I was a free man again. I had slipped from the gates of hell, and the world with all its joys and duties lay before me bright and beautiful as love and hope could make it. Yet whether it was the gloom of the cellar in which we still lingered, or the baleful influence that emanated, from the three persons in whose presence I once more stood, I felt a strange sinking at my heart and found myself looking back at the pit from which I had just escaped, with a sensation of remorse, as if in its horrid depths I had left or lost something which must create a void within me forever.
My meditations in this regard were interrupted by the voice of Guy.
"David Barrows," said he, "we hold the paper which was given you by my father."
I bowed with a slight intimation of impatience.
"We have looked at it and it is as he said, his will. But it is not such a one as we feared, and to-morrow, or as soon as we can restore the seal, we shall return it to you for such disposition as your judgment suggests."
I stared at him in an amazement that made me forget my shame.
"You will give it back?" I repeated.
"To-morrow," he laconically replied.