"I hope not, sir. I am not aware that we have ever quarrelled. You once asked me to do a thing which, had I done it, would have made me a happy man—"
"And a rich man also."
"And I fairly tell you now, that I would I had done as you would have had me. That is not being stiff, sir."
"It is too late now, George."
"Oh, yes, it is too late now; indeed it is."
"Not but that I could put a codicil."
"Ah, sir, you can put no codicil that can do me a service. No codicil can make her a free woman. There are sorrows, sir, which no codicil can cure."
"Psha!" said his uncle, trying in his anger to turn himself on his bed, but failing utterly. "Psha! Then you may live a pauper."
George remained standing at the bedside; but he knew not what to do, or what answer to make to this ebullition of anger.
"I have nothing further to say," continued his uncle.