“How singular these crazes are!” said Mark, softly, as if speaking to himself.
“Then you mean to fight me?” said Richard.
“My poor fellow, what nonsense you have got into your bewildered head! I had a cousin, Sir Richard Frayne, who once, in a mad fit, attacked me, and afterwards threw himself into a river, and was drowned.”
“And was not drowned,” said Richard, quietly.
“Yes, he was drowned. They found the body, and he was buried close to his estate, and in the church there is a handsome monument to his memory, saying kindly things that he did not deserve, for he committed suicide in remorse for having obtained money by false pretences.”
“You are an unmitigated scoundrel, Mark!” said
Richard, with his brow now knit angrily. “Once more, will you accept my terms?”
“He is dead and buried,” said Mark, with his eyes more than half-shut now; “and if Richard Frayne rose from the dead no one would believe his tale.”
“Will you accept my terms, or must I denounce you as one who has proved treacherous to his friend, acted like a blackleg at cards, and who obtained a hundred pounds by forging his cousin’s name, and whose title and estate he now holds?”