“S. BANKS.”
The words, “My dear,” were half rubbed out: but they were visible enough to his eyes. Wright turned his horse’s head homewards, and Marvel and he rode away. His heart was so full that he could not speak, and he did not hear what Marvel said to comfort him. As they were thus riding on slowly, they heard a great noise of horsemen behind them; and looking back, they saw a number of farmers, who were riding after them. As they drew near, Wright’s attention was roused by hearing the name of Banks frequently repeated. “What news, neighbour?” said Marvel.
“The news is, that Mr. Banks is dead; he died of an apoplectic fit, and has left his daughter a power o’ money, they say. Happy the man who gets her! Good morrow to you, gentlemen; we’re in haste home.” After receiving this intelligence, Wright read his mistress’s note over again, and observed that he was not quite pleased to see the words “My dear” half rubbed out. Marvel exclaimed, “Have nothing more to do with her; that’s my advice to you; for I would not marry any woman for her fortune; especially if she thought she was doing me a favour. If she loved you, she would not have rubbed out those words at such a time as this.”
“Stay a bit,” said Wright; “we shall be better able to judge by and by.”
A week passed away, and Wright heard nothing from Miss Banks; nor did he attempt to see her, but waited as patiently as he could for her promised letter. At last it came. The first word was “Sir.” That was enough for Marvel, who threw it down with indignation when his cousin showed it to him. “Nay, but read it, at least,” said Wright.
“SIR,
“My poor father’s affairs have been left in great disorder; and instead of the fortune which you might have expected with me, I shall have little or nothing. The creditors have been very kind to me; and I hope in time to pay all just debts. I have been much hurried with business, or should have written sooner. Indeed it is no pleasant task to me to write at all, on this occasion. I cannot unsay what I have said to you in former times, for I think the same of you as ever I did: but I know that I am not now a fit match for you as to fortune, and would not hold any man to his word, nor could value any man enough to marry him, who would break it. Therefore it will be no grief for me to break off with you if such should be your desire. And no blame shall be thrown upon you by my friends, for I will take the refusal upon myself. I know the terms of your uncle’s will, and the great reason you have to wish for a good fortune with your wife; so it is very natural—I mean very likely, you may not choose to be burdened with a woman who has none. Pray speak your mind freely to, sir,
“Your humble servant,
“S. BANKS.” Marvel had no sooner read this letter than he advised his friend Wright to marry Miss Banks directly.
“That is what I have determined to do,” said Wright: “for I don’t think money the first thing in the world; and I would sooner give up my uncle Pearson’s legacy this minute than break my word to any woman, much less to one that I love, as I do Miss Banks, better now than ever. I have just heard from the steward, who brought this letter, how handsomely and prudently she has behaved to other people, as well as to myself: by which I can judge most safely. She has paid all the debts that were justly due, and has sold even the gig, which I know she wished to keep; but, seeing that it was not suited to her present circumstances, her good sense has got the better. Now, to my mind, a prudent wife, even as to money matters, may turn out a greater treasure to a man than what they call a great fortune.”