There was a great silence. Bonnithorne was still before the window, his face down, his hands clasped behind him, his foot pawing the ground. Hugh Ritson walked to his side. He contemplated him a moment, and then touched him on the shoulder. When he spoke, his face was dilated with passion, and his voice was low and deep. "There is a Book," he said, "that a Churchman may know, which tells of an unjust steward. The master thought to dismiss him from his stewardship. Then the steward said within himself, 'What shall I do?'" There was a pause. "What did he do?" continued Hugh Ritson, and every word fell on the silence like the stroke of a bell. "He called his master's debtors together, and said to the first, 'How much do you owe?' 'One hundred measures.' Then he said, 'Write a bill for fifty.'" There was another pause. "What did that steward mean? He meant that when the master should dismiss him from his stewardship, the debtor should take him into his house." Hugh Ritson's manner was the white heat of calm. He turned half round to where Drayton stood, and raised his voice. "That debtor was henceforth bound hand and foot. Let him but parley with the steward, and the steward cried, 'Thief,' 'Forger,' 'Perjurer.'" Bonnithorne shuffled uneasily. He opened his mouth as if to speak, but the words would not come. At last he gulped down something that had seemed to choke him, smiled between his teeth a weak, bankrupt smile, and said: "How are we to read your parable? Are you the debtor bound hand and foot, and is your brother the astute steward?" Hugh Ritson's foot fell heavily. "Is it so?" he said, catching at the word. "Then be it so;" and his voice rose to a shrill cry. "That steward shall come to the ground, and his master with him!" At that he stepped back to where Drayton stood with eyes as full of bewilderment as frenzy. "Paul Lowther--" he said. "Call me Paul Ritson," interrupted Drayton. "Paul Lowther--" "Ritson!" Drayton shouted, and then, dropping his voice, he said, rapidly: "You gave it me, and by God I'll keep it!" Hugh Ritson leaned across the table and tapped a paper that lay on it. "That is your name," he said, "and I'll prove it." Drayton burst into another laugh. "You daren't try," he chuckled. Hugh turned upon him with eyes of fire. "So you measure my spirit by your own. Man, man!" he said, "do you know what you are doing?" There was another brutal laugh from Drayton, but it died suddenly on his lips.