"Will you give me the money at once, and let me go?" cried John Lawson, elevating his voice.
"My dear Augusta, it is better."
"Henry, do not, I beg of you."
"Henry, my son, will you let me have the money?"
"Indeed, Augusta—"
"Henry!"
Mrs. Lawson articulated but the one word; there was enough of energy and determination in it to make her husband close the purse he had almost opened.
"I ask you only this once more—give me the few shillings?"
John Lawson bent forward in an eager manner; a feverish red kindled on his sallow cheeks; his eyes were widely dilated, and his lips compressed. There was a pause of some moments.
"You will not give it me?" he said, in a voice deep-toned and singularly calm, as contrasted with his convulsed face.