As she issued from the porch the sun smote warm upon her face; it encouraged a feeling of gladness which had followed her astonishment. She had discovered the tenor of the will; it affected her with a sudden joy, undisturbed at first by any reflection. The thought of self was slow in coming, and had not power to trouble her greatly even when she faced it. Befall herself what might, she held against her heart a power which was the utmost limit of that heart’s desire. So vast, so undreamt, so mysteriously given to her, that it seemed preternatural. Her weakness was become strength; with a single word she could work changes such as it had seemed no human agency could bring about. To her, to her it had been given! What was all her suffering, crowned with power like this? She durst not take the will from beneath her mantle, though burning to reassure herself of its contents. Not till she was locked in her room. If any one met her as she entered the house, her excuse would be that she did not feel well. But as she hurried toward the Manor, she all at once found herself face to face with her brother. Alfred was having a ramble, rather glad to get out of hearing of the baby this Sunday morning. ‘Hollo, what’s up?’ was his exclamation. Adela feared lest her face had betrayed her. She was conscious that her look could not be that of illness. ‘I am obliged to go home,’ she said, ‘I have forgotten something.’ ‘I should have thought you’d rather have let the house burn down than scutter away in this profane fashion. All right, I won’t stop you.’ She hesitated, tempted to give some hint. But before she could speak, Alfred continued: ‘So Mutimer’s going to throw it up.’ ‘What?’ she asked in surprise. He nodded towards New Wanley. ‘Throw it up?’ ‘So I understand. Don’t mention that I said anything; I supposed you knew.’ ‘I knew nothing. You mean that he is going to abandon the works?’ ‘Something of the kind, I fancy. I don’t know that it’s decided, but that fellow Rodman--well, time enough to talk about it. It’s a pity, that’s all I can say. Still, if he’s really losing--’ ‘Losing? But he never expected to make money.’ ‘No, but I fancy he’s beginning to see things in a different light. I tell you what it is, Adela; I can’t stand that fellow Rodman. I’ve got an idea he’s up to something. Don’t let him lead Mutimer by the nose, that’s all. But this isn’t Sunday talk. Youngster rather obstreperous this morning.’ Adela had no desire to question further: she let her brother pass on, and continued her own walk at a more moderate pace.