s mind the apparent absurdity of Frank's desire to
borrow two thousand pounds for a farm, when, in all human
probability, he might in a few months be in possession of almost any
sum he should choose to name. And yet he would not tell him of Sir
Roger's will. "If it should turn out to be all wrong?" said he to
himself.

"Do you wish me to give her up?" said Frank, at last.

"No. How can I wish it? How can I expect a better match for her?
Besides, Frank, I love no man in the world so well as I do you."

"Then you will help me?"

"What! against your father?"

"Against! no, not against anybody. But will you tell Mary that she
has your consent?"

"I think she knows that."

"But you have never said anything to her."

"Look here, Frank; you ask me for my advice, and I will give it you:
go home; though, indeed, I would rather you went anywhere else."

"No, I must go home; and I must see her."

"Very well, go home: as for seeing Mary, I think you had better put
it off for a fortnight."

"Quite impossible."

"Well, that's my advice. But, at any rate, make up your mind to
nothing for a fortnight. Wait for one fortnight, and I then will tell
you plainly--you and her too--what I think you ought to do. At the
end of a fortnight come to me, and tell the squire that I will take
it as a great kindness if he will come with you. She has suffered,
terribly, terribly; and it is necessary that something should be
settled. But a fortnight more can make no great difference."

"And the letter?"

"Oh! there's the letter."

"But what shall I say? Of course I shall write to-night."

"Tell her to wait a fortnight. And, Frank, mind you bring your father
with you."

Frank could draw nothing further from his friend save constant
repetitions of this charge to him to wait a fortnight,--just one
other fortnight.

"Well, I will come to you at any rate," said Frank; "and, if
possible, I will bring my father. But I shall write to Mary
to-night."

On the Saturday morning, Mary, who was then nearly broken-hearted at
her lover's silence, received a short note:--

MY OWN MARY,

I shall be home to-morrow. I will by no means release you
from your promise. Of course you will perceive that I only
got your letter to-day.

Your own dearest,

FRANK.

P.S.--You will have to call me so hundreds and hundreds of
times yet.

Short as it was, this sufficed Mary. It is one thing for a young lady
to make pruden