But the squire, though he had been very lucid in his definition, had not got nearer to his object; had not even yet ascertained what his own object was. This marriage would be ruinous to Greshamsbury; and yet, what was he to say against it, seeing that the ruin had been his fault, and not his son's?

'You could let me have a farm; could you not, sir? I was thinking of about six or seven hundred acres. I suppose it could be managed somehow?'

'A farm?' said the father, abstractedly.

'Yes, sir. I must do something for my living. I should make less of a mess of that than anything else. Besides, it would take such a time to be an attorney, or a doctor, or anything of that sort.'

Do something for his living! And was the heir of Greshamsbury come to this--the heir and his only son? Whereas, he, the squire, had succeeded at an earlier age than Frank's to an unembarrassed income of fourteen thousand pounds a year! The reflection was very hard to bear.

'Yes: I dare say you could have a farm:' and then he threw himself back in his chair, closing his eyes. Then, after a while, rose again, and walked hurriedly about the room. 'Frank,' he said, at last, standing opposite to his son, 'I wonder what you think of me?'

'Think of you, sir?' ejaculated Frank.

'Yes; what do you think of me, for having thus ruined you. I wonder whether you hate me?'

Frank, jumping up from his chair, threw his arms round his father's neck. 'Hate you, sir? How can you speak so cruelly? You know well that I love you. And, father, do not trouble yourself about the estate for my sake. I do not care for it; I can be just as happy without it. Let the girls have what is left, and I will make my own way in the world, somehow. I will go to Australia; yes, sir, that will be the best. I and Mary will both go. Nobody will care about her birth there. But, father, never say, never think, that I do not love you!'

The squire was too much moved to speak at once, so he sat down again and covered his face with his hands. Frank went on pacing the room, till, gradually, his first idea recovered possession of his mind, and the remembrance of his father's grief faded away. 'May I tell Mary,' he said at last, 'that you consent to our marriage?'

But the squire was not prepared to say this. He was pledged to his wife to do all that he could to oppose it; and he himself thought, that if anything could consummate the family ruin, it would be this marriage.

'I cannot say that, Frank; I cannot say that. What would you both live on? It would be madness.'

'We would go to Australia,' answered he, bitterly. 'I have just said so.'

'Oh, no, my boy; you cannot do that. You must not throw up the old place altogether. There is no other one but you, Frank; and we have lived here now for so many, many years.'

'But if we cannot live here any longer, father?'

'But for this scheme of yours, we might do. I will give up everything to you, the management of the estate, the park, all the land we have in hand, if you will give up this fatal scheme. For, Frank, it is fatal.

You are only twenty-three; why should you be in such a hurry to marry?'

'You married at twenty-one, sir.'

Frank was again severe on his father, unwittingly. 'Yes, I did,' said Mr Gresham; 'and see what has come of it! Had I waited ten years longer, how different would everything have been! No, Frank, I cannot consent to such a marriage; nor will your mother.'

'It is your consent that I ask, sir; and I am asking for nothing but your consent.'

'It would be sheer madness; madness for you both. My own Frank, my dear boy, do not drive me to distraction! Give it up for four years.'

'Four years!'

'Yes; for four years. I ask it as a personal favour; as an obligation to myself, in order that we may be saved from ruin; you, your mother, and sisters, your family name, and the old house. I do not talk about myself; but were such a marriage to take place, I should be driven to despair.'

Frank found it very hard to resist his father, who now had hold of his hand and arm, and was thus half retaining him, and half embracing him.

'Frank, say that you will forget this for four years--say for three years.'