signing, by a simple act of honesty,
by taking down the book with the will and giving it at once to the
lawyer! It was possible,--possible as far as the knowledge of any one
but himself was concerned,--that such a thing might be done not only
with honesty, but with high-minded magnanimity. How would it be if
in truth the document were first found by him on this very day? Had
it been so, were it so, then his conduct would be honest. And it was
still open to him to simulate that it was so. He had taken down the
book, let him say, for spiritual comfort in his great trouble, and
lo, the will had been found there between the leaves! No one would
believe him. He declared to himself that such was already his
character in the county that no one would believe him. But what
though they disbelieved him? Surely they would accept restitution
without further reproach. Then there would be no witness-box, no
savage terrier of a barrister to tear him in pieces with his fierce
words and fiercer eyes. Whether they believed him or not, they would
let him go. It would be told of him, at any rate, that having the
will in his hands, he had not destroyed it. Up in London, where men
would not know all the details of this last miserable month, some
good would be spoken of him. And then there would be time left to him
to relieve his conscience by repentance.

But to whom should he deliver up the will, and how should he frame
the words? He was conscious of his own impotence in deceit. For such
a purpose Mr Apjohn, no doubt, would be the proper person, but there
was no one of whom he stood so much in dread as of Mr Apjohn. Were he
to carry the book and the paper to the lawyer and attempt to tell his
story, the real truth would be drawn out from him in the first minute
of their interview. The man's eyes looking at him, the man's brow
bent against him, would extract from him instantly the one truth
which it was his purpose to hold within his own keeping. He would
find no thankfulness, no mercy, not even justice in the lawyer. The
lawyer would accept restitution, and would crush him afterwards.
Would it not be better to go off to Hereford, without saying a word
to any one in Carmarthenshire, and give up the deed to his Cousin
Isabel? But then she had scorned him. She had treated him with foul
contempt. As he feared Mr Apjohn, so did he hate his Cousin Isabel.
The only approach to manliness left in his bosom was a true hatred of
his cousin.

The si