Then Guy briefly recapitulated his recent history, beginning with the midnight alarm which Godfrey remembered at Waynflete. He told the awful story in the driest and most matter-of-fact way, showing no trace of the effort which it cost him, while Godfrey listened in utter silence.
“Now,” Guy continued. “Staunton will tell you particulars. I thought it right you should know how I’m handicapped. No wonder our ancestors drank or blew their brains out. Whether you think I have a tile loose or no, there’s no doubt our family went down through its own wickedness, and Aunt Margaret pulled it up again by pluck and resolution. But the business isn’t done, and instead of throwing over Waynflete to me, you ought to do your part of the work she left us.”
Godfrey nodded; he was pale, and could not speak. He was perplexed, but he heard the story with instinctive belief.
“She has set us on our legs,” Guy went on; “but the place is a sink of wickedness, and poverty-stricken into the bargain. I have had letters from Clifton, and I know. Now, I’ve come to see that it’s no good saving my own skin, or my own soul either, while that’s the case. We have got really to restore Waynflete, but I can’t do it alone. If I get too bad, in mind or body, to carry on the business, it would have to be sold, and then He— No, stop. I love the very breath of the air of it! Why, Godfrey, we should be contemptible scoundrels to give in while there’s breath in our bodies, or sense in our brains.”
Godfrey still sat silent. If Guy was handicapped, how heavily had he handicapped himself! Still, devotion to his brave old aunt’s purpose, the inheritance which, after all, was bred in his bone, began to stir within him. He got up and held out his hand.
“I’ll help,” he said hoarsely.
Guy’s hand, all bones and blue veins, met the firm muscular fingers in an equally vigorous clasp.
“That’s good!” he said. “We’ll do it.”
“But, Guy,” said Godfrey, after a silence, “you know, if I’d known about it, I never would have left you alone with a ghost—never!”
Guy laughed. “Never mind that now,” he said. “Go down to the mill, and get John Henry Cooper to tell you how things are. He’s made of just as sound stuff as his father, and is a good deal sharper. We’ll pull round. But you must get your hand in. Some one must be able to go about and investigate openings and offers, and I can’t at present. As for Jeanie, you’d better let that slide, I should say, for a bit. Old Mat won’t be very encouraging, when he knows how it is with us.”