"I tell you I'm not married. I was to pay you on my wedding-day." "You were to pay me within six months. Have you opened a bank account for me and paid in the two thousand pounds?" "Are you mad, Francis?" "Mad?--I may well be mad after all you have made me suffer. I tell you I want money--money--money--I want two thousand pounds." His voice rose almost to a shriek, and the sound reverberated along the quiet street with startling effect. Oliver shrank into himself a little, and gave a hurried glance around him. They were still in Upper Woburn Place, and he was afraid that the noise should excite remark. It was plain to him that Francis was either drunk or out of his mind, and he therefore concentrated his attention on getting quietly away from him, or leading him to some more secluded spot. "Look here," he said, in a conciliatory tone. "You shall have your money if you'll be quiet and come away with me. Come to my house and I'll explain things to you. You've not seen Rosalind for a long time, have you? Come in and talk things over." "Oh, you want to trap me, do you?" said Francis, sullenly. "No, I'll not come to your house. Go in and fetch the money out to me, or I'll make you repent it." Oliver was almost at his wit's end. "All right," he said, soothingly. "I will fetch it. I can give you a cheque, you know. But don't you want a little loose change to go on with? Take these." He held out a handful of gold and silver. Francis looked at it with covetous eyes for a minute or two, then thrust his brother's hand aside with a jerk which almost sent the coins into the road. "I want justice, not charity," he said. "I want the money you promised me." Oliver shrugged his shoulders, and slowly returned the money to his pocket. "I am more than ever convinced that you are either mad or drunk, my boy," he said. "You should never refuse ten pounds when you can get it, and it's not a thing that I should fancy you have often done before. However, as you choose." He walked onward, and Francis walked, heavily and unsteadily, at his side, muttering to himself as he went. Oliver glanced curiously at him from time to time. "I wonder what _has_ happened to him," he said to himself. "It's not safe to question, but I _should_ like to know. Is it drink? or is it brain disease? One thing or the other it must be. He does not look as if he would live to spend the two thousand pounds--if ever he gets it. I wonder if I could contrive to stave off the payment----"