These words, or something like them, were floating dimly in Roger Camm’s mind, as he walked with Dr. Rowntree across the square to the house on the opposite side. His heart was full to bursting. Loving Michael as he did, better than any one in the world, he felt to the full the meaning of the summons he had received, to hear his friend’s decision. It is not for a light thing that a man turns out of doors the brother in whom he has all his life felt unqualified trust and confidence; it is not a casual acquaintance whom he summons to witness the deed, and so Roger felt. But while he quite appreciated this accident of the thing, the thing itself bewildered him even yet. It was one of those bizarre, jarring circumstances which come upon one like a clap of thunder from a cloudless sky, which one fails to take in properly on the first blush of them. Even yet, Roger could not feel at home with the recollection of Michael standing erect and stiff, the spirit of anger flaming from his eyes, deaf to every remonstrance, and casting scornful eyes upon Gilbert’s pitiful condition. Neither he nor the doctor spoke till they were in the house again. It seemed that they had been but a short time away, for there was everything as Roger had left it, and the luncheon table set for them. This bald reality and commonplace of everyday life did not seem to put things into any more comprehensible shape; if possible, they heightened the strangeness and sadness of the situation. But standing together there, they (to use the vernacular) ‘found their tongues.’ Dr. Rowntree sat down in his easy-chair, and wiped his eyes with a large red bandana handkerchief, blew his nose violently, and said, in a voice which was yet full of tears— ‘Who would ha’ thought it, Roger? who would ha’ thought it?’ ‘Well,’ said Roger, propping his broad back against the mantelpiece, and staring down at his boots, ‘not I, for one, and I think there will be precious few to jerk their heads and say, “I told you so,” this time. And yet I don’t feel half so much surprised as enraged, now that it is all out.’ ‘He should not have flung away what was left him in that way,’ complained Dr. Rowntree. ‘He should have been cool.’ ‘Cool, doctor! Now, come! would you have been cool? Were you cool, as it was?’ ‘No, no, I know. But he ought to have kept cool. He should have carried it before a court of justice. They do set aside wills sometimes, that are flagrantly unjust; and I think they would, at any rate, have handed him over that two thousand to do as he liked with. I’m sure they would; it stands to reason. An elder son, with not a penny of cash left him, except, as you may say, at the discretion of his younger brother—monstrous, monstrous! As if he had been a spendthrift, or a ne’er-do-weel!’