Godwin felt the blood buzz in his ears, and a hot choking clutch at
his throat. He took his stand by the mantelpiece, and began to turn
a little glass ornament round and round. Fate had spoken. On the
instant, all his College life was far behind him, all his uneasiness
regarding the next session was dispelled, and he had no more
connection with Kingsmill.

Mrs. Peak had heard from Oliver of her brother-in-law's proposed
undertaking. She had spoken of it with anxiety to Godwin, who merely
shrugged his shoulders and avoided the topic, ashamed to dwell on
the particulars of his shame. In hearing Andrew's announcement she
had much ado to repress tears of vexation; silently she seated
herself, and looked with pained countenance from uncle to nephew.

'Shall you make any changes in the place?' Godwin asked, carelessly.

'Shan't I, jest! It'll take a month to refit them eatin' rooms. I'm
agoin' to do it proper--up to Dick! and I want your 'elp, my
bo-oy. You an' me 'II jest write a bit of a circular--see? to send
round to the big pots of the Collige, an' all the parents of the
young fellers as we can get the addresses of--see?'

Even amid his pangs of mortification Godwin found himself pondering
an intellectual question. Was his uncle wholly unconscious of the
misery he was causing? Had it never occurred to him that the public
proximity of an uneducated shopkeeping relative must be unwelcome to
a lad who was distinguishing himself at Whitelaw College? Were that
truly the case, then it would be unjust to regard Andrew
resentfully; destiny alone was to blame. And, after all, the man
might be so absorbed in his own interest, so strictly confined to