“For God's sake!” exclaims Sir Richard, turning about, in a voice you would not have known, and for fully a minute the room was so silent you could scarcely have believed that two men were breathing in it.
“Shir Richard, will you be so good as to come nearer a bit? There, that'sh the cheeshe. I brought thish 'ere thing.”
It is a square parchment with a good deal of printed matter, and blanks, written in, and a law stamp fixed with an awful regularity, at the corner.
“Casht your eye over it,” says Levi, coaxingly, as he pushes it over the table to the young gentleman, who is sitting now at the other side.
The young man looks at it, reads it, but just then, if it had been a page of “Robinson Crusoe,” he could not have understood it.
“I'm not quite myself, I can't follow it; too much to think of. What is it?”
“A bond and warrant to confess judgment.”
“What is it for?”
“Ten thoushand poundsh.”
“Sign it, shall I? Can you do anything with it?”