Cousin Thompson did find himself in a strange fix, and what with threats of proceedings against him for conspiracy and fraud, he was very glad to compound matters in a way which restored two-thirds of her comfortable little fortune to Mrs Berens.
What time these proceedings were going on, North was gradually improving under Mr Delton’s care, though the old gentleman laughed, and said that the improvement was not due to him.
Certainly it was the case that when North had his often-recurring fits of imagination, when he was fully convinced that the essence of Luke Candlish was with him still, and he turned wild with horror, the touch of Mary Salis’ soft, cool hand laid across his eyes, where he held it as a talisman, invariably exorcised the fancied spirit, and the ghost was laid.
From recurring daily and with terrible force, the fits came at last weekly, and then a month passed before one came, and that was slight.
Then more and more feeble, and then they came no more.
There could only be one result to such intercourse as this. Horace North gradually awakened to the fact that he had been blind as well as partly demented; but a year had elapsed before one day Salis and Mrs Berens entered the Rectory drawing-room to find Mary sobbing gently on the young doctor’s breast, and heard her say:
“I always loved you from the first.”
“Ah, Salis, you here?” said North, rising without a shade of discomposure on his face. “Mens sana in corpore sano, old fellow. I have been asking dear Mary if she will be my wife.”
“My dear Horace,” cried Salis, his face flushing with pleasure, “Heaven bless you both! I am glad: but—er—the fact is, I have been betrayed into asking Mrs Berens—er—to—”
“Dear, dear Mary!” sobbed the homely, simple-hearted woman; “don’t, don’t be angry with me. I do love him so.”