"About my debts? Oh, you mean Simpson about his bill. Well, I don't want your help now. I can pay him. He must wait." "But he will not wait. He threatens to expose you if the matter is not settled at once." "Pooh! what is there to expose? Every fellow gets in debt more or less. Tailors have to wait. Every fellow gets behind for his togs." "Yes; but he does not forge his cousin's name when he wants money." "What?" roared Mark, shaken for the moment. "Here," he cried, seizing Richard by the arm, after a glance round to see if they were alone, "what does this mean?" "It means this," cried Richard passionately, "that your creditor has been to me this morning, and has just left me, after showing me how you have disgraced the good old name of Frayne." "I? How?" "How?" cried Richard, whose voice was husky from emotion; "by writing my name to the cheque for the money you borrowed, telling the man it was for me." "Well, so it was!" cried Mark, seizing him by the other shoulder and shaking him. "No backing out now!" "What?" "You had it nearly all. And, if it has come to this, we'll have it all out now. What do you mean about the cheque?" "I mean that you forged my name. I knew nothing of it till just now." "I--I--did what?" cried Mark, as if astounded. "I have told you. Take your dirty hands off me! It is disgrace enough, without--" "I--I put your name to a cheque!" roared Mark. "Why, you infamous, lying cad: unsay every word! You know the money was borrowed for you, and that you spent it on your miserable music! Confess it before I break every bone in your skin!" Staggered, mentally and bodily, by his cousin's retort, Richard Frayne gave way, and was borne back against the ruined wall of the old sanctuary; for Mark had, by a quick action, seized him hard by the throat and held him fast. "Why, you must be mad! You dare to say I did that, you infamous-- lying--" He had gone too far, and there was a moment's pause; for, before he could utter the next word, Richard Frayne had given himself a violent wrench sidewise, freed himself and struck out at his assailant. But it was a feeble blow, consequent upon his crippled position, and, with a savage laugh, Mark turned at him again. "I'll teach you to talk like that! Down on your knees and swear that it was all a hatched-up lie, or--" Mark Frayne's words were checked again, for he had never really seen of what his cousin was capable till now. He knew that he took part in athletic exercises, and he had had the gloves on with him often enough before, and knocked him about to his heart's content. But he had now to learn that Richard Frayne, the white-handed lover of music, fought better without gloves than with, while the soft-palmed hands had knuckles as bony as his own. "Liar!" muttered Richard between his teeth as he struck out with his left full at Mark's mouth, sending him staggering back, but only to recover directly and come on furiously again.