again into a sober and fearful gratitude by the many he had come so near to doing, yet avoided.
And then by a return on his former subject, he conceived a spark of hope.
“This Master Hyde, if he were studied,” thought he, “must have secrets of his own: black secrets, by the look of him; secrets compared to which poor Jekyll’s worst would be like sunshine. Things cannot continue as they are. It turns me cold to think of this creature stealing like a thief to Harry’s bedside; poor Harry, what a wakening! And the danger of it; for if this Hyde suspects the existence of the will, he may grow impatient to inherit. Aye, I must put my shoulder to the wheel—if Jekyll will but let me,” he added, “if Jekyll will only let me.”
For once more he saw before his mind’s eye, as clear as a transparency, the strange clauses of the will.