“We owe him something, sir, for not destroying it when he first found it.”
“Not a doubt! If we are right in all this, we do owe him something—at any rate, charity enough to suppose that the doing of such a deed must be very distasteful to him. When I think of it I doubt whether he’ll do it at all.”
“He asked me why they didn’t come and search again.”
“Did he? I shouldn’t wonder if the poor devil would be glad enough to be relieved from it all. I’ll tell you what I’ll do, Ricketts. I’ll write to Miss Brodrick’s father, and ask him to come over here before the trial. He is much more concerned in the matter than I am, and should know as well what ought to be done.”
The letter was written urging Mr. Brodrick to come at once. “I have no right to tell you,” Mr. Apjohn said in his letter, “that there is ground for believing that such a document as that I have described is still existing. I might too probably be raising false hope were I to do so. I can only tell you of my own suspicion, explaining to you at the same time on what ground it is founded. I think it would be well that you should come over and consult with me whether further steps should be taken. If so, come at once. The trial is fixed for Friday the 30th.” This was written on Thursday the 22nd. There was, therefore, not much more than a week’s interval.
“You will come with me,” said Mr. Brodrick to the Rev. William Owen, after showing to him the letter from the attorney at Hereford.
“Why should I go with you?”
“I would wish you to do so—on Isabel’s behalf.”
“Isabel and I are nothing to each other.”
“I am sorry to hear you say that. It was but the other day that you declared that she should be your wife in spite of herself.”
“So she shall, if Mr. Henry Jones be firmly established at Llanfeare. It was explained to me before why your daughter, as owner of Llanfeare, ought not to marry me, and, as I altogether agreed with the reason given, it would not become me to take any step in this matter. As owner of Llanfeare she will be nothing to me. It cannot therefore be right that I should look after her interests in that direction. On any other subject I would do anything for her.”
The father no doubt felt that the two young people were self-willed, obstinate, and contradictory. His daughter wouldn’t marry the clergyman because she had been deprived of her property. The clergyman now refused to marry his daughter because it was presumed that her property might be restored to her. As, however, he could not induce Mr. Owen to go with him to Carmarthen, he determined to go alone. He did not give much weight to this new story. It seemed to him certain that the man would destroy the will—or would already have destroyed it—if in the first instance he was wicked enough to conceal it. Still the matter was so great and the question so important to his daughter’s interest that he felt himself compelled to do as Mr. Apjohn had proposed. But he did not do it altogether as Mr. Apjohn had proposed. He allowed other matters to interfere, and postponed his journey till Tuesday the 27th of the month. Late on that evening he reached Carmarthen, and at once went to Mr. Apjohn’s house.
Cousin Henry’s journey into Carmarthen had been made on the previous Thursday, and since that day no new steps had been taken to unravel the mystery—none at least which had reference to Llanfeare. No further search had been made among the books. All that was known in Carmarthen of Cousin Henry during these days was that he remained altogether within the house. Were he so minded, ample time was allowed to him for the destruction of any document. In the town, preparation went on in the usual way for the assizes, at which the one case of interest was to be the indictment of Mr. Evans for defamation of character. It was now supposed by the world at large that Cousin Henry would come into court; and because this was believed of him there was something of a slight turn of public opinion in his favour. It would hardly be the case that the man, if really guilty, would encounter Mr. Cheekey.
During the days that had elapsed, even Mr. Apjohn himself had lost something of his confidence. If any further step was to be taken, why did not the young lady’s father himself come and take it? Why had he been so dilatory in a matter which was of so much greater importance to himself than to anyone else? But now the two attorneys were together, and it was necessary that they should decide upon doing something—or nothing.
“I hoped you would have been here last week,” said Mr. Apjohn.
“I couldn’t get away. There were things I couldn’t possibly leave.”
“It is so important,” said Mr. Apjohn.
“Of course it is important—of most vital importance—if there be any hope.”
“I have told you exactly what I think and feel.”
“Yes, yes. I know how much more than kind, how honourable you have been in all this matter. You still think that the will is hidden?”
“I did think so.”
“Something has changed your opinion?”
“I can hardly say that either,” said Mr. Apjohn. “There was ground on which to form my opinion, and I do not know that there is any ground for changing it. But in such a matter the mind will vacillate. I did think that he had found the will shut up in a volume of sermons, in a volume which his uncle had been reading during
