Guy was dressed, and sitting up by the fire.
“Come in, Godfrey,” he said; “I’m much more fit to-day, and I want to talk to you before to-morrow.”
Godfrey sat down and looked at him. He had so much to say that he was quite silent.
“There’ll be a good deal to surprise you, presently,” said Guy; “but as to the will, it represents Aunt Margaret’s wishes exactly. She had very good reason to distrust me, and the end has been shaped, no doubt, quite rightly.”
“She would have burnt it, but for me,” said Godfrey.
“What do you mean?”
“She meant to burn it if you came in time. She told Jeanie so; and—I tore up your telegram, and did not send the trap on purpose.”
“What did you do that for?”
“It was my last chance of a word with—with Constancy Vyner; and I thought you wanted to go to Moorhead—to get the chance.”
“Well,” said Guy, slowly, “I shouldn’t have thought it of you.”