while these things were going on at tretton, and while mr. scarborough was making all arrangements for the adequate disposition of his property,—in doing which he had happily come to the conclusion that there was no necessity for interfering with what the law had settled,—mr. prosper was lying very ill at buston, and was endeavoring on his sick-bed to reconcile himself to what the entail had done for him. there could be no other heir to him but harry annesley. as he thought of the unmarried ladies of his acquaintance, he found that there was no one who would have done for him but miss puffle and matilda thoroughbung. all others were too young or too old, or chiefly penniless. miss puffle would have been the exact thing—only for that intruding farmer's son.

as he lay there alone in his bedroom his mind used to wander a little, and he would send for matthew, his butler, and hold confidential discussions with him. "i never did think, sir, that miss thoroughbung was exactly the lady," said matthew.

"why not?"

"well, sir, there is a saying—but you'll excuse me."

"go on, matthew."

"there is a saying as how 'you can't make a silk purse out of a sow's ear.'"

"i've heard that."

"just so, sir. now, miss thoroughbung is a very nice lady."

"i don't think she's a nice lady at all."

"but—of course it's not becoming in me to speak against my betters, and as a menial servant i never would."

"go on, matthew."

"miss thoroughbung is—"

"go on, matthew."

"well;—she is a sow's ear. ain't she, now? the servants here never would have looked upon her as a silk purse."

"wouldn't they?"

"never! she has a way with her just as though she didn't care for silk purses. and it's my mind, sir, that she don't. she wishes, however, to be uppermost, and if she had come here she'd have said so."

"that can never be. thank god, that can never be!"

"oh, no! brewers is brewers, and must be. there's mr. joe—he's very well, no doubt."

"i haven't the pleasure of his acquaintance."

"him as is to marry miss molly. but miss molly ain't the head of the family; is she, sir?" here the squire shook his head. "you're the head of the family, sir."

"i suppose so."

"and is—i might make so bold as to speak?"

"go on, matthew."

"miss thoroughbung would be a little out of place at buston hall. now, as to miss puffle—"

"miss puffle is a lady,—or was."

"no doubt, sir. the puffles is not quite equal to the prospers, as i can hear. but the puffles is ladies—and gentlemen. the servants below all give it up to them that they're real gentlefolk. but—"

"well?"

"she demeaned herself terribly with young tazlehurst. they all said as there were more where that came from."

"what should they mean by that?"

"she'd indulge in low 'abits,—such as never would have been put up with at buston hall,—a-cursing and a-swearing—"

"miss puffle!"

"not herself,—i don't say that; but it's like enough if you 'ad heard all. but them as lets others do it almost does it themselves. and them as lets others drink sperrrits o' mornings come nigh to having a dram down their own throats."

"oh laws!" exclaimed mr. prosper, thinking of the escape he had had.

"you wouldn't have liked it, sir, if there had been a bottle of gin in the bedroom!" here mr. prosper hid his face among the bedclothes. "it ain't all that comes silk out of the skein that does to make a purse of."

there were difficulties in the pursuit of matrimony of which mr. prosper had not thought. his imagination at once pictured to himself a bride with a bottle of gin under her pillow, and he went on shivering till matthew almost thought that he had been attacked by an ague-fit.

"i shall give it up, at any rate," he said, after a pause.

"of course you're a young man, sir."

"no, i'm not."

"that is, not exactly young,"

"you're an old fool to tell such lies!"

"of course i'm an old fool; but i endeavor to be veracious. i never didn't take a shilling as were yours, nor a shilling's worth, all the years i have known you, mr. prosper."

"what has that to do with it? i'm not a young man."

"what am i to say, sir? shall i say as you are middle-aged?"

"the truth is, matthew, i'm worn out."

"then i wouldn't think of taking a wife."

"troubles have been too heavy for me to bear. i don't think i was intended to bear trouble."

"'man is born to trouble as the sparks fly upward,'" said matthew.

"i suppose so. but one man's luck is harder than another's. they've been too many for me, and i feel that i'm sinking under them. it's no good my thinking of marrying now."

