Mary, dear Mary; what can I say to you?’ and then, with a handkerchief to her eyes, she ran forward and hid her face in Miss Thorne’s shoulders. ‘What can I say — can you forgive my anxiety for my son?’

‘How do you do, Lady Arabella?’ said Mary.

‘My daughter! my child! my Frank’s own bride! Oh, Mary! oh, my child! If I have seemed unkind to you, it has been through love to him.’

‘All these things are over now,’ said Mary. ‘Mr Gresham told me yesterday that I should be received as Frank’s future wife; and so, you see, I have come.’ And then she slipped through Lady Arabella’s arms, and sat down, meekly down, on a chair. In five minutes she had escaped with Beatrice into the school-room, and was kissing the children, and turning over the new trousseau. They were, however, soon interrupted, and there was, perhaps, some other kissing besides that of the children.

‘You have no business here at all, Frank,’ said Beatrice. ‘Has he, Mary?’

‘None in the world, I should think.’

‘See what he has done to my poplin; I hope you won’t have your things treated so cruelly. He’ll be careful enough about them.’

‘Is Oriel a good hand at packing up finery — eh, Beatrice,’ said Frank.

‘He is, at any rate, too well-behaved to spoil it.’ Thus Mary was again made at home on the household of Greshamsbury.

Lady Arabella did not carry out her little plan of delaying the Oriel wedding. Her idea had been to add some grandeur to it, in order to make it a more fitting precursor of that other greater wedding which was to follow soon in its wake. But this, with the assistance of the countess, she found herself able to do without interfering with poor Mr Oriel’s Sunday arrangements. The countess herself, with the Ladies Alexandrina and Margaretta, now promised to come, even to the first affair; and for the other, the whole De Courcy family would turn out, count and countess, lords and ladies, Honourable Georges and Honourable Johns. What honour, indeed, could be too great to show to a bride who had fourteen thousand a year in her own right, or to a cousin, who had done his duty by securing such a bride to himself!

‘If the duke be in the country, I am sure he will be happy to come,’ said the countess. ‘Of course, he will be talking to Frank about politics. I suppose the squire won’t expect Frank to belong to the old school now.’

‘Frank, of course, will judge for himself, Rosina;— with his positio............