Hugh Ritson's nostrils quivered, and his eyes flashed. Drayton quailed an instant, and burst into a laugh.
There was a great silence. Bonnithorne was still before the window, his face down, his hands clasped behind him, his foot pawing the ground. Hugh Ritson walked to his side. He contemplated him a moment, and then touched him on the shoulder. When he spoke, his face was dilated with passion, and his voice was low and deep.
"There is a Book," he said, "that a Churchman may know, which tells of an unjust steward. The master thought to dismiss him from his stewardship. Then the steward said within himself, 'What shall I do?'"
There was a pause.
"What did he do?" continued Hugh Ritson, and every word fell on the silence like the stroke of a bell. "He called his master's debtors together, and said to the first, 'How much do you owe?' 'One hundred measures.' Then he said, 'Write a bill for fifty.'"
There was another pause.
"What did that steward mean? He meant that when the master should dismiss him from his stewardship, the debtor should take him into his house."
Hugh Ritson's manner was the white heat of calm. He turned half round to where Drayton stood, and raised his voice.
"That debtor was henceforth bound hand and foot. Let him but parley with the steward, and the steward cried, 'Thief,' 'Forger,' 'Perjurer.'"
Bonnithorne shuffled uneasily. He opened his mouth as if to speak, but the words would not come. At last he gulped down something that had seemed to choke him, smiled between his teeth a weak, bankrupt smile, and said: