"Leave me now," he said; "I am not strong enough to talk; but if you wish to know what cause I have to speak as I have done of your friend Ormiston, you shall hear again."
So exhausted did he seem by the excess of feeling which I had so unfortunately called forth, that I would not see him again for some days, contenting myself with learning that no relapse had taken place, and that he was still progressing rapidly towards recovery.
I had an invitation to visit my aunt again during the Easter vacation, which had already commenced, and had only been prevented from leaving Oxford by Russell's alarming state. As soon, therefore, as all danger was pronounced over, I prepared to go up to town at once, and my next visit to Russell was in fact to wish him good-by for two or three weeks. He was already sitting up, and fast regaining strength. He complained of having seen so little of me lately, and asked me if I had seen his sister. "I had not noticed it until the last few days," he said--"illness makes one selfish, I suppose; but I think Mary looks thin and ill--very different from what she did a month back."
But watching and anxiety, as I told him, were not unlikely to produce that effect; and I advised him strongly to take her somewhere for a few weeks for change of air and scene. "It will do you both good," I said; "and you can draw another £50 from your unknown friend for that purpose; it cannot be better applied, and I should not hesitate for a moment."
"I would not," he replied, "if I wanted money; but I do not. Do you know that Dr Wilson would take no fee whatever from Mary during the whole of his attendance; and when I asked him to name some sufficient remuneration, assuring him I could afford it, he said he would never forgive me if I ever mentioned the subject again. So what remains of the fifty you drew for me, will amply suffice for a little trip somewhere for us. And I quite agree with you in thinking it desirable, on every account, that Mary should move from Oxford--perhaps altogether--for one reason, to be out of the way of a friend of yours."
"Yes, Ormiston; he called here again since I saw you, and wished to see me; but I declined the honour. Possibly," he added bitterly, "as we have succeeded in keeping out of jail here, he thinks Mary has grown rich again." And then he went on to tell me how, in the days of his father's reputed wealth, Ormiston had been a constant visitor at their house in town, and how his attentions to his sister had even attracted his father's attention, and led to his name being mentioned as likely to make an excellent match with the rich banker's daughter. "My father did not like it," he said, "for he had higher views for her, as was perhaps excusable--though I doubt if he would have refused Mary anything. I did not like it for another reason: because I knew all the time how matters really stood, and that any man who looked for wealth with my sister would in the end be miserably disappointed. What Mary's own feelings were, and what actually passed between her and Ormiston, I never asked; but she knew my views on the subject, and would, I am certain, never have accepted any man under the circumstances in which she was placed, and which she could not explain. I did hope and believe, however, then, that there was sufficient high principle about Ormiston to save Mary from any risk of throwing away her heart upon a man who would desert her upon a change of fortune. I think he loved her at the time--as well as such men as he can love any one; but from the moment the crash came--Ormiston, you know, was in town at the time--there was an end of everything. It was an opportunity for a man to show feeling if he had any; and though I do not affect much romance, I almost think that in such a case even an ordinary heart might have been warmed into devotion; but Ormiston--cold, cautious, calculating as he is--I could almost have laughed at the sudden change that came over him when he heard the news. He pretended, indeed, great interest for us, and certainly did seem cut up about it; but he had not committed himself, I conclude, and took care to retreat in time. Thank Heaven! even if Mary did ever care for him, she is not the girl to break her heart for a man who proves so unworthy of her regard. But why he should insist on inflicting his visits upon us now, is what I cannot make out; and what I will not endure."