"You can act for yourself, now, Godfrey," he said. "Aunt Margaret has followed out her principles. _You_ are the one least likely to follow the sins of our fathers, and you are master of Waynflete. So-- so--_that_ couldn't have been what `_He_' wanted?" "She meant to burn it--and I will," cried Godfrey, seizing the paper. "So help me, God, I'll never--" "Hold hard!" cried Guy, starting up and seizing his arm, "don't be such an infernal fool! Stop him, Cuthbert!" But Cuthbert had already laid detaining hands on the parchment. "Stop--stop. That's no earthly good. I've seen it. I'll not allow it to be done. Hang it all, Godfrey, come to your senses, and control yourself!" "Guy," cried Godfrey, rushing back and throwing himself on his knees beside him. "You know--you know I did not want it. Say you know it, or I shall go mad. I wanted to keep you from Moorhead--I never thought--I did not know--If I had--and now it is too late--" "What's all this?" said a new voice, as the doctor came into the room. "Funeral? You'll have two funerals to arrange for, Mr Godfrey if you can't settle this one without your brother. Go at once, and take all your confounded business papers with you." But Cuthbert, not thinking Godfrey's hands safe ones, put both the wills into his own pocket, and giving the stupefied, half-maddened youth the paper of directions, told him to give it to Mrs Palmer, and pushed him out of the room, shutting the door behind him. Godfrey stumbled past Mrs Palmer as he met her on the stairs, and threw the paper towards her. "Telegraph--settle it," he said, and pushing blindly on to the old unused library, shut himself into it. A young man, with a strong _physique_, sufficient talent, and a good wholesome record, is unaccustomed to emotional agonies, Godfrey woke from the simple take-it-for-granted life of healthy, prosperous youth, to the dreadful consciousness of having committed a disgraceful action, from which he reaped advantage at his brother's expense. The cruel wound of a slighted and rejected passion had sapped his powers of endurance. He went a little mad for the time under the awful pressure. At whatever cost, it must be lightened. He stood in the window leaning his head against the black oak panel behind him, and staring out with haggard eyes at the fair fields and gardens, which were, it seemed, his own; the hateful inheritance which he had gained for himself. He could not bear the days as they passed, he could not look into a human face, much less into that of his brother, unless he could find some means of lightening his passionate self-disgust. He took his way slowly through the darkened house up to the chamber of death.