‘At first I tried to commit it to memory, but found the task beyond my powers. It is a very long play.’ ‘The longer the better,’ murmured the antiquary. ‘But not when one has to get it by heart,’ observed William Henry drily. His tone and manner were more in contrast to those of the elder man than ever; as one grew heated the other seemed to grow cooler and cooler. There was no question as to which of them, just at present, was likely to prove the better hand at a bargain. ‘But why do you talk thus, Samuel? The play, the play’s the thing; since you have it why do you not produce it? You cannot imagine that delay—indeed, that anything—can enhance the interest I feel in this most marvellous of our discoveries.’ William Henry’s face grew very grave. ‘It is true that whatever is mine is yours, in a sense,’ he said; ‘but still you must pardon me for remarking that they are _my_ discoveries.’ Margaret started in her chair; if she had not felt William Henry’s grasp upon her wrist—for he had shifted his position and was confronting the antiquary face to face—she would have risen from it. She had never given her cousin credit for such self-assertion, and she trembled for its result. She did not even yet suspect it had a motive in which she herself was concerned; but the situation alarmed her. It was like that of some audacious clerk who demands of his master a partnership, with a certain difference that made it even graver. ‘What is it you want?’ inquired the antiquary. He too had become conscious that the relations between William Henry and himself were about to enter on a new phase; nevertheless his tone was conciliatory, like that of a man who, though somewhat tried, cannot afford to quarrel with his bread-and-butter. ‘I am the last man, I hope, to be illiberal,’ he continued. ‘If I were dealing with a stranger I should frankly own that what you have, or rather, hope to have, to dispose of is a valuable commodity; to me, indeed, as you know, it is more valuable than to any mere dealer in such wares. Nevertheless I hope you will be reasonable; after all it is a question of what the thing will fetch. I suppose you will not ask a fancy price?’ William Henry smiled. ‘Well, some people might think it so, Mr. Erin, but it is not money at all that I require of you.’ ‘Not money?’ echoed the antiquary in a voice of great relief. ‘Well, that indeed shows a proper spirit. I am really pleased to find that we are to have no haggling over a matter of this kind, which in truth would be little short of a sacrilege. If you have fixed your mind upon any of my poor possessions, though it should even be the “Decameron,“ the earliest edition extant, and complete except for the title-page——’ ‘It is not the “Decameron,“ sir.’