"I am silent, sir," cried the wretch, completely cowed by the strong will of his antagonist.
"I know all—all, and have but few words to cast upon a thing so vile as you have become. If I submit to your presence for a moment it is because that agony must be endured in order that I may cast you from me at once, like the viper that had stung me."
"Sir, these are hard words," faltered Jameson; but Mr. Hurst lifted his hand sharply, and went on.
"You want money. How much did you expect to obtain from me?"
"I—I—this is too abrupt, Mr. Hurst, you impute motives—"
"I say, sir," cried the merchant, sternly interrupting the stammered attempt at defense, "I say you have done this for money—impunity for your crime first, and then money. You see I know you thoroughly."
The wretch shrunk from the withering smile that swept over that white face; he looked the thing he was—a worthless, miserable coward, with all the natural audacity of his character dashed aside by the strong will of the man he had wronged.
"You are too much excited, Mr. Hurst, I will call some other time," he faltered out.
"Now—now, sir, I give you impunity! I will give you money. Say, how much will release me from the infamy of your presence; I will pay well, sir, as I would the physician who drives a pestilence from my hearth?"
"Mr. Hurst, what do you wish—what am I to do?"