But the very name of Lord Lufton, his sister’s lover, again gave him courage. He thought, too, of the accusations which Lord Lufton had brought against him on that night when he had come to him in the coffee-room of the hotel, and he felt that it was impossible that he should apply to him for such aid. It would be better to tell all to Lady Lufton! That she would relieve him, let the cost to herself be what it might, he was very sure. Only this;—that in looking to her for assistance he would be forced to bite the dust in very deed.
“Thank you, Mr. Forrest, but I have made up my mind. Do not think that I am the less obliged to you for your disinterested kindness,—for I know that it is disinterested; but this I think I may confidently say, that not even to avert so terrible a calamity will I again put my name to any bill. Even if you could take my own promise to pay without the addition of any second name, I would not do it.”
There was nothing for Mr. Forrest to do under such circumstances but simply to drive back to Barchester. He had done the best for the young clergyman according to his lights, and perhaps, in a worldly view, his advice had not been bad. But Mark dreaded the very name of a bill. He was as a dog that had been terribly scorched, and nothing should again induce him to go near the fire.
“Was not that the man from the bank?” said Fanny, coming into the room when the sound of the wheels had died away.
“Yes; Mr. Forrest.”
“Well, dearest?”
“We must prepare ourselves for the worst.”
“You will not sign any more papers, eh, Mark?”
“No; I have just now positively refused to do so.”
“Then I can bear anything. But, dearest, dearest Mark, will you not let me tell Lady Lufton?”