Dr Thorne - Anthony Trollope [250]
‘Yes; I dare say you could have a farm’: and then he threw himself back in his chair, closing his eyes. Then, after a while, he rose again, and walked hurriedly about the room. ‘Frank,’ he said, at last, standing opposite to his son, ‘I wonder what you think of me?’
‘Think of you, sir!’ ejaculated Frank.
‘Yes; what you think of me, for having thus ruined you. I wonder whether you hate me?’
Frank, jumping up from his chair, threw his arms round his father’s neck. ‘Hate you, sir! How can you speak so cruelly? You know well that I love you. And, father, do not trouble yourself about the estate for my sake. I do not care for it; I can be just as happy without it. Let the girls have what is left, and I will make my own way in the world, somehow. I will go to Australia; yes, sir, that will be best. I and Mary will both go. Nobody will care about her birth there. But, father, never say, never think, that I do not love you!’
The squire was too much moved to speak at once, so he sat down again, and covered his face with his hands. Frank went on pacing the room, till, gradually, his first idea recovered possession of his mind, and the remembrance of his father’s grief faded away. ‘May I tell Mary,’ he said, at last, ‘that you consent to our marriage? It will make her so happy.’
But the squire was not prepared to say this. He was pledged to his wife to do all that he could to oppose it; and he himself thought, that if anything could consummate the family ruin, it would be this marriage.
‘I cannot say that, Frank; I cannot say that. What would you both live on? It would be madness.’
‘We would go to Australia,’ answered he, bitterly. ‘I have just said so.’
‘Oh, no, my boy; you cannot do that. You must not throw the old place up altogether. There is no other one but you, Frank; and we have lived here now for so many, many years.’
‘But if we cannot live here any longer, father?’
‘But for this scheme of yours, we might do so. I will give up everything to you, the management of the estate, the park, all the land we have in hand, if you will give up this fatal scheme. For, Frank, it is fatal. You are only twenty-three; why should you be in such a hurry to marry?’
‘You married at twenty-one, sir.’
Frank was again severe on his father, but unwittingly. ‘Yes, I did,’ said Mr Gresham; ‘and see what has come of it! Had I waited ten years longer, how different would everything have been! No, Frank, I cannot consent to such a marriage; nor will your mother.’
‘It is your consent I ask, sir; and I am asking for nothing but your consent.’
‘It would be sheer madness; madness for you both. My own Frank, my dear, dear boy, do not drive me to distraction! Give it up for four years.’
‘Four years!’
‘Yes; for four years. I ask it as a personal favour; as an obligation to myself, in order that we may be saved from ruin; you, your mother, and sisters, your family name, and the old house. I do not talk about myself; but were such a marriage to take place, I should be driven to despair.’
Frank found it very hard to resist his father, who now had hold of his hand and arm, and was thus half retaining him, and half embracing him. ‘Frank, say that you will forget this for four years – say for three years.’
But Frank would not say so. To postpone his marriage for four years, or for three, seemed to him to be tantamount to giving up Mary altogether; and he would not acknowledge that anyone had a right to demand of him to do that.
‘My word is pledged, sir,’ he said.
‘Pledged! Pledged to whom?’
‘To Miss Thorne.’
‘But I will see her, Frank; – and her uncle. She was always reasonable. I am sure she will not wish to bring ruin on her old friends at Greshamsbury.’
‘Her old friends at Greshamsbury have done but little lately to deserve her consideration. She has been treated shamefully. I know it has not been by you, sir; but I must say so. She has already been treated shamefully; but I will not treat her falsely.’
‘Well, Frank, I can say no more to you. I have destroyed the estate which should have been yours, and