Doctor Thorne by Anthony Trollope (epub e ink reader .TXT) 📕

of the Howards” had depended upon it, she could not have brought herself to utter such a falsehood. Indifferent to her, as he walked there by her donkey’s side, talking thus earnestly of his love for her! Was he not to her like some god come from the heavens to make her blessed? Did not the sun shine upon him with a halo, so that he was bright as an angel? Indifferent to her! Could the open unadulterated truth have been practicable for her, she would have declared her indifference in terms that would truly have astonished him. As it was, she found it easier to say nothing. She bit her lips to keep herself from sobbing. She struggled hard, but in vain, to prevent her hands and feet from trembling. She seemed to swing upon her donkey as though like to fall, and would have given much to be upon her own feet upon the sward.

“Si la jeunesse savait⁠ ⁠…” There is so much in that wicked old French proverb! Had Frank known more about a woman’s mind⁠—had he, that is, been forty-two instead of twenty-two⁠—he would at once have been sure of his game, and have felt that Mary’s silence told him all he wished to know. But then, had he been forty-two instead of twenty-two, he would not have been so ready to risk the acres of Greshamsbury for the smiles of Mary Thorne.

“If you can’t say one word to comfort me, I will go,” said he, disconsolately. “I made up my mind to tell you this, and so I came over. I told Lady Scatcherd I should not stay⁠—not even for dinner.”

“I did not know you were so hurried,” said she, almost in a whisper.

On a sudden he stood still, and pulling the donkey’s rein, caused him to stand still also. The beast required very little persuasion to be so guided, and obligingly remained meekly passive.

“Mary, Mary!” said Frank, throwing his arms round her knees as she sat upon her steed, and pressing his face against her body. “Mary, you were always honest; be honest now. I love you with all my heart. Will you be my wife?”

But still Mary said not a word. She no longer bit her lips; she was beyond that, and was now using all her efforts to prevent her tears from falling absolutely on her lover’s face. She said nothing. She could no more rebuke him now and send him from her than she could encourage him. She could only sit there shaking and crying and wishing she was on the ground. Frank, on the whole, rather liked the donkey. It enabled him to approach somewhat nearer to an embrace than he might have found practicable had they both been on their feet. The donkey himself was quite at his ease, and looked as though he was approvingly conscious of what was going on behind his ears.

“I have a right to a word, Mary; say ‘Go,’ and I will leave you at once.”

But Mary did not say “Go.” Perhaps she would have done so had she been able; but just at present she could say nothing. This came from her having failed to make up her mind in due time as to what course it would best become her to follow.

“One word, Mary; one little word. There, if you will not speak, here is my hand. If you will have it, let it lie in yours;⁠—if not, push it away.” So saying, he managed to get the end of his fingers on to her palm, and there it remained unrepulsed. “La jeunesse” was beginning to get a lesson; experience when duly sought after sometimes comes early in life.

In truth Mary had not strength to push the fingers away. “My love, my own, my own!” said Frank, presuming on this very negative sign of acquiescence. “My life, my own one, my own Mary!” and then the hand was caught hold of and was at his lips before an effort could be made to save it from such treatment.

“Mary, look at me; say one word to me.”

There was a deep sigh, and then came the one word⁠—“Oh, Frank!”

“Mr. Gresham, I hope I have the honour of seeing you quite well,” said a voice close to his ear. “I beg to say that you are welcome to Boxall Hill.” Frank turned round and instantly found himself shaking hands with Sir Louis Scatcherd.

How Mary got over her confusion Frank never saw, for he had enough to do to get over his own. He involuntarily deserted Mary and began talking very fast to Sir Louis. Sir Louis did not once look at Miss Thorne, but walked back towards the house with Mr. Gresham, sulky enough in temper, but still making some effort to do the fine gentleman. Mary, glad to be left alone, merely occupied herself with sitting on the donkey; and the donkey, when he found that the two gentlemen went towards the house, for company’s sake and for his stable’s sake, followed after them.

Frank stayed but three minutes in the house; gave another kiss to Lady Scatcherd, getting three in return, and thereby infinitely disgusting Sir Louis, shook hands, anything but warmly, with the young baronet, and just felt the warmth of Mary’s hand within his own. He felt also the warmth of her eyes’ last glance, and rode home a happy man.

XXX Post Prandial

Frank rode home a happy man, cheering himself, as successful lovers do cheer themselves, with the brilliancy of his late exploit: nor was it till he had turned the corner into the Greshamsbury stables that he began to reflect what he would do next. It was all very well to have induced Mary to allow his three fingers to lie half a minute in her soft hand; the having done so might certainly be sufficient evidence that he had overcome one of the lions in his path; but it could hardly be said