been accurately explained to him. It was felt that a great day
would have arrived in Carmarthen when Mr Cheekey should stand up in
the court to cross-examine Cousin Henry.

"Yes," said Mr Evans, chuckling, "I think that Mr Cheekey will have
something to say to it. What will be the result, Mr Apjohn?" he asked
abruptly.

"How am I to say? If he can only hold his own like a man, there will,
of course, be a verdict of guilty."

"But can he?" asked he of the newspaper.

"I hope he may with all my heart,--if he have done nothing that he
ought not to have done. In this matter, Mr Evans, I have altogether a
divided sympathy. I dislike the man utterly. I don't care who knows
it. No one knows it better than he himself. The idea of his coming
here over that young lady's head was from the first abhorrent to
me. When I saw him, and heard him, and found out what he was,--such
a poor, cringing, cowardly wretch,--my feeling was of course
exacerbated. It was terrible to me that the old squire, whom I had
always respected, should have brought such a man among us. But that
was the old squire's doing. He certainly did bring him, and as
certainly intended to make him his heir. If he did make him his heir,
if that will which I read was in truth the last will, then I hope
most sincerely that all that Mr Cheekey may do may be of no avail
against him. If that be the case, I shall be glad to have an
opportunity of calling upon you in your new lodgings."

"But if there was another will, Mr Apjohn,--a later will?"

"Then of course, there is the doubt whether this man be aware of it."

"But if he be aware of it?"

"Then I hope that Mr Cheekey may tear him limb from limb."

"But you feel sure that it is so?"

"Ah; I do not know about that. It is very hard to be sure of
anything. When I see him I do feel almost sure that he is guilty; but
when I think of it afterwards, I again have my doubts. It is not by
men of such calibre that great crimes are committed. I can hardly
fancy that he should have destroyed a will."

"Or hidden it?"

"If it were hidden, he would live in agony lest it were discovered. I
used to think so when I knew that he passed the whole day sitting in
one room. Now he goes out for hours together. Two or three times he
has been down with old Griffith at Coed, and twice young Cantor found
him lying on the sea cliff. I doubt whether he would have gone so far
afield if the will were hidden in the house."

"Can he have