He did not sign this note. He sent it by James, the stupid, purblind, discharged soldier, and bade him wait for an answer.
In an hour James returned with the answer. It was in a large envelope, a very large envelope. The reply must have been prepared in anticipation of the appeal. A reply so bulky must be a favourable one. If an adverse answer had to be given, it would be brief.
With trembling hands he broke the seal as soon as he was alone. He drew forth several documents. But the first that caught his eye was the smallest of all—his own letter returned unopened! Upon the envelope was written, in the unsteady hand of his mother, these words:
"Sign the enclosed papers. The signatures must be witnessed. They must be signed and with me before the sale. I have not opened your letter. I daresay it does not lie, but how could I be sure?"
His hand ceased to tremble. He put the unopened letter into his pocket with a firm deliberate hand, calmly took up the legal papers, perused them carefully, critically, and paused now and then to extract the sense from the legal jargon.
When he had finished reading he rang the bell. James answered it.
"James, is there any other man who can read and write about the place, besides you?"
"One of the clerks has just come with a message for you, sir."
"Ask him to step this way, please, and come yourself."
In a few minutes the clerk entered, followed by the servant.