"You are welcome, Ralph," said Sir Thomas. "If I could assist you, you would be doubly welcome."
"I know I have been a great trouble to you,—a thankless, fruitless, worthless trouble. I shall make up my mind, no doubt, in a day or two, and I will just write you a line. I need not bother you by coming any more. Of course I think a great deal about it."
"No doubt," said Sir Thomas.
"Unluckily I have been brought up to know the value of what it is I have to throw away. It is a kind of thing that a man doesn't do without some regrets."
"They should have come earlier," said Sir Thomas.
"No doubt;—but they didn't, and it is no use saying anything more about it. Good-day, sir." Then he flounced out of the room, impatient of that single word of rebuke which had been administered to him.
Sir Thomas, as soon as he was alone, applied himself at once to the book which he had reluctantly put aside when he was disturbed. But he could not divest his mind of its trouble, as quickly as his chamber had been divested of the presence of its troubler. He had said an ill-natured word, and that grieved him. And then,—was he not taking all this great matter too easily? If he would only put his shoulder to the wheel thoroughly might he not do something to save this friend,—this lad, who had been almost as his own son,—from destruction? Would it not be a burden on his conscience to the last day of his life that he had allowed his ward to be ruined, when by some sacrifice of his own means he might have saved him? He sat and thought of it, but did not really resolve that anything could be done. He was wont to think in the same way of his own children, whom he neglected. His conscience had been pricking him all his life, but it hardly pricked him sharp enough to produce consequences.
During those very moments in which Ralph was leaving Southampton Buildings he had almost made up his mind to go at once to Alexandria Cottage, and to throw himself and the future fate of Newton Priory at the feet of Polly Neefit. Two incidents in his late interview with Sir Thomas tended to drive him that way. Sir Thomas had told him that should he marry the daughter of a man who made—breeches, no lady would associate with his wife. Sir Thomas also had seemed to imply that he must sell his property. He would show Sir Thomas that he could have a will and a way of his own. Polly Neefit should become his wife; and he would show the world that no proudest lady in the land was treated with more delicate consideration by her husband than the breeches-maker's daughter should be treated by him. And when it should please Providence to decide that the present squire of Newton had reigned long enough over that dominion, he would show the world that he had known something of his own position and the value of his own prospects. Then Polly should be queen in the Newton dominions, and he would see whether the ordinary world of worshippers would not come and worship as usual. All the same, he did not on that occasion go out to Alexandria Cottage.
When he reached his club he found a note from his brother.
Newton Peele, September 8th, 186—.
My dear Ralph,—
I have been sorry not to have had an answer from you to the letter which I wrote to you about a month ago. Of course I hear of what is going on. Ralph Newton up at the house tells me everything. The Squire is still in town, as, of course, you know; and there has got to be a report about here that he has, as the people say, bought you out. I still hope that this is not true. The very idea of it is terrible to me;—that you should sell for an old song, as it were, the property that has belonged to us for centuries! It would not, indeed, go out of the name, but, as far as you and I are concerned, that is the same. I will not refuse, myself, to do anything that you may say is necessary to extricate yourself from embarrassment; but I ran hardly bring myself to believe that a step so fatal as this can be necessary.
If I understand the matter rightly your difficulty is not so much in regard to debts as in the want of means of livelihood. If so, can you not bring yourself to live quietly for a term of years. Of course you ought to marry, and there may be a difficulty there; but almost anything would be better than abandoning the property. As I told you before, you are welcome to the use of the whole of my share of the London property. It is very nearly £400 a year. Could you not live on that till things come round?
Our cousin Ralph knows that I am writing to you, and knows what my feelings are. It is not he that is so anxious for the purchase. Pray write and tell me what is to be done.
Most affectionately yours,
Gregory Newton.
I wouldn't lose a day in doing anything you might direct about the Holborn property.