Kirk Hinton was a little station on the branch line which connected Rilston with the junction for Ingleby. It was four miles from Moorhead, and six from Waynflete, and as it contained no sort of conveyance, it was necessary for travellers to make arrangements beforehand if they desired to be carried to their destination.
Godfrey had ordered a trap to meet him on the next morning; but now there was nothing for it but to walk up hill and down dale through the pouring rain, and chew the cud of his bitter thoughts as he went.
The field path to Waynflete was of the roughest, and led over rain washed stony tracks, through copse-wood and thicket, down to the bottom of Flete Dale, where the Flete beck was crossed by a rough wooden bridge near which was the Dragon, the little old public-house which had been there from time immemorial. On the other side of the river a steep ascent led up to Flete Edge, beyond which lay the Hall. The road from Kirk Hinton took a much more gradual route, and crossed the Flete by another bridge at the end of the old avenue at the back of the house.
Godfrey was way-wise; but he had never taken the walk before, and he was confused by the storm and the darkness, and by his own miserable thoughts.
He had not given up his point. No; he was not defeated. He would neither avoid Constancy nor cease to recommend himself to her. He would meet her on every possible opportunity; he would not give way an inch. He would succeed unless—other fellows—? There were other fellows, of course. There was Guy.
Godfrey stumbled through a great clump of brambles and bushes, over a low wall and down a rough field to the riverside, where he dimly saw the bridge in the uncertain light. He felt chilled and miserable; his resolute hope failed him. There was Guy. She always liked Guy, and he always roused himself to talk and laugh with her. Godfrey’s angry spirit exaggerated these memories of friendly intercourse. His heart sank lower and lower. He paused on the bridge, and listened to the dreary roar of the wind through the wide plantations, and to the swirling rush of the stream beneath him. He could not see anything distinctly, but driving mist and swaying trees; but he came up out of the gloomy hollow as much convinced of his brother’s imaginary rivalry as if the fiend, or the spirit, who had stood in the path of his unlucky ancestor, and so wrecked the fortunes of succeeding generations, had whispered the deluding suggestion into his ear.
How he reached the house he hardly knew, and then he wondered how he could account to his aunt for his sudden return.
Mrs Waynflete, however, kept no count of his movements; she took no notice till the first train the next morning brought over the Ingleby stable-boy with Rawdie, Godfrey’s bag, and a note from Guy, in which he stated that he would not be able to come to Waynflete at present, as he was going on “a little outing” with Staunton. Godfrey felt certain that the little outing was to Moorhead, and when he read as a conclusion, “Cheer up, old boy; there’s worse luck in the world than yours,” he felt as if Guy was mocking his trouble.
Mrs Waynflete was angry at the message. She thought Guy neglectful and indifferent to the place she loved so well. In those days, when the novelty of her surroundings destroyed her sense of accustomed comfort, she thought much. She was too good a woman of business to have left the future unprovided for, and she had long ago made a will in which the Waynflete property, together with certain investments, and half the share in the profits of Palmer Brothers was left to Guy, while the other half share made a fair younger son’s portion for Godfrey.
But now, how could she trust Guy, either with the property or with the business? Was he not too likely to ruin both? Could she rely on him to carry on the work she had so bravely begun? She distrusted him deeply, and he did nothing to remove her distrust. She had always kept her will in her own hands; it would be easy to destroy it. But then, if anything happened to her, everything would be in confusion. An idea occurred to her, which in its simplicity and independence attracted her strongly. She would have another will made, in which Godfrey’s name was substituted for that of Guy, and then she would keep both at hand. At any moment it would be easy to destroy one of them, much easier than to alter it, or to draw out a new one in a hurry, and she would put Guy to certain tests, and judge him accordingly. She would drive into Rilston and see the solicitor there this very afternoon, for it struck her that she did not wish to explain the workings of her mind to the old family man of business who had made the will now in force.