"Else I had never been there!"
"But I intended it as a warning—I cautioned you, pleaded with you."
"Yes, I remember—you said I was ignorant, awkward, a novice—Mr. Leicester; your advice was like a jeer—your caution a taunt; your words and manner were at variance; I played that night, but not of my own free will. I say to you, it was not of my free will!"
"Is it me, upon whom your words reflect?" said Leicester, with every appearance of wounded feeling.
Robert was silent.
"Do you know," continued Leicester, in that deep, musical tone, that was sure to make the heart thrill—"do you know, Robert Otis, why it is that you have not been openly exposed?—why this debt has not been demanded long ago?"
"Because the note which I gave is not yet due!"
"The note—a minor's note—what man in his senses would receive a thing so worthless? No, Robert—it was my endorsement that made the paper valuable. It is from me, your old friend, Robert, that the money must come to meet the paper at its maturity."
Tears gushed into the young man's eyes—he held out his hand across the table—Leicester took the hand and pressed it very gently.
"You know," he said, "this note becomes due almost immediately."