"that's what i was coming to when you said i was an old fool. of course i am an old fool."

"do have done with it! mr. harry hasn't been exactly what he ought to have been to me."

"he's a very comely young gentleman."

"what has comely to do with it?"

"them as is plain-featured is more likely to stay at home and be quiet. you couldn't expect one as is so handsome to stay at buston and hear sermons."

"i don't expect him to be knocking men about in the streets at midnight."

"it ain't that, sir."

"i say it is that!"

"very well, sir. only we've all heard down-stairs as mr. harry wasn't him as struck the first blow. it was all about a young lady."

"i know what it was about."

"a young lady as is a young lady."—this was felt to the quick by mr. prosper, in regard to the gin-drinking miss puffle and the brewer-bred miss thoroughbung; but as he was beginning to think that the continuation of the family of the prospers must depend on the marriage which harry might make, he passed over the slur upon himself for the sake of the praise given to the future mother of the prospers.—"and when a young gentleman has set his heart on a young lady he's not going to be braggydoshoed out of it."

"captain scarborough knew her first."

"first come first served isn't always the way with lovers. mr. harry was the conquering hero. 'weni, widi, wici.'"

"halloo, matthew!"

"them's the words as they say a young gentleman ought to use when he's got the better of a young lady's affections; and i dare say they're the very words as put the captain into such a towering passion. i can understand how it happened, just as if i saw it."

"but he went away, and left him bleeding and speechless."

"he'd knocked his weni, widi, wici out of him, i guess! i think, mr. prosper, you should forgive him." mr. prosper had thought so too, but had hardly known how to express himself after his second burst of anger. but he was at the present ill and weak, and was anxious to have some one near to him who should be more like a silk purse than his butler, matthew. "suppose you was to send for him, sir."

"he wouldn't come."

"let him alone for coming! they tell me, sir—"

"who tells you?"

"why, sir, the servants now at the rectory. of course, sir, where two families is so near connected, the servants are just as near: it's no more than natural. they tell me now that since you were so kind about the allowance, their talk of you is all changed." then the squire's anger was heated hot again. their talk had all been against him till he had opened his hand in regard to the allowance. and now when there was something again to be got they could be civil. there was none of that love of him for himself for which an old man is always hankering,—for which the sick man breaks his heart,—but which the old and sick find it so difficult to get from the young and healthy. it is in nature that the old man should keep the purse in his own pocket, or otherwise he will have so little to attract. he is weak, querulous, ugly to look at, apt to be greedy, cross, and untidy. though he himself can love, what is his love to any one? duty demands that one shall smooth his pillow, and some one does smooth it,—as a duty. but the old man feels the difference, and remembers the time when there was one who was anxious to share it.

mr. prosper was not in years an old man, and had not as yet passed that time of life at which many a man is regarded by his children as the best of their playfellows. but he was weak in body, self-conscious, and jealous in spirit. he had the heart to lay out for himself a generous line of conduct, but not the purpose to stick to it steadily. his nephew had ever been a trouble to him, because he had expected from his nephew a kind of worship to which he had felt that he was entitled as the head of the family. all good things were to come from him, and therefore good things should be given to him. harry had told himself that his uncle was not his father, and that it had not been his fault that he was his uncle's heir. he had not asked his uncle for an allowance. he had grown up with the feeling that buston hall was to be his own, and had not regarded his uncle as the donor. his father, with his large family, had never exacted much,—had wanted no special attention from him. and if not his father, then why his uncle? but his inattention, his absence of gratitude for peculiar gifts, had sunk deep into mr. prosper's bosom. hence had come miss thoroughbung as his last resource, and miss thoroughbung had—called him peter. hence his mind had wandered to miss puffle, and miss puffle had gone off with the farmer's son, and, as he was now informed, had taken to drinking gin. therefore he turned his face to the wall and prepared himself to die.

on the next day he sent for matthew again. matthew first came to him always in the morning, but on that occasion very little conversation ever took place. in the middle of the day he had a bowl of soup brought to him, and by that time had managed to drag himself out of bed, and to clothe himself in his dressing-gown, and to seat himself in his arm-chair. then when the soup had been slowly eaten, he would ring his bell, and the conversation would begin. "i have been thinking over what i was saying yesterday, matthew." matthew simply assented, but he knew in his heart that his master had been thinking over what he himself had said.

