"You drew it yesterday, and you dated three months back purposely. By Gad, Clavering, you sicken me with lies, I can't help telling you so. I've no patience with you, by Gad. You cheat every body, yourself included. I've seen a deal of the world, but I never met your equal at humbugging. It's my belief you had rather lie than not."
"Have you come here, you old, old beast, to tempt me to—to pitch into you, and—and knock your old head off?" said the baronet, with a poisonous look of hatred at the major.
"What, sir?" shouted out the old major, rising to his feet and clasping his cane, and looking so fiercely, that the baronet's tone instantly changed toward him.
"No, no," said Clavering piteously, "I beg your pardon. I didn't mean to be angry, or say any thing unkind, only you're so damned harsh to me, Major Pendennis. What is it you want of me? Why have you been hunting me so? Do you want money out of me too? By Jove, you know I've not got a shilling,"—and so Clavering, according to his custom, passed from a curse into a whimper.
Major Pendennis saw from the other's tone, that Clavering knew his secret was in the major's hands.
"I've no errand from any body, or no design upon you," Pendennis said, "but an endeavor, if it's not too late, to save you and your family from utter ruin, through the infernal recklessness of your courses. I knew your secret—"
"I didn't know it when I married her; upon my oath I didn't know it till the d—d scoundrel came back and told me himself; and it's the misery about that which makes me so reckless, Pendennis; indeed it is;" the baronet cried, clasping his hands.
"I knew your secret from the very first day when I saw Amory come drunk into your dining-room in Grosvenor-place. I never forget faces. I remember that fellow in Sidney a convict, and he remembers me. I know his trial, the date of his marriage, and of his reported death in the bush. I could swear to him. And I know that you are no more married to Lady Clavering than I am. I've kept your secret well enough, for I've not told a single soul that I know it—not your wife, not yourself till now."
"Poor Lady C., it would cut her up dreadfully," whimpered Sir Francis; "and it wasn't my fault, major; you know it wasn't."
"Rather than allow you to go on ruining her as you do, I will tell her, Clavering, and tell all the world too; that is what I swear I will do, unless I can come to some terms with you, and put some curb on your infernal folly. By play, debt, and extravagance of all kind, you've got through half your wife's fortune, and that of her legitimate heirs, mind—her legitimate heirs. Here it must stop. You can't live together. You're not fit to live in a great house like Clavering; and before three years more were over would not leave a shilling to carry on. I've settled what must be done. You shall have six hundred a year; you shall go abroad and live on that. You must give up Parliament, and get on as well as you can. If you refuse, I give you my word I'll make the real state of things known to-morrow; I'll swear to Amory, who, when identified, will go back to the country from whence he came, and will rid the widow of you and himself together. And so that boy of yours loses at once all title to old Snell's property, and it goes to your wife's daughter. Ain't I making myself pretty clearly understood?"