He had left us in chagrin, betrayed
by our unworthiness, nursing a wound deeper than any personal spite.
Summarily, by a stroke, in the simplicity of his greatness, he had at
once rebuked us and restored our pride. Perishing, he had left us an
imperishable boast; an example to which, though our own conscience
might accuse us, we could point, and saying "This was a Son of Troy,"
silence detraction for ever. Need I add that we made the most of it?
Mayor-choosing Day came round, and Dr. Hansombody, elected by the
unanimous vote of his fellow-councillors, attained to one of the twin
summits of his ambition and was indued as Chief Magistrate with robe
and chain. Six weeks later the town heard, at first incredulously,
that he and Miss Marty were betrothed. The nuptials, it was
announced, would be celebrated next June, on the decent expiry of a
year of mourning.
Miss Sally Tregentil, on hearing the news, opined the Doctor's
conduct to be quixotic--a self-immolation, almost, upon the altar of
friendship.
Miss Pescod, for her part, believed that he was after the woman's
money. This unworthy suspicion the Doctor was fortunately able to
rebut, and in the most public manner. After the wedding (a quiet
one) he and his bride spent a short honeymoon at Sidmouth and
returned but to announce their departure on a more distant journey.
The Major's death being by this time, in legal phrase, "presumed,"
the Court of Canterbury had allowed Miss Marty to take out letters of
administration.
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