She got the thought of her own shortcoming quite clear in her mind, as clear as if it had been a mathematical problem, or the plot of a story. Then she got up, shook herself together, and went to get ready to recite at a "slum concert" patronised by some of her friends. PART THREE, CHAPTER THREE. SAINT MICHAEL. Godfrey's brief glimpse of Constancy had sent his "forgetfulness" to the winds. He had written a very proper letter to Jeanie's trustee uncle, telling him, in confidence, the exact state of the Ingleby affairs, owning that he had made advances which just now were difficult to follow up, but by which he should consider himself bound in future. And he further made it quite plain that he considered himself only master of Waynflete Hall _de facto_, and not _de jure_. The answer was also a very carefully considered composition, and was more encouraging than it probably would have been, if Guy's health had been considered less precarious. A year was skilfully indicated as the time that it might take Godfrey to "see his way." Of course there was to be no engagement; still, at the end of a year, if not before, they would like to hear how Mr Godfrey was getting on. "It'll take a deal of bad management to upset Palmer Brothers," said old Mr Matthew; "and like enough it'll all come to Godfrey." By this arrangement Godfrey had to abide. He had tied a clog round his neck, and it was heavy to carry. He set himself with dogged resolution to master the details of business, and in the long evenings the two brothers looked over their aunt's letters and papers, together with the relics handed over to the Stauntons by old Miss Maxwell, and which Cuthbert had given to Guy. Godfrey, who had been at first reluctant, grew more and more interested in what he found, and Guy abstained entirely from comment on any of the facts brought to light, though these explained many things to him. He saw that his aunt had had good reason for her anger and alarm, when she had seen the brandy-bottle in his cupboard, for there were bitter letters of reproach and warning, the sort of letters that start up indeed like spectres from the other side of the grave, and in one, addressed to his father, there was an indication that his own enemy had been at work, for it consisted of a sharp and angry rebuke to the unsatisfactory nephew for "excusing his own faults by untruths and fancies like others before him." Margaret's own letter had evidently come back into her hands, but the corresponding one had been destroyed.