“Your lordship said that you would give a thousand pounds for three months’ reprieve,” said his visitor, coolly.
“Pooh! absurd! You are mad,” said the Viscount.
“Oh! I beg pardon,” said Braham, rising. “I understood you to say so. As your lordship pleases.”
“Sit down there, for Heaven’s sake, Braham. What are you thinking about?”
“Nothing—nothing, my lord; but pray excuse me. Time is nothing to you; it is everything to me.”
“By George! what a position,” muttered the unhappy Viscount. “There, look here: you’d let me off for another three months, on the same terms as the last—eh?”
The Jew shrugged his shoulders and shook his head. His hand was already upon the door, he opened it, and had passed out, when, half mad with the prospect before him, the Viscount shrieked:
“Braham! Here! Stop! I agree;” and the Jew slowly re-entered the room.
“No, my lord, I think it would be better not,” he said. “You are already too deeply in debt. My conscience would not allow me to make such terms.”
“I can’t stand it—that cant, Braham,” said the Viscount, hoarsely. “You have the paper and stamps in your pocket—there are pens and ink; draw them up, and let me sign the bills, and let’s have an end to it. I’m not very clever, but it is plain enough to me how you pull the string, for you have me fast enough. Make much of it, though, for I would not consent but that you have me in a corner.”