"A good reason, from a purely selfish point of view, but you lost sight of a most important element. You and I are one, sweet boy; our fortunes are one; if I swim, you swim; if I sink, you sink. I am not at all sure, as to the latter, whether I could not save myself and bring you to destruction at the same time. Why did you cut and run from the tender-hearted individual upon whom your safety depends? I asked you now and then for a trifle of money to help me through difficulties; you always objected, I always insisted. I put the matter before you plainly. If I did not discharge certain obligations----" "Brought about by your mad gambling," interrupted M. Felix. "Granted, dear boy, but men with minds are never free from weaknesses of one kind or other, and I freely admit I like a little flutter occasionally." "You would have bled me," said M. Felix, with a dark frown, "till I had lost every shilling of my fortune." "Of _our_ fortune, comrade, of _our_ fortune. It is in my power to strip you of it at any moment, therefore, in common equity, the money is as much mine as yours." "We made a bargain, and I adhered to it--have adhered to it up to this day." "Quite correct. Every quarter-day I find paid into my bank the sum of one hundred and fifty pounds. Woe to you if there had been a single omission. I might have advertised for you, in terms which would have drawn unpleasant notice upon you; I would have left no stone unturned to unearth you. I think it is five years ago since we last met. It was not an amicable meeting; angry words passed between us. You gave me the money I asked for and insisted upon having, but you declined to accept the view I presented for your consideration, that you were but the treasurer of a common fund. We parted, not the best of friends, and the next thing I heard of you was conveyed in a letter you wrote to me from Brindisi--it was actually posted from there--informing me that you had left England never to return, and that the six hundred a year would be paid regularly into my bankers in quarterly instalments, as usual. My dear friend, that letter naturally did not please me, and I did not propose to submit patiently to the desertion. I was working for you, for your ease, for your safety; I had an establishment to keep up. My little private asylum in the country, with its patients and keepers, entails upon me a great expense. I am getting tired of it; it chains me down; I have to be very watchful and careful; I have to wheedle and bribe, and, besides, I have to live. I knew that you lied when you wrote that you had left England never to return; I knew that it was the only country in the world you cared to live in, and I set to work to discover your hiding place. For five years I have been hunting for you; I have been in London a dozen times; I have searched everywhere. Oh, the money you have cost me, every shilling of which you shall refund. You shall; I have kept an account, and you shall pay