“Acknowledged, and felt by me, Beauclerc.”
“Then now, my dear Clarendon, grant the only request of any consequence I ever made you—say yes.” Beauclerc trembled with impatience.
“No,” said the general, “I have said it—No.”
The gallery rung with the sound.
“No!” repeated Beauclerc.
Each walked separately up and down the room, speaking without listening to what the other said. Helen heard an offer from Beauclerc, to which she extremely wished that the general had listened. But he was deaf with determination not to yield to any thing Beauclerc could say further: the noise of passion in their ears was too great for either of them to hear the other.
Suddenly turning, Beauclerc exclaimed,—
“Borne with me, do you say? ‘Tis I that have to bear—and by heavens!” cried he, “more than I can—than I will—bear. Before to-morrow’s sun goes down I will have the money.”
“From whom?”
“From any money-lending Jew—usurer—extortioner—cheat—rascal—whatever he be. You drive me to it—you—you my friend—you, with whom I have dealt so openly; and to the last it shall be open. To no vile indirections will I stoop. I tell you, my guardian, that if you deny me my own, I will have what I want from the Jews.”