"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.