The two men were standing one on either side of the blazing fire which shot up golden flames and threw a lurid brightness on both faces. There was no other light in the cellar. Lord St. Austell perceived now that he was in a trap, but no one could have guessed his thoughts from the stolidly calm expression of his face. “Yes,” he said, very quietly. “It is the first I had heard of it. Go on.” “When that little provision was exhausted, I took to the calling of gentlemanly footpad. Before you condemn me, if you look back on the street robberies of the past winter, you will do me the justice to remember that the first was committed on your own person and the rest on those of your intimate friends.” “I don’t see how that excuses you.” “I will make it clear to your lordship by-and-bye. Last of all, when my funds had sunk so low that it needed a bold stroke to restore them, I helped myself, with the aid of my friends, to part of the jewels kept in the tower, of which your brother is custodian. Do you see the connection?” “Of course I see that you seem to have had me always for choice as the victim of your malpractices.” “And you cannot yet see why, my lord?” asked Goodhare, with a panting ferocity which he scarcely now took the trouble to veil. “No. Except that you are a d----d ungrateful beast, biting by preference the hand that fed you.” “Could your lordship give me a list of your benefactions to me?” asked Goodhare, glaring across at him over the smoke and flame of the fire. “Well I gave you the post of librarian at Llancader, until I found you taking advantage of the position to rob me of MSS., which, as I see, you knew how to use.” “And did I not earn my pay? Was I idle, drunken, dissolute?” “Certainly not. You were an ideal librarian, and I respected you for it.” “Respected me for repressing every instinct of my nature, every passion which you were freely indulging! I should think so.” “Our positions were not the same: I could not alter that fact.” “Did you do all for me that my father--and yours--on his death-bed desired that you should do?” The earl looked uneasy. “I did all that a man is ever expected to for an illegitimate half-brother,” said he evasively. “If I had been a Quixote I couldn’t have given up my title to you. The law would not allow it.” “But you could have given up Llancader, as my father, when he was dying, told me you would do.” The earl flushed a little. “He should have made that provision by will if he wished it attended to. I could not be expected to dismember the property. I am not a rich man, as you know. For my position I’m a poor one. I never have a thousand pounds to spend as I choose.” “Not when your wines and women have all been paid for, I dare say.” “Why sneer? I never knew you cared for those things. You were always for books, books. And a studious man is supposed to be virtuous.”