Yes, attach her to the place; bind her! hold her!--that was what he
wanted. Otherwise, how hideously uncertain it all was! She might go
at any time. Her mother might be ill--old ladies have a way of being
ill. Her brother might be wounded--or killed. Either of those events
would carry her off--out of his ken. But if she were engaged deeply
enough in the estate affairs she would surely come back. He knew
her!--she hated to leave things unfinished. He was eager now to heap
all kinds of responsibilities upon her. He would be meek and
pliable; he would put no sort of obstacles in her way. She would
have no excuse for giving him notice again. He would put up with all
her silly Jingoism--if only she would stay!
But at this point the Squire suddenly pulled up short in his pacing
and excitedly asked himself the question, which half the people
about him were already beginning to ask.
'Why shouldn't I marry her?'
He stood transfixed--the colour rising in his thin cheeks.
Hitherto the notion, if it had ever knocked at the outer door of the
brain, had been chased away with mockery.
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