She dropped the letter at these words, and, covering her face with her hands, sobbed bitterly and long; at length, and with an effort which taxed her strength to the utmost, she read on:—
“Although, however, you are to remain at Cro' Martin, it will be more than ever imperative you should reduce the establishment there within the very strictest possible limits; and to begin this-reform, I 'm fully assured it is necessary you should depose old Mrs. Broon, who is really incapable of her duties, while her long-acquired habits of expense render her incompatible with any new regulations to enforce economy. A moderate pension—something, however, in accordance with her real wants and requirements, rather than what might be called her expectations—should be settled upon her, and there are several farmers on the estate, any one of whom would gladly take charge of her. The gardens still figure largely in the account, and considering the very little probability of our makings the place a residence again, might be turned to more profitable use. You will confer with Henderson on the subject, and inquire how far it might be advisable to cultivate vegetables for market, or convert them into paddocks for calves, or, in short, anything which, if less remunerative, should still save the enormous outlay we now hear of I scarcely like to allude to the stable, knowing how much you lean to the enjoyment of riding and driving; but really these are times when retrenchment is called for at every hand; and I am persuaded that for purposes of health walking is infinitely better than carriage exercise. I know myself, that since I have taken to the habit of getting out of the carriage at the wells, and walking twice round the parterre, I feel myself braced and better for the day.
“It is not improbable but when the changes I thus suggest, and others similar to them, are enacted, that you will see to what little purpose a large house is maintained for the mere accommodation of a single individual, without suitable means, or indeed any reason whatever, to dispense them. If then, I say, you should come to this conviction,—at which I have already arrived,—a very great saving might be effected by obtaining a tenant for Cro' Martin, while you, if still desirous of remaining in the county, might be most comfortably accommodated at the Hendersons'.”
Three times did Mary Martin read over this passage before she could bring herself to believe in its meaning; and hot tears of sorrow coursed down her cheeks as she became assured of its import.
“It is not,” went on the epistle—“it is not in your uncle's present most critical state that I could confer with him on this project, nor strengthen my advice by what most probably would be his also. I therefore make the appeal simply to your own sense of what you may think in accordance with our greatly increased outlay and your own requirements. Should you receive this suggestion in the spirit in which it is offered, I think that both for your uncle's satisfaction and your own dignity, the proposal ought to come from yourself. You could make it to me in a letter, stating all the reasons in its favor, and of course not omitting to lay suitable stress upon the isolation of your present life, and the comfort and security you would derive from the protection of a family. Mrs. H. is really a very nice person, and her tastes and habits would render her most companionable; and she would, of course, make you an object of especial attention and respect. It is, besides, not impossible that the daughter may soon return—though this is a point I have not leisure to enter upon at present. A hundred a year would he a very handsome allowance for Henderson, and indeed for that sum he ought to keep your pony, if you still continue your taste for equipage. You would thus be more comfortable, and really richer,—that is, have more disposable means—than you have hitherto had. I forbear to insist further upon what—till it has your own approval—may be a vain advocacy on my part. I can only say, in conclusion, that in adopting this plan you would equally consult what is due to your own dignity, as what is required by your uncle's interests. Your cousin, I am forced to avow it, has been very silly, very inconsiderate, not alone in contracting heavy debts, but in raising large sums to meet them at fabulous rates of interest. The involvements threaten, from what I can gather, to imperil a considerable part of the estate, and we are obliged to send for Scanlan to come out here, and confer with him as to the means of extrication. I feel there is much to be said in palliation of errors which have their origin in high and generous qualities. Plantagenet was thrown at a very early age into the society of a most expensive regiment, and naturally contracted the tastes and habits around him. Poor fellow, he is suffering severely from the memory of these early indiscretions, and I see that nothing but a speedy settlement of his difficulties will ever restore him to his wonted spirits. You will thus perceive, that if my suggested change of life to you should not conform entirely to your wishes, that you are in reality only accepting your share of the sacrifices called for from each of us.
“There are a great number of other matters on which I wished to touch,—some, indeed, are not exactly within your province, such as the political fortunes of the borough, whose seat Mr. Massingbred has determined to vacate. Although not admitting the reason for his conduct, I am strongly convinced that the step is a mere acknowledgment of an error on his part, and an effort, however late, at the amende honorable. The restitution, for so I am forced to regard it, comes most inopportunely, since it would be a most ill-chosen moment in which to incur the expense of a contested election; besides that, really your cousin has no desire whatever for Parliamentary honors. Plantagenet, however, would seem to have some especial intentions on the subject which he keeps secret, and has asked of Massingbred not to send off his farewell address to the constituency for some days. But I will not continue a theme so little attractive to you.
“Dr. Schubart has just called to see your uncle. He is not altogether so satisfied with his state as I could have hoped; he advises change of scene, and a little more intercourse with the world, and we have some thought of Nice, if we cannot get on to Naples. Dr. S., to whom I spoke on the subject of your Irish miseries, tells me that cholera is now the most manageable of all maladies, if only taken early; that you must enjoin the persons attacked to a more liberal diet, no vegetables, and a sparing use of French wines, excepting, he says, the generous 'Vins du Midi.' There is also a mixture to be taken—of which he promised me the prescription—and a pill every night of arnica or aconite—I 'm not quite certain which—but it is a perfect specific. He also adds, what must be felt as most reassuring, that the disease never attacks but the very poorest of the population. As to typhus, he smiled when I spoke of it. It is, he says, a mere 'Gastrite,' a malady which modern science actually despises. In fact, my dear niece, these would seem, like all other Irish misfortunes, the mere offshoots of her own dark ignorance and barbarism. If it were not for the great expense—and of course that consideration decides the question—I should have requested you to send over your doctor here to confer with Dr. Schubart. Indeed, I think it might be a very reasonable demand to make of the Government, but unhappily my present 'relations' with my relative Lord Reckington preclude any advances of mine in that quarter.
“I was forgetting to add that, with respect to cholera, and indeed fever generally, that Dr. S. lays great stress upon what he calls the moral treatment of the people, amusing their minds by easily learned games and simple pleasures. I fear me, however, that the coarser natures of our population may not derive adequate amusement from the resources which would have such eminent success with the enlightened peasant of the Rhine land. Dr. S., I may remark, is a very distinguished writer on politics, and daily amazes us with the astounding speculations he is forming as to the future condition of Europe. His conviction is that our great peril is Turkey, and that Mohammedanism will be the religion of Europe before the end of the present century. Those new baths established at Brighton by a certain Hamet are a mere political agency, a secret propaganda, which his acuteness has alone penetrated. Miss Henderson has ventured to oppose these views with something not very far from impertinent ridicule, and for some time back, Dr. S. only discusses them with myself alone.
“I had left the remainder of the sheet for any intelligence that might occur before post hour, but I am suddenly called away, and shall close it at once. When I was sitting with your uncle awhile ago, I half broached the project I was suggesting to you, and he seemed highly to approve of so much as I ventured to tell him. Nothing then is wanting but your own concurrence to make it as practicable as it is deemed advisable by your affectionate aunt,
“Dorothea Martin.”