All his thoughts were of Mary. He was going to place a barrier between her and himself. He was going to give himself a chance of life by making it impossible for him to love her. This writer of books had brought himself to think that if Mary Horneck were to marry Colonel Gwyn he, Oliver Goldsmith, would come to think of her as he thought of her sister—with the affection which exists between good friends.
While her mother had been talking to him about her and her loving heart, he had suddenly become possessed of the truth: it was her sympathetic heart that had led her to make the two mistakes of her life. First, she had fancied that she loved the impostor whom she had met in Devonshire, and then she had fancied that she loved him, Oliver Goldsmith. He knew what she meant by the words which she had spoken in his presence. He knew that if he had not been strong enough to answer her as he had done that day, she would have told him that she loved him.
Her mother was right. She was in great danger through her liability to follow the promptings of her heart. If already she had made two such mistakes as he had become aware of, into what disaster might not she be led in the future?
Yes; her mother was right. Safety for a girl with so tender a heart was to be found only in marriage—marriage with such a man as Colonel Gwyn undoubtedly was. He recollected the details of Colonel Gwyn's visit to himself, and how favourably impressed he had been with the man. He undoubtedly possessed every trait of character that goes to constitute a good man and a good husband. Above all, he was devoted to Mary Horneck, and there was no man who would be better able to keep her from the dangers which surrounded her.
Yes, he would go to Barton and carry out Mrs. Horneck's request. He would, moreover, be careful to refrain from any mention of the word duty, which would, the lady had declared, if introduced into his argument, tend to frustrate his intention.
He went down to Barton by coach the next day. He felt very ill indeed, and he was not quite so confident as Mrs. Horneck that the result of his visit would be to restore him to perfect health. His last thought before leaving was that if Mary was made happy nothing else was worth a moment's consideration.
She met him with a chaise driven by Bunbury, at the cross roads, where the coach set him down; and he could not fail to perceive that she was even more shocked than her mother had been at his changed appearance. While still on the top of the coach he saw her face lighted with pleasure the instant she caught sight of him. She waved her hand toward him, and Bunbury waved his whip. But the moment he had swung himself painfully and laboriously to the ground, he saw the look of amazement both on her face and on that of her brother-in-law.
She was speechless, but it was not in the nature of Bunbury to be so.
“Good Lord! Noll, what have you been doing to yourself?” he cried. “Why, you're not like the same man. Is he, Mary?”
Mary only shook her head.