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When he got this clear in his mind, he sought for an opportunity to tell it her, lurking and watching. But she avoided him. In the evening the lawyer came. Mr. Rockley seemed to have a new access of strength–a will was drawn up, making the previous arrangements wholly conditional. The old will held good, if Matilda would consent to marry Hadrian. If she refused then at the end of six months the whole property passed to Hadrian.

Mr. Rockley told this to the young man, with malevolent satisfaction. He seemed to have a strange desire, quite unreasonable, for revenge upon the women who had surrounded him for so long, and served him so carefully.

‘Tell her in front of me,’ said Hadrian.

So Mr. Rockley sent for his daughters.

At last they came, pale, mute, stubborn. Matilda seemed to have retired far off, Emmie seemed like a fighter ready to fight to the death. The sick man reclined on the bed, his eyes bright, his puffed hand trembling. But his face had again some of its old, bright handsomeness. Hadrian sat quiet, a little aside: the indomitable, dangerous charity boy.

‘There’s the will,’ said their father, pointing them to the paper.

The two women sat mute and immovable, they took no notice.

‘Either you marry Hadrian, or he has everything,’ said the father with satisfaction.

‘Then let him have everything,’ said Matilda boldly.

‘He’s not! He’s not!’ cried Emmie fiercely. ‘He’s not going to have it. The guttersnipe!’

An amused look came on her father’s face.

‘You hear that, Hadrian,’ he said.

‘I didn’t offer to marry Cousin Matilda for the money,’ said Hadrian, flushing and moving on his seat.

Matilda looked at him slowly, with her dark-blue, drugged eyes. He seemed a strange little monster to her.

‘Why, you liar, you know you did,’ cried Emmie.

The sick man laughed. Matilda continued to gaze strangely at the young man.

‘She knows I didn’t,’ said Hadrian.

He too had his courage, as a rat has indomitable courage in the end. Hadrian had some of the neatness, the reserve, the underground quality of the rat. But he had perhaps the ultimate courage, the most unquenchable courage of all.

Emmie looked at her sister.

‘Oh, well,’ she said. ‘Matilda–don’t bother. Let him have everything, we can look after ourselves.’

‘I know he’ll take everything,’ said Matilda, abstractedly.

Hadrian did not answer. He knew in fact that if Matilda refused him he would take everything, and go off with it.

‘A clever little mannie–!’ said Emmie, with a jeering grimace.

The father laughed noiselessly to himself. But he was tired….

‘Go on, then,’ he said. ‘Go on, let me be quiet.’

Emmie turned and looked at him.

‘You deserve what you’ve got,’ she said to her father bluntly.

‘Go on,’ he answered mildly. ‘Go on.’

Another night passed–a night nurse sat up with Mr. Rockley. Another day came. Hadrian was there as ever, in his woollen jersey and coarse khaki trousers and bare neck. Matilda went about, frail and distant, Emmie black-browed in spite of her blondness. They were all quiet, for they did not intend the mystified servant to learn anything.

Mr. Rockley had very bad attacks of pain, he could not breathe. The end seemed near. They all went about quiet and stoical, all unyielding. Hadrian pondered within himself. If he did not marry Matilda he would go to Canada with twenty thousand pounds. This was itself a very satisfactory prospect. If Matilda consented he would have nothing–she would have her own money.

Emmie was the one to act. She went off in search of the solicitor and brought him with her. There was an interview, and Whittle tried to frighten the youth into withdrawal–but without avail. The clergyman and relatives were summoned–but Hadrian stared at them and took no notice. It made him angry, however.

He wanted to catch Matilda alone. Many days went by, and he was not successful: she avoided him. At last, lurking, he surprised her one day as she came to pick gooseberries, and he cut off her retreat. He came to the point at once.