The assumption of it would apparently do nobody a wrong, while he felt
that Courthorne had taken so much from him that the farm at Silverdale
would be a very small reparation. It was not, he saw, a great
inheritance, but one that in the right hands could be made profitable,
and Winston, who had fought a plucky fight with obsolete and worthless
implements and indifferent teams, felt that he could do a great deal
with what was, as it were, thrust upon him at Silverdale. It was not
avarice that tempted him, though he knew he was tempted now, but a
longing to find a fair outlet for his energies, and show what, once
given the chance that most men had, he could do. He had stinted
himself and toiled almost as a beast of burden, but now he could use
his brains in place of wringing the last effort out of overtaxed
muscle. He had also during the long struggle lost to some extent his
clearness of vision, and only saw himself as a lonely man fighting for
his own hand with fate against him. Now, when prosperity was offered
him, it seemed but folly to stand aside when he could stretch out a
strong hand and take it.
During the last hour he sat almost motionless, the issue hung in the
balance, and he laid himself down still undecided. Still, he had lived
long in primitive fashion in close touch with the soil, and sank, as
most men would not have done, into restful sleep. The sun hung red
above the rim of the prairie when he awakened, and going down to
breakfast found the lawyer waiting for him.
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