“Very sorry, my lord—but you know the result, without Sir Murray Gernon would—”
“Hang you, be quiet!” exclaimed the other, fiercely. “He knows that I am poor; but would you upset all, now that matters have gone so far? You must renew again.”
“But the cost to your lordship will be ruinous,” expostulated the Jew.
“What do you care for that? Look here, Braham: all is going on as well as possible—I only want time. If you clap me in a sponging-house now, you will not get a penny, for Sir Murray’s pride would never get over it. I could never show myself here again. You must renew.”
“Can’t,” said Braham, shaking his head—“can’t, indeed. Money is more and more valuable every day.”
“So is time to me,” said his lordship, grimly. “Now, look here, Braham: is such a chance as this to be played with?”
“Thousand pities to lose it.”
“Thousand pities—yes!” exclaimed the Viscount, excitedly. “Yes, I’d give a thousand pounds sooner than be thrown off now.”
“Well,” said the Jew, “I don’t want to be hard. On those terms—terms, mind, that you offer yourself—I’ll renew for another three months; but mind this: I’ll have the money to the day, or you know the consequences. If the money is not paid, you will be taken, even if it is at the church door.”
“Terms!—what terms?” stammered the Viscount. “I offered no terms.”