Melrose. You've taken my breath away--you won't be surprised at that."
Melrose smiled grimly.
"Not at all. That's natural! Very well then--we meet to-morrow morning.
Before eleven o'clock the will must be either signed--or cancelled. And
for the present--please!--silence!"
They exchanged good-nights. Melrose looked oddly after the young man, as
the door closed.
"He took it well. I suppose he's been sitting up nights over that
precious memorandum. He was to be the popular hero, and I the 'shocking
example.' Well, he'll get over it. I think--I have--both him--and the
Medusa. And what does the will matter to me? Any one may have the gear,
when I can't have it. But I'll not be dictated to--_this_ side of the
Styx!"
Faversham wandered out once more into the summer night. A little path
along the cliff took him down to the riverside, and he paced beside the
dimly shining water, overhung by the black shadow of the woods. When he
returned to the Tower, just as the light was altering, and the chill of
dawn beginning, a long process of tumultuous reflection had linked the
mood of the preceding evening to the mood of this new day, and of the
days that were to follow. He had determined on his answer to Melrose; and
he was exultantly sure of his power to deal with the future. The scruples
and terrors of the evening were gone. His intelligence rose to his task.
This old man, already ill, liable at any moment to the accidents of age,
and still madly absorbed, to the full extent of his powers and his time,
in the pursuits of connoisseurship--what could he really do in the way of
effective supervision of his agent? A little tact, a little prudent
maneuvering; some money here, possibly out of his, Faversham's, own
pocket; judicious temporizing there; white lying when necessary--a
certain element of intrigue in Faversham rose to the business with
alacrity.
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