The keys were given up to Cousin Henry, and he found himself to be, in fact, the lord and master of the house, and the owner of everything within it. The butler, Mrs Griffith, and the gardener gave him notice to quit. They would stay, if he wished it, for three months, but they did not think that they could be happy in the house now that the old Squire was dead, and that Miss Isabel was going away. There certainly did not come to him at the present moment any of the pleasures of ownership. He would have been willing,--he thought that he would have been willing,--to abandon Llanfeare altogether, if only it could have been abandoned without any of the occurrences of the last month. He would have been pleased that there should have been no Llanfeare. But as it was, he must make up his mind to something. He must hide the paper in some deeper hiding place, or he must destroy it, or he must reveal it. He thought that he could have dropped the book containing the will into the sea, though he could not bring himself to burn the will itself. The book was now his own, and he might do what he liked with it. But it would be madness to leave the paper there! Then again there came to him the idea that it would be best for him, and for Isabel too, to divide the property. In one way it was his,--having become his without any fraudulent doing on his part. So he declared to himself. In another way it was hers,--though it could not become hers without some more than magnanimous interference on his part. To divide it would certainly be best. But there was no other way of dividing it but by a marriage. For any other division, such as separating the land or the rents, no excuse could be made, nor would any such separation touch the fatal paper which lay between the leaves of the book. Were she to consent to marry him, then he thought he might find courage to destroy the paper. It was necessary that he should see her on that afternoon, if only that he might bid her adieu, and tell her that she should certainly have the money that had been left her. If it were possible he would say a word also about that other matter. "You did not hear the will read," he said to her. "No," she answered abruptly. "But you have been told its contents?" "I believe so." "About the four thousand pounds?" "There need be no question about the four thousand pounds. There is not a word to be said about it,--at any rate between you and me." "I have come to tell you," said he,--not understanding her feeling in the least, and evidently showing by the altered tone of his voice that he thought that his communication would be received with favour,--"I have come to tell you that the legacy shall be paid in full. I will see to that myself as soon as I am able to raise a penny on the property." "Pray do not trouble yourself, Cousin Henry." "Oh, certainly I shall." "Do not trouble yourself. You may be sure of this, that on no earthly consideration would I take a penny from your hands."