Bressant

"Was this Southerner rich?"

"Very rich; and a dowry would go with the daughter enough to make them

more than independent for the rest of their lives. Well, just about that

time, the friend who had gone to Europe came back. He'd done well

abroad, and-was qualified for a high position at home. He was engaged to

marry a stylish, aristocratic girl, who was not, however, wealthy. But

he seemed very glad to see the doctor, and the doctor certainly was to

see him, and invited him to stay at his house a while, and he introduced

him into the house of his intended wife."

Here the professor broke off from his story, and, getting up from his

chair, he passed two or three times up and down the room; stopping at

the window to pull a leaf from the extended branch of a cherry-tree

growing outside, and again, by the empty fireplace, to roll the leaf up

between his finger and thumb, and throw it upon the hearth. When he

returned to the bedside, he dropped himself into his chair with the

slow, inelastic heaviness of age.

"The fellow played him a scurvy trick," resumed he, presently. "Exactly

what he said or did will never be known, but it was all he safely could

to put his friend in a bad light. It was because he wanted the young

lady for himself; he was ambitious, and needed her money to help him on.

What he said made a good deal of impression on the father; but the

daughter wouldn't believe it then--at any rate, she loved the doctor

still, and would, as long as she knew he loved her."

"Why didn't the other manage to make her think he didn't?"

"Well, sir, he did manage it," returned the professor, compressing his

white-bearded lips, and lowering his eyebrows. "He told the father some

story of having met relations of his in Spain; told him the climate

would cure him of all his ailments, without need of a physician, and

persuaded him to make the journey at last. The doctor heard of it first

by a note written by his intended father-in-law. It contained no

request nor encouragement to accompany them--of course, the daughter was

to go too; her father wouldn't separate from her. But the doctor's

friend had not trusted only to that: he knew that the other's resolution

never to leave his country was not likely to be broken, so he was quite

secure."

"And the doctor knew nothing of how his friend was cheating him?"

"No, not then. Far from it; he showed him the letter, and asked him for

advice. He never dreamed of doubting his constancy, either to himself or

to the girl he was engaged to marry. His friend counseled him to write a

letter to her he meant to make his wife, explaining his position, and

asking her not to leave him. He would carry it to her, and advocate it

himself, he said, and do all in his power to influence the father. The

young doctor didn't altogether relish this course, nevertheless he

trusted in his friend, wrote the letter, and gave it into his hands.