“But there was something you were to show me.”
“Oh, yes; I did say so. If you will come upstairs, I’ll point out the very spot where the old man sat when he was writing it.”
“There is nothing more than that?”
“Nothing more than that, Mr. Griffith.”
“Then good morning, Mr. Jones. I am afraid we have not got to the end of the matter yet.”
XVI
Again at Hereford
Some of the people at Carmarthen were taking a great deal of trouble about the matter. One copy of the Herald was sent regularly to Mr. Brodrick, another to Isabel, and another to Mr. Owen. It was determined that they should not be kept in ignorance of what was being done. In the first number issued after Mr. Apjohn’s last visit to Llanfeare there was a short leading article recapitulating all that was hitherto known of the story. “Mr. Henry Jones,” said the article in its last paragraph, “has at length been induced to threaten an action for libel against this newspaper. We doubt much whether he will have the courage to go on with it. But if he does, he will have to put himself into a witness-box, and then probably we may learn something of the truth as to the last will and testament made by Mr. Indefer Jones.” All this reached Hereford, and was of course deeply considered there by persons whom it concerned.
Mr. Owen, for some days after the scene which has been described between him and Isabel, saw her frequently, and generally found means to be alone with her for some moments. She made no effort to avoid him, and would fain have been allowed to treat him simply as her dearest friend. But in all these moments he treated her as though she were engaged to be his wife. There was no embracing, no kiss. Isabel would not permit it. But in all terms of affectionate expression he spoke of her and to her as though she were his own; and would only gently laugh at her when she assured him that it could never be so.
“Of course you can torment me a little,” he said, smiling, “but the forces arrayed against you are too strong, and you have not a chance on your side. It would be monstrous to suppose that you should go on making me miserable forever—and yourself too.”
In answer to this she could only say that she cared but little for her own misery, and did not believe in his. “The question is,” she said, “whether it be fitting. As I feel that it is not fitting, I certainly shall not do it.” In answer to this he would again smile, and tell her that a month or two at furthest would see her absolutely conquered.
Then the newspapers reached them. When it became clear to him that there existed in Carmarthenshire so strong a doubt as to the validity of the will under which the property was at present held, then Mr. Owen’s visits to the house became rarer and different in their nature. Then he was willing to be simply the friend of the family, and as such he sought no especial interviews with Isabel. Between him and Isabel no word was spoken as to the contents of the newspaper. But between Mr. Brodrick and the clergyman many words were spoken. Mr. Brodrick declared at once to his intended son-in-law his belief in the accusations which were implied—which were implied at first, but afterwards made in terms so frightfully clear. When such words as those were said and printed there could, he urged, be no doubt as to what was believed in Carmarthen. And why should it be believed without ground that any man had done so hideous a deed as to destroy a will? The lawyer’s hair stood almost on end as he spoke of the atrocity; but yet he believed it. Would a respectable newspaper such as the Carmarthen Herald commit itself to such a course without the strongest assurance? What was it to the Carmarthen Herald? Did not the very continuance of the articles make it clear that the readers of the paper were in accordance with the writer? Would the public of Carmarthen sympathise in such an attack without the strongest ground? He, the attorney, fully believed in Cousin Henry’s guilt; but he was not on that account sanguine as to the proof. If, during his sojourn at Llanfeare, either immediately before the old squire’s death or after it, but before the funeral, he had been enabled to lay his hand upon the will and destroy it, what hope would there be of evidence of such guilt? As to that idea of forcing the man to tell such a tale against himself by the torment of cross-examination, he did not believe it at all. A man who had been strong enough to destroy a will would be too strong for that. Perhaps he thought that any man would be too strong, not having known Cousin Henry. Among all the possible chances which occurred to his mind—and his mind at this time was greatly filled with such considerations—nothing like the truth suggested itself to him. His heart was tormented by the idea that the property had been stolen from his child, that the glory of being father-in-law to Llanfeare had been filched from himself, and that no hope for redress remained. He sympathised altogether with the newspaper. He felt grateful to the newspaper. He declared the editor to be a man specially noble and brave in his calling. But he did not believe that the newspaper would do any good either to him or to Isabel.
Mr. Owen doubted altogether the righteousness of the proceeding as regarded the newspaper. As far as he could see there was no evidence against Cousin Henry. There
