"What driver?" said he. "Let him go to Mr Apjohn. It is Mr Apjohn's business, not mine." Then he got up and shut the door violently as the woman retreated. Yes; it was Mr Apjohn's business; and he thought that he could put a spoke into the wheel of Mr Apjohn's business. Mr Apjohn was not only anxious to criminate him now, but had been anxious when such anxiety on his part had been intrusive and impertinent. Mr Apjohn had, from first to last, been his enemy, and by his enmity had created that fatal dislike which his uncle had felt for him. Mr Apjohn was now determined to ruin him. Mr Apjohn had come out to him at Llanfeare, pretending to be his lawyer, his friend, his advisor, and had recommended this treacherous indictment merely that he might be able to subject him to the torments of Mr Cheekey's persecution. Cousin Henry could see it all now! So, at least, Cousin Henry told himself. "He is a clever fellow, and he thinks that I am a fool. Perhaps he is right, but he will find that the fool has been too many for him." It was thus that he communed with himself. He had his dinner and sat by himself during the whole evening, as had been his practice every day since his uncle's death. But yet this peculiar night seemed to him to be eventful. He felt himself to be lifted into some unwonted eagerness of life, something approaching to activity. There was a deed to be done, and though he was not as yet doing it, though he did not think that he intended to do it that very night, yet the fact that he had made up his mind made him in some sort aware that the dumb spirit which would not speak had been exorcised, and that the crushing dullness of the latter days had passed away from him. No; he could not do it that night; but he was sure that he would do it. He had looked about for a way of escape, and had been as though a dead man while he could not find it. He had lived in terror of Mrs Griffith the housekeeper, of Farmer Griffith, of the two Cantors, of Mr Apjohn, of that tyrant Cheekey, of his own shadow,--while he and that will were existing together in the same room. But it should be so no longer. There was one way of escape, and he would take it! Then he went on thinking of what good things might be in store for him. His spirit had hitherto been so quenched by the vicinity of the will that he had never dared to soar into thoughts of the enjoyment of money. There had been so black a pall over everything that he had not as yet realised what it was that Llanfeare might do for him. Of course he could not live there. Though he should have to leave the house untenanted altogether, it would matter but little. There was no law to make a man live on his own estate. He calculated that he would be able to draw L1500 a year from the property;--L1500 a year! That would be clearly his own; on which no one could lay a finger; and what enjoyment could he not buy with L1500 a year?