"And, above all, not with my own landlord." Then he paused; but as Cousin Henry could not find an appropriate word either for rebuke or encouragement, he was driven to go on with his story. "I have been obliged to look at all those things in the _Carmarthen Herald_." Then Cousin Henry turned deadly pale. "We have all been driven to look at them. I have taken the paper these twenty years, but it is sent now to every tenant on the estate, whether they pay or whether they don't. Mrs Griffith, there, in the kitchen has it. I suppose they sent it to you, sir?" "Yes; it does come," said Cousin Henry, with the faintest attempt at a smile. "And you have read what they say?" "Yes, the most of it." "It has been very hard, sir." At this Cousin Henry could only affect a ghastly smile. "Very hard," continued the farmer. "It has made my flesh creep as I read it. Do you know what it all means, Mr Jones?" "I suppose I know." "It means--that you have stolen--the estates--from your cousin--Miss Brodrick!" This the man said very solemnly, bringing out each single word by itself. "I am not saying so, Mr Jones." "No, no, no," gasped the miserable wretch. "No, indeed. If I thought so, I should not be here to tell you what I thought. It is because I believe that you are injured that I am here." "I am injured; I am injured!" "I think so. I believe so. I cannot tell what the mystery is, if mystery there be; but I do not believe that you have robbed that young lady, your own cousin, by destroying such a deed as your uncle's will." "No, no, no." "Is there any secret that you can tell?" Awed, appalled, stricken with utter dismay, Cousin Henry sat silent before his questioner. "If there be, sir, had you not better confide it to some one? Your uncle knew me well for more than forty years, and trusted me thoroughly, and I would fain, if I could, do something for his nephew. If there be anything to tell, tell it like a man." Still Cousin Henry sat silent. He was unable to summon courage at the instant sufficient to deny the existence of the secret, nor could he resolve to take down the book and show the document. He doubted, when the appearance of a doubt was in itself evidence of guilt in the eyes of the man who was watching him. "Oh, Mr Griffith," he exclaimed after a while, "will you be my friend?" "I will indeed, Mr Jones, if I can--honestly." "I have been cruelly used." "It has been hard to bear," said Mr Griffith. "Terrible, terrible! Cruel, cruel!" Then again he paused, trying to make up his mind, endeavouring to see by what means he could escape from this hell upon earth. If there were any means, he might perhaps achieve it by aid of this man. The man sat silent, watching him, but the way of escape did not appear to him. "There is no mystery," he gasped at last. "None?" said the farmer severely.