When he was within three hundred yards an
idea struck him; he pulled the horse up sharply, for he was alone in
the dogcart, and paused to admire the view.
"What a beautiful place!" he reflected to himself with enthusiasm,
"and how grandly those old towers stand out against the sky. The
Squire has restored them very well, too, there is no doubt about it; I
could not have done it better myself. I wonder if that place will ever
be mine. Things look black now, but they may come round, and I think I
am beginning to see my way."
And then he started the horse on again, reflecting on the unpleasant
nature of the business before him. Personally he both liked and
respected the old Squire, and he certainly pitied him, though he would
no more have dreamed of allowing his liking and pity to interfere with
the prosecution of his schemes, than an ardent sportsman would dream
of not shooting pheasants because he had happened to take a friendly
interest in their nurture. He had also a certain gentlemanlike
distaste to being the bearer of crushing bad news, for Mr. Quest
disliked scenes, possibly because he had such an intimate personal
acquaintance with them. Whilst he was still wondering how he might
best deal with the matter, he passed over the moat and through the
ancient gateway which he admired so fervently, and found himself in
front of the hall door.
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