Mr. Coningsby, the lawyer, who had been present, was gone. Roger looked from one to the other of his old friends, all so silent. It was very strange, and, as he dimly felt, there was something potent, thrilling, and portentous in that silence. He looked last at Michael—why, he knew not—and when his eyes fell upon him, he could scarcely restrain a start and an exclamation. Michael had always been noted for being so easy-going, so slow in judging others, so full of sweet-tempered charity. He did not look very much at peace with himself or the world just now. He was the first to speak. ‘I sent for you, Roger,’ he began, and his voice was very quiet, and very incisive. Roger hardly recognised it. ‘I want you to hear something I have to say. You are my friend; and a friend, as we all know, sticketh closer than a brother.’ ‘Can this be Michael?’ Roger thought, in his bewilderment. ‘I fancied no one but Gilbert could sneer in that way.’ Roger had yet to learn that there is no sneer so bitter as that which is called forth by intense suffering, or a very keen sense of injustice. He thought all sneers were the products of a cynical frame of mind, or, with some persons, constitutional. But, thinking that such a tone was more like Gilbert than Michael, he was, as it were, suddenly reminded of Gilbert’s existence, and he glanced at him. He was seated in a corner of the old sofa, which had always been his favourite position; his arms were folded, his face pale, and apparently absolutely devoid of expression. Dr. Rowntree, though silent, was evidently in a state of the most cruel mental perturbation, and looked in a helpless way from one brother to the other. ‘Yes, Michael,’ said Roger, at last. ‘I am ready, either to do or to let alone, as you wish. What is it?’ ‘Boys!’ exclaimed the little doctor, unable to contain himself any longer, ‘before it goes any farther, listen to me. Before you quarrel, before you dispute, for Heaven’s sake consider! You may say things, brothers as you are, which can never be unsaid.’ ‘That is exactly what I mean to do, sir,’ said Michael, turning his white face for a moment, in the doctor’s direction. Roger, loyal to the heart, could not but think in this moment that Michael looked almost cruel. Again he did not understand that there is no feeling of hate or of cruelty so strong, and so desolating, as that called forth by spited or cheated love and trust.