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
from the town, and Morton, as he got over the last stile, saw
Lawrence Twentyman coming towards him on the road. The man, no
doubt, had gone all the way into Dillsborough with the girls, and
was now returning home. The parish of Bragton lies to the left of
the high road as you go into the town from Rufford and the
direction of London, whereas Chowton Farm, the property of Mr.
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