He turned to Alice and fell on his knees.
'Persuade him, Madam. You are all goodness. Oh! persuade him—think of your child. You can make him rich with a stroke of a pen—think of that. Oh! think of that!' The tears ran down his cheeks.
'Sir, I think only of my husband's father. And of his wishes, which are commands.'
'Enough said'—there was too much said already—'your money is gone, Mr. Probus.'
'Gone?' he repeated, but no longer in terms of entreaty. He was now fallen into the other extreme; he was blind and mad with rage and despair. 'No—no—it's not gone. I will get it out of you. Those who threw you into prison can do worse—worse. You have brought it on yourself. It is your ruin or mine. Once more——' With trembling fingers he held out the paper for me to sign.
'No.'
He stayed no longer: he threw out his arms again: it was as if his breath refused to come: and he turned away. He looked like a broken-down man, crawling, bent, with hanging head, along the road.
As soon as he was gone, Ramage opened the door and came out cautiously.
'Mr. Will,' he cried. 'For Heaven's sake, sir. For your dear lady's sake: for the child's sake: get out of the way. Nothing else will serve. He is desperate; and he is as cunning as the Devil himself. To get back his money he will shrink from nothing.'
'Indeed, Ramage,' I said, 'I think you are right. I will take a holiday for awhile.'