he prepared to do her bidding.

At the same time, Tom was not seriously alarmed about his father.
The Squire's long illness had bred in him a sort of disbelief in
any fatal termination. He had made up his mind that women and
doctors were all fools together, and frightened themselves for
nothing. He had resolved against letting himself be scared by their
long faces and doleful prognostications, and had gone on in his
wonted courses with reckless bravado. He was not altogether an
undutiful son. He had some affection for both father and mother.
But his affection was not strong enough to keep him from following
out his own wishes. He had long been a sort of leader amongst the
young men of the place and neighbourhood, and he enjoyed the
reputation he held of being a daring young blade, not far inferior
in prowess and recklessness to those young bloods about town,
reports of whose doings sometimes reached the wilds of Essex,
stirring up Tom Tufton's ambition to follow in their wake.

He always declared that he meant no harm, and did no harm, to any.
The natives of the place were certainly proud of him, even if they
sometimes fell to rating and crying shame upon him. He knew his
popularity; he knew that he had a fine figure and a handsome face;
he knew that he had the sort of address which carried him through
his scrapes and adventures with flying colours. He found the world
a pleasant place, and saw no reason why he should not enjoy himself
in his own way whilst he was young. Some day he would marry and
sober down, and live as his fathers had done before him; but,
meantime, he meant to have his fling.

There were other Tuftons who had done the like before him, as his