His welcome was like himself, but he needed a reminder of Clarence’s request for an interview. Then we repaired to the study, for Clarence begged that his brothers might be present, and then the beginning was made. ‘Do you remember my showing you a will that I found in the ruins at Chantry House?’
‘A horrid old scrap that you chose to call one. Yes; I told you to burn it.’
‘Sir, we have proved that a great injustice was perpetrated by our ancestor, Philip Winslow, and that the poor lady who made that will was cruelly treated, if not murdered. This is no fancy; I have known it for years past, but it is only now that restitution has become possible.’
‘Restitution? What are you talking about? I never wanted the place nor coveted it.’
‘No, sir, but the act was our forefather’s. You cannot bid us sit down under the consciousness of profiting by a crime. I could not do so before, but I now implore you to let me restore you either Chantry House and the three farms, or their purchase money, according to the valuation made at my father’s death. I have it in hand.’
Frank Fordyce walked about the room quite overcome. ‘You foolish fellow!’ he said, ‘Was it for this that you have been toiling and throwing away your health in that pestiferous place? Edward, did you know this?’
‘Yes,’ I answered. ‘Clarence has intended this ever since he found the will.’
‘As if that was a will! You consented.’
‘We all thought it right.’
He made a gesture of dismay at such folly.