They found a few little relics of their mother and grandmother, who had belonged to the same family, small North-country gentry. They had been almost the last of their race, and there were no near cousins left. The lads had to make the most of a few bits of needlework, a stiff little note or two, and a photograph of their mother, of so much weaker a type that it had left but little impress on their strong Waynflete features. There were old likenesses, too, of father and grandfather, at which Guy looked earnestly, and then cast a stealthy glance across the room. "The same old face," he said, under his breath; while the hand that held the photograph shook a little. They also pieced out the family history during its period of eclipse, realising with something of a shock, at least to Godfrey, how entirely it had sunk to the working-farmer level. They learned to know "the rock from which they were hewn," and their sense of their old great-aunt's energy and courage increased accordingly. Godfrey had escaped these more degrading temptations, and Guy, perhaps, was _quitte pour la peur_. Godfrey went over to Waynflete, more willingly after these discoveries, to see what could be done for it, but came back late in the evening in very low spirits. He hated the place, he said; the vicar had walked him about, and so had the bailiff. The church was tumbling down, and the farms were just worthless. "I never saw such a God-forsaken hole," he said. "I declare, as I came over that rickety old bridge, through that crooked old plantation, and those miserable weedy fields, pasture that wouldn't feed a donkey, and beastly old hay so rotten that nobody had ever thought it worth leading, I--I wished Aunt Waynflete had let it alone. I never noticed it much in the summer. I didn't notice anything much then, and I suppose it's pretty; but it took all the heart out of me." "I dare say it did," said Guy. "I believe there's a fate against it's coming to good." "What if there is?" said Guy, sharply. "Where should we be if Aunt Margaret had stopped to think about fate?" Godfrey leant over the fire with his elbows on his knees. "I don't see that she did get the better of fate, after all. Waynflete's a beastly hole, and there's no money to keep it up, and it's touch and go with the business, and you have half killed yourself." "But not quite," said Guy. "Now, look here, it's disgraceful to own a place in this condition, and it's got to be pulled round, spite of fate or fiend either. Of course the work is not done, when the place is a sink of iniquity, and the property gone to destruction. We've got to finish it. Come, cheer up; get some supper. I've got a notion. We'll get Clifton to come here, to dine and sleep, and talk matters over. Don't you play devil's advocate. He doesn't want one." Godfrey looked up, half-scared, half-fascinated, into his brother's face. There were times when he was more than half afraid of him.