"A capital joke," whispered Godfrey. "I could almost love the old sinner for his caustic humor. The order for the money is drawn up in the usual manner, but instead of the words 'To pay,' the crafty old fox has written, 'Not to pay the bearer the sum of four hundred pounds.'"
"Excellent! But let old skinflint look to himself; with that malignant joke he has signed his own death-warrant."
Anthony by this time had recovered from his swoon. But he sat like one stupefied; his throbbing temples resting upon his hands, and his eyes fixed on vacancy. Godfrey's voice at length roused him to a recollection of what had happened, and in faint tones, he requested his two companions to leave him.
"Not in this state of mind. Come, Anthony, clear up that cloudy brow. I am sorry, sorry that I have been the means of drawing you into this ugly scrape, but for my poor father's sake you must forgive me. If you were to make a second application to your ungracious dad, he might, in the hope of ridding himself of such an importunate beggar, give down the two hundred pounds yet wanting. Such a decrease in your demand might work wonders. What think you? Matters cannot be worse between you than they are at present."
Anthony recalled his father's parting look—his parting words.
"To-morrow, I will do you justice if you come to me, at this hour, to-morrow;" and hope again shed a faint glimmer in his breast. He repeated these words to Godfrey. Had he noticed the glance which his cousin threw towards his partner in guilt, he would have been puzzled to read its meaning. Mathews understood it well.
"Go, by all means, Anthony. I have no doubt that his heart will relent; that he already feels ashamed of his barbarous conduct. At all events, it can do no harm—it may do good. Take that infamous piece of writing in your hand, and reproach him with his treachery. My father's injured spirit will be near you, to plead your cause, and you must be successful."
"Yes, I will go," said Anthony. "Either he or I must yield. My mind is made up upon the subject. Godfrey, good night."
"He is ours, Mathews," whispered Godfrey, as they left the house. "The old man's days are numbered. Remember this hour to-morrow night!"
Glad to find himself once more alone, Anthony continued to pace the room, revolving over in his mind his interview with his father. He felt convinced that the old man had repented of the cruel trick he had played him; that but for the entrance of Grenard Pike, he would have recalled the paper and given him the sum he desired. At all events, he was determined to see him at the hour the miser had named, and tell him, without disguise, his thoughts upon the subject.