"is mr. harry at the rectory?"

"oh yes; he's there now. he wouldn't stir from the rectory till he hears that you are better."

"why shouldn't he stir? does he mean to say that i'm going to die? perhaps i am. i'm very weak, but he doesn't know it."

matthew felt that he had made a blunder, and that he must get out of it as well as he could. "it isn't that he is thinking anything of that, but you are confined to your room, sir. of course he knows that."

"i never told him."

"he's most particular in his inquiries from day to day."

"does he come here?"

"he don't venture on that, because he knows as how you wouldn't wish it."

"why shouldn't i wish it? it'd be the most natural thing in the world."

"but there has been—a little—i'm quite sure mr. harry don't wish to intrude. if you'd let me give it to be understood that you'd like him to call, he'd be over here in a jiffy." then, very slowly, mr. prosper did give it to be understood that he would take it as a compliment if his nephew would walk across the park and ask after him. he was most particular as to the mode in which this embassy should be conducted. harry was not to be made to think that he was to come rushing into the house after his old fashion,—"halloo, uncle, aren't you well? hope you'll be better when i come back. have got to be off by the next train." then he used to fly away and not be heard of again for a week. and yet the message was to be conveyed with an alluring courtesy that might be attractive, and might indicate that no hostility was intended. but it was not to be a positive message, but one which would signify what might possibly take place. if it should happen that mr. harry was walking in this direction, it might also happen that his uncle would be pleased to see him. there was no better ambassador at hand than matthew, and therefore matthew was commissioned to arrange matters. "if you can get at mrs. weeks, and do it through his mother," suggested mr. prosper. then matthew winked and departed on his errand.

in about two hours there was a ring at the back-door, of which mr. prosper knew well the sound. miss thoroughbung had not been there very often, but he had learned to distinguish her ring or her servant's. in old days, not so very far removed, harry had never been accustomed to ring at all. but yet his uncle knew that it was he, and not the doctor, who might probably come,—or mr. soames, of whose coming he lived in hourly dread. "you can show him up," he said to matthew, opening the door with great exertion, and attempting to speak to the servant down the stairs. harry, at any rate, was shown up, and in two minutes' time was standing over his uncle's sick-chair. "i have not been quite well just lately," he said, in answer to the inquiries made.

"we are very sorry to hear that, sir."

"i suppose you've heard it before."

"we did hear that you were a little out of sorts."

"out of sorts! i don't know what you call out of sorts. i have not been out of this room for well-nigh a month. my sister came to see me one day, and that's the last christian i've seen."

"my mother would be over daily if she fancied you'd like it."

"she has her own duties, and i don't want to be troublesome."

"the truth is, uncle prosper, that we have all felt that we have been in your black books; and as we have not thought that we deserved it, there has been a little coolness."

"i told your mother that i was willing to forgive you."

"forgive me what? a fellow does not care to be forgiven when he has done nothing. but if you'll only say that by-gones shall be by-gones quite past i'll take it so." he could not give up his position as head of the family so easily,—an injured head of the family. and yet he was anxious that by-gones should be by-gones, if only the young man would not be so jaunty, as he stood there by his arm-chair. "just say the word, and the girls shall come up and see you as they used to do." mr. prosper thought at the moment that one of the girls was going to marry joe thoroughbung, and that he would not wish to see her. "as for myself, if i've been in any way negligent, i can only say that i did not intend it. i do not like to say more, because it would seem as though i were asking you for money."

"i don't know why you shouldn't ask me."

"a man doesn't like to do that. but i'd tell you of everything if you'd only let me."

"what is there to tell?" said uncle prosper, knowing well that the love-story would be communicated to him.

"i've got myself engaged to marry a young woman."

"a young woman!"

"yes;—she's a young woman, of course; but she's a young lady as well. you know her name: it is florence mountjoy."

"that is the young lady that i've heard of. was there not some other gentleman attached to her?"

"there was;—her cousin, mountjoy scarborough."

"his father wrote to me."

"his father is the meanest fellow i ever met."

"and he himself came to me,—down here. they were fighting your battle for you."

"i'm much obliged to them."

"for even i have interfered with him about the lady."

then harry had to repeat his veni, vidi, vici after his own fashion. "of course i interfered with him. how is a fellow to help himself? we both of us were spooning on the same girl, and of course she had to decide it."

"and she decided for you?"

"i fancy she did. at any rate i decided for her, and i mean to have her."

then mr. prosper was, for him, very gracious in his congratulations, saying all manner of good things of miss mountjoy. "i think you'd like her, uncle prosper." mr. prosper did not doubt but that he would "appease the solicitor." he also had heard of miss mountjoy, and what he had heard had been much to the "young lady's credit." then he asked a few questions as to the time fixed for the marriage. here harry was obliged to own that there were difficulties. miss mountjoy had promised not to marry for three years without her mother's consent. "three years!" said mr. prosper. "then i shall be dead and buried." harry did not tell his uncle that in that case the difficulty might probably vanish, as the same degree of fate which had robbed him of his poor uncle would have made him owner of buston. in such a case as that mrs. mountjoy might probably give way.

"but why is the young lady to be kept from marriage for three years? does she wish it?"

harry said that he did not exactly think that miss mountjoy, on her own behalf, did wish for so prolonged a separation. "the fact is, sir, that mrs. mountjoy is not my best friend. this nephew of hers, mountjoy scarborough, has always been her favorite."

"but he's a man that always loses his money at cards."

"he's to have all tretton now, it seems."

"and what does the young lady say?"

"all tretton won't move her. i'm not a bit afraid. i've got her word, and that's enough for me. how it is that her mother should think it possible;—that's what i do not know."

"the three years are quite fixed?"

"i don't quite say that altogether."

"but a young lady who will be true to you will be true to her mother also." harry shook his head. he was quite willing to guarantee florence's truth as to her promise to him, but he did not think that her promise to her mother need be put on the same footing. "i shall be very glad if you can arrange it any other way. three years is a long time."

"quite absurd, you know," said harry, with energy.

"what made her fix on three years?"

"i don't know how they did it between them. mrs. mountjoy, perhaps, thought that it might give time to her nephew. ten years would be the same as far as he is concerned. florence is a girl who, when she says that she loves a man, means it. for you don't suppose i intend to remain three years?"

"what do you intend to do?"

"one has to wait a little and see." then there was a long pause, during which harry stood twiddling his fingers. he had nothing farther to suggest, but he thought that his uncle might say something. "shall i come again to-morrow, uncle prosper?" he said.

"i have got a plan," said uncle prosper.

"what is it, uncle?"

"i don't know that it can lead to anything. it's of no use, of course, if the young lady will wait the three years."

"i don't think she's at all anxious," said harry.

"you might marry almost at once."

"that's what i should like."

"and come and live here."

"in this house?"

"why not? i'm nobody. you'd soon find that i'm nobody."

"that's nonsense, uncle prosper. of course you're everybody in your own house."

"you might endure it for six months in the year."

harry thought of the sermons, but resolved at once to face them boldly. "i am only thinking how generous you are."

"it's what i mean. i don't know the young lady, and perhaps she mightn't like living with an old gentleman. in regard to the other six months, i'll raise the two hundred and fifty pounds to five hundred pounds. if she thinks well of it, she should come here first and let me see her. she and her mother might both come." then there was a pause. "i should not know how to bear it,—i should not, indeed. but let them both come."

after some farther delay this was at last decided on. harry went away supremely happy and very grateful, and mr. prosper was left to meditate on the terrible step he had taken.