shudder as he crossed the stile, thinking of his own softened
feelings as he had held out his hand to help Mary Masters, and then
of his revulsion of feeling when she declared her purpose of
walking home with Mr. Twentyman. And he struck the rail of the
bridge with his stick as though he were angry with the place
altogether. And he thought to himself that he would never come
there any more, that he hated the place, and that he would never
cross that bridge again.

Then his mind reverted to the tidings he had heard from Mrs.
Hopkins. What ought he to do when his cousin arrived? Though there
had been a long lawsuit, there had been no actual declared quarrel
between him and the heir. He had, indeed, never seen the heir for
the last twenty years, nor had they ever interchanged letters.
There had been no communication whatever between them, and
therefore there could hardly be a quarrel. He disliked his cousin;
nay, almost hated him; he was quite aware of that. And he was sure
also that he hated that Honourable old woman worse than any one
else in the world, and that he always would do so. He knew that the
Honourable old woman had attempted to drive his own mother from
Bragton, and of course he hated her. But that was no reason why he
should not call on his cousin. He was anxious to do what was right.
He was specially anxious that blame should not be attributed to
him. What he would like best would be that he might call, might
find nobody at home,--and that then John Morton should not return
the courtesy. He did not want to go to Bragton as a guest; he did
not wish to be in the wrong himself; but he was by no means equally
anxious that his cousin should keep himself free from reproach.

The bridge path came out on the Dillsborough road just two miles