"No, indeed. If I thought so, I should not be here to tell you what I thought. It is because I believe that you are injured that I am here."
"I am injured; I am injured!"
"I think so. I believe so. I cannot tell what the mystery is, if mystery there be; but I do not believe that you have robbed that young lady, your own cousin, by destroying such a deed as your uncle's will."
"No, no, no."
"Is there any secret that you can tell?"
Awed, appalled, stricken with utter dismay, Cousin Henry sat silent before his questioner.
"If there be, sir, had you not better confide it to some one? Your uncle knew me well for more than forty years, and trusted me thoroughly, and I would fain, if I could, do something for his nephew. If there be anything to tell, tell it like a man."
Still Cousin Henry sat silent. He was unable to summon courage at the instant sufficient to deny the existence of the secret, nor could he resolve to take down the book and show the document. He doubted, when the appearance of a doubt was in itself evidence of guilt in the eyes of the man who was watching him. "Oh, Mr Griffith," he exclaimed after a while, "will you be my friend?"
"I will indeed, Mr Jones, if I can—honestly."
"I have been cruelly used."