"What then to do? What are you thinking of? You are burdened with me, you see; you have to keep me for ever--until, at least, the Glastonbury affair is wiped away. You do it devilish ill; I live in a garret, you in sumptuous rooms; yet it is something. Am I to keep myself henceforth? Wherefore again I say, what are you thinking of doing?" "At present I think but of one thing. Revenge! A terrible revenge!" "On whom?" "On him. That man, Barry. The man who is to marry the true Ariadne Thorne; the man who, since he appeared at the church, knew very well what was taking place and let me fall into the snare like a rat into a trap." "It will be hard to do. He is a sea-captain, a brave, stalwart-looking fellow, and--he has beaten you once. He may do so again. Moreover, I do not think he would meet you if you challenged him." "There are other ways. Men can be hired even nowadays to do the work. A month ago Lord D'Amboise's nose was slit to the bone--perhaps his Ariadne would not like Sir Geoffrey so much if he were equally disfigured! There are many ways if one will pay----" "But you cannot pay," said Granger, with a swift glance at him, which the other saw well enough; "that is, unless you have a secret store. You would be like enough to have one, and keep the knowledge from me." "I have nothing; nothing but what you know of." "Humph! perhaps. 'But what I know of!' Well, at least I know of your sixty guineas which you had when you went to your marriage this morning--your wedding with the heiress," Granger said emphatically, observing how the other winced at the word "marriage"; "I know of that. Well! come, let us decide. You say you can support me no longer, therefore I must now support myself. We must part, grievous as so doing will be to me." "Part! You and I! When we have been so much to each other. Part! Oh, no! I--I might find a little more money somehow yet--if--if--a letter were sent to my mother saying that I was dying--now--she might consent. She----" "I do not doubt you will find more money somewhere," Granger replied, with a very profound look of disgust for the knave on his face, "no more than I doubt that, in some way, you will wheedle the wherewithal to live out of your mother. But--you must do it by yourself. We part now. I can earn my living in a fashion. Come, divide." "Not now; you will not take all at once--the full half? Think of my debts." "Damn your debts! Though I have confidence in your powers, Bufton; you will by some means discover how to avoid their payment. Divide, I say." By strong persuasion, by the force of some hold which Granger had over the Beau, the latter was at last induced to draw forth his purse, and to divide into two heaps the sum of sixty guineas which it contained, though not without much protest on his side, nor without, indeed, almost a whimper at parting with both his money and his friend. But the latter was inexorable, and he took the thirty guineas.