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Updated: June 24, 2025
I told you I should! and you were gone! Cruel, not to wait! And Mr. Armsworth has the money every farthing and the gold: he has had it these two years! I would give you the belt myself; and now I have done it, and the snake is unclasped from my heart at last, at last, at last!" Her arms dropped by her side, and she burst into an agony of tears.
Presently Mark Armsworth came in, and Tom was seen cantering about the garden with a weakly child of eight in his arms. "Mark, the boy's heart cannot be in the wrong place while he is so fond of little children." "If she grows up, doctor, and don't go to join her poor dear mother up there, I don't know that I'd wish her a better husband than your boy." "It would be a poor enough match for her."
"That's it, Mary!" shouted Mark Armsworth, "you always come in with the right hint, girl!" and the two, combining their forces, at last talked poor Grace over. But upon going out herself she was bent. To ask his forgiveness in her mother's name, was her one fixed idea. He might die, and not know all, not have forgiven all, and go she must. "But it is a thousand to one against your seeing him.
Armsworth's, to the last, would do more to manage Mr. Armsworth than the opinions of the whole bench of bishops." "Report's a liar, and you're a puppy! You don't know yet whether it was a pleasant look, or a cross one, lad. But still well, she was an angel, and kept old Mark straighter than he's ever been since: not that he's so very bad, now.
I'm getting old and forgetful; and I don't think I could bear it again, you see." "Never again, as long as I live, daddy." Mark Armsworth burst out blubbering like a great boy. "I said so! I always said so! The devil could not kill him and God wouldn't." "Tom," said his father presently, "you have not spoken to Grace yet. She is my daughter now, Tom, and has been these twelve months past."
"Come to do myself the honour of calling on you, Mr. Vavasour. I am sorry to see you so poorly; I hope our Whitbury air will set all right." "You mistake me, sir; my name is Briggs!" said Elsley, without turning his head; but a moment after he looked up angrily. "Mr. Armsworth? I beg your pardon, sir; but what brings you here?
I know one." "You do?" asked he, looking up. "Mary Armsworth, the banker's daughter." "What! That purse-proud, vulgar man?" "Don't be afraid of him. A truer and more delicate heart don't beat. No one has more cause to say so than I. He will receive you with open arms, and need be told no more than is necessary; while, as his friend, you may defy gossip, and do just what you like."
He had been in England nearly six months, and had not yet seen his father; his heart yearned, too, after the old place, and Mark Armsworth, and many an old friend, whom he might never see again. "However, that fellow I must see to, come what will: business first and pleasure afterwards.
To tell my story I must go back sixteen years to the days when the pleasant old town of Whitbury boasted of forty coaches a day, instead of one railway, and set forth how there stood two pleasant houses side by side in its southern suburb. In one of these two houses lived Mark Armsworth, banker, solicitor, land agent, and justice of the peace.
"I am a member of the College of Surgeons," says Tom, recovering his coolness, "and have just been dining with Mr. Armsworth. I suppose you know him?" The assistant shook in his shoes at the name of that terrible justice of the peace and of the war also; and meekly and contritely he replied, "Oh sir, what shall I do?"
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