gh to come to trial. The assizes begin here at
Carmarthen on the 29th of next month. You might probably be examined
on that day, which will be a Friday, or on the Saturday following.
You will be called as a witness on your own side to prove the libel.
But the questions asked by your own counsel would amount to nothing."

"Nothing!" exclaimed Cousin Henry.

"You would be there for another purpose," continued the lawyer. "When
that nothing had been asked, you would be handed over to the other
side, in order that the object of the proceedings might be attained."

"What object?"

"How the barrister employed might put it I cannot say, but he would
examine you as to any knowledge you may have as to that missing
will."

Mr Apjohn, as he said this, paused for a full minute, looking his
client full in the face. It was as though he himself were carrying
on a cross-examination. "He would ask you whether you have such
knowledge." Then again he paused, but Cousin Henry said nothing. "If
you have no such knowledge, if you have no sin in that matter on your
conscience, nothing to make you grow pale before the eyes of a judge,
nothing to make you fear the verdict of a jury, no fault heavy on
your own soul,--then you may answer him with frank courage, then you
may look him in the face, and tell him with a clear voice that as far
as you are aware your property is your own by as fair a title as any
in the country."

In every word of this there had been condemnation. It was as though
Mr Apjohn were devoting him to infernal torture, telling him that his
only escape would be by the exercise of some herculean power which
was notoriously beyond his reach. It was evident to him that Mr
Apjohn had come there under the guise of his advisor and friend, but
was in fact leagued with all the others around him to drive him to
his ruin. Of that he felt quite sure. The voice, the eyes, the face,
every gesture of his unwelcome visitor had told him that it was so.
And yet he could not rise in indignation and expel the visitor from
his house. There was a cruelty, an inhumanity, in this which to his
thinking was infinitely worse than any guilt of his own. "Well?" said
Mr Apjohn.

"I suppose it must be so."

"I have your instructions, then?"

"Don't you hear me say that I suppose it must be so."

"Very well. The matter shall be brought in proper course before the
magistrates to-morrow, and if, as I do not doubt, an injunction be
granted, I will