"As to the business, I quite see the difference made by the bad times, and poor returns. I suppose we want more capital. There's young Mat Palmer. If you offered him a partnership, he might put money into the concern, and would do the work as well. As for me, of course any profits that come from my shares under the first will are fairly mine, as I must bear any loss also. And I don't wish to cut myself out of the concern. But I want to know exactly how I stand, on that footing." "Well," said Guy, "anything else?" "Yes; I have practically engaged myself to marry Jeanie Palmer. I made a great mistake last summer in--in--what then passed. That's over, but I must know, of course, exactly what I'm liable for here, before I can honourably speak to old Matthew." "Anything more?" said Guy again. "No," said Godfrey, with some dignity. "That's what I had to say." "And what," said Guy, "do you suppose are the profits of the Waynflete estate which you're going to give me?" "I suppose it has a value." "Godfrey," said Guy, suddenly, "I beg your pardon. I did not mean to take this tone at all. But I too have a great deal to say, and it's hard. I--I'm not strong, you know, and you must be very patient with me while I tell you. And first, I want you to answer me one or two questions." "Well?" said Godfrey, surprised in his turn. "What do you consider was the great object of Aunt Margaret's life?" "To get back Waynflete--to restore the family." "Is it the same thing?" "Well, yes, isn't it? She thought so." "She did. Now, what was _your_ object when you made that vow, which I suppose you are now trying to carry out?" "To get rid of Waynflete, to free my conscience, to do you justice," said Godfrey. "You mean that you did not want me to suffer because your proceeding made me too late to persuade Aunt Margaret that she had misjudged me?" "Well, yes." "Now listen. Please don't speak till I've told you--even if I stop." Then Guy briefly recapitulated his recent history, beginning with the midnight alarm which Godfrey remembered at Waynflete. He told the awful story in the driest and most matter-of-fact way, showing no trace of the effort which it cost him, while Godfrey listened in utter silence. "Now," Guy continued. "Staunton will tell you particulars. I thought it right you should know how I'm handicapped. No wonder our ancestors drank or blew their brains out. Whether you think I have a tile loose or no, there's no doubt our family went down through its own wickedness, and Aunt Margaret pulled it up again by pluck and resolution. But the business isn't done, and instead of throwing over Waynflete to me, you ought to do your part of the work she left us." Godfrey nodded; he was pale, and could not speak. He was perplexed, but he heard the story with instinctive belief.