self that all that would be within his power, if only
he could determine upon the doing of it.

And he thought that the deed when done would give him a new courage.
The very danger to which he would have exposed himself would make
him brave to avoid it. Having destroyed the will, and certain that
no eye had seen him, conscious that his safety depended on his own
reticence, he was sure that he would keep his secret even before Mr
Cheekey.

"I know nothing of the will," he would say; "I have neither seen it,
nor hidden it, nor found it, nor destroyed it."

Knowing what would be the consequences were he to depart from the
assertion, he would assuredly cling to it. He would be safer then,
much safer than in his present vacillating, half-innocent position.

As he was carried home in the fly, his mind was so intent upon this,
he was so anxious to resolve to bring himself to do the deed, that he
hardly knew where he was when the fly stopped at his hall door. As
he entered his house, he stared about him as though doubtful of his
whereabouts, and then, without speaking a word, made his way into the
book-room, and seated himself on his accustomed chair. The woman came
to him and asked him whether money should not be given to the driver.

"What driver?" said he. "Let him go to Mr Apjohn. It is Mr Apjohn's
business, not mine." Then he got up and shut the door violently as
the woman retreated.

Yes; it was Mr Apjohn's business; and he thought that he could put a
spoke into the wheel of Mr Apjohn's business. Mr Apjohn was not only
anxious to criminate him now, but had been anxious when such anxiety
on his part had been intrusive and impertinent. Mr Apjohn had, from
first to last, been his enemy, and by his enmity had created that
fatal dislike which his uncle had felt for him. Mr Apjohn was now
determined to ruin him. Mr Apjohn had come out to him at Llanfeare,
pretending to be his lawyer, his friend, his advisor, and had
recommended this treacherous indictment merely that he might be able
to subject him to the torments of Mr Cheekey's persecution. Cousin
Henry could see it all now! So, at least, Cousin Henry told himself.

"He is a clever fellow, and he thinks that I am a fool. Perhaps he is
right, but he will find that the fool has been too many for him."

It was thus that he communed with himself.

He had his dinner and sat by himself during the whole evening, as had
been his practice every day since his uncle's death. B