I took Glanville aside: “My dear friend,” said I, “believe me, that I share your indignation to the utmost; but we must do any thing rather than incense this wretch: what is his demand?”
“I speak literally,” replied Glanville, “when I say, that it covers nearly the whole of my fortune; for my habits of extravagance have very much curtailed my means: it is the exact sum I had set apart, for a marriage gift to my sister, in addition to her own fortune.”
“Then,” said I, “you shall give it him; your sister has no longer any necessity for a portion: her marriage with me prevents that—and with regard to yourself, your wants are not many—such as it is, you can share my fortune.”
“No—no—no!” cried Glanville; and his generous nature lashing him into fresh rage, he broke from my grasp, and moved menacingly to Thornton. That person still lay on the ottoman, regarding us with an air half contemptuous, half exulting.
“Leave the room instantly,” said Glanville, “or you will repent it!”
“What! another murder, Sir Reginald!” said Thornton. “No, I am not a sparrow, to have my neck wrenched by a woman’s hand like your’s. Give me my demand—sign the paper, and I will leave you for ever and a day.”
“I will commit no such folly,” answered Glanville. “If you will accept five thousand pounds, you shall have that sum; but were the rope on my neck, you should not wring from me a farthing more!”
“Five thousand!” repeated Thornton; “a mere drop—a child’s toy—why, you are playing with me, Sir Reginald—nay, I am a reasonable man, and will abate a trifle or so of my just claims, but you must not take advantage of my good nature. Make me snug and easy for life—let me keep a brace of hunters—a cosey box—a bit of land to it, and a girl after my own heart, and I’ll say quits with you. Now, Mr. Pelham, who is a long-headed gentleman, and does not spit on his own blanket, knows well enough that one can’t do all this for five thousand pounds; make it a thousand a year—that is, give me a cool twenty thousand—and I won’t exact another sous. Egad, this drinking makes one deuced thirsty—Mr. Pelham, just reach me that glass of water—I hear bees in my head!”
Seeing that I did not stir, Thornton rose, with an oath against pride; and swaggering towards the table, took up a tumbler of water, which happened accidentally to be there: close by it was the picture of the ill-fated Gertrude. The gambler, who was evidently so intoxicated as to be scarcely conscious of his motions or words (otherwise, in all probability, he would, to borrow from himself a proverb illustrative of his profession, have played his cards better) took up the portrait.
Glanville saw the action, and was by his side in an instant. “Touch it not with your accursed hands!” he cried, in an ungovernable fury. “Leave your hold this instant, or I will dash you to pieces!”