“Possibly he does. In fact, I suppose he must. I always was under the impression that his father made him a handsome allowance.” “Usher allows him a few hundreds a year,” said the old man, in a matter-of-fact tone. “Apparently we are both wrong, then. Usher hasn't allowed him a penny for years. Roderick told me so himself.” Matthew started in his chair, and his face wore an expression of great anxiety. “Impossible!” he said almost angrily. “I only quote Roderick's explicit statement. And I fancy for once in a way he wasn't lying.” Then he saw his father white and aged, his kind lips quivering, his breath coming fast. In concern he rose, bent over him. “Why, you 're ill--” he began. But Matthew pushed him away gently. “Nonsense, my boy. It's only one of those confounded pains about my heart. There, it's all gone now. Don't worry. It's this hot room. I think I'll go out for a stroll.” “You had better lie down,” said the physician. “Yes, and stick out my tongue and chew that thermometer of yours! No, thank you. There!” He rose to his feet, and held himself erect. “I'm as strong as a horse.” “I don't like your going out,” said Sylvester. The other looked at his watch. “I must, for a bit,” he said. “Go up and talk to your aunt for an hour before dinner. She's dying to hear all the gossip.” It was useless to try to restrain him. He had an imperious will to which Sylvester had yielded all his life. So the son went upstairs, and the father put on his overcoat and walked at a brisk pace through the dark December evening to the house of his enemy. Mr. Usher put down the “Financial News” and rose from his chair as Matthew entered the room. “My dear friend, how great a surprise! You have come for a reconciliation. It is a Christian thing. I too am a Christian, Matthew.” “I have come to ask you a question,” said Matthew, ignoring the other's proffered hand. “Roderick denies that he receives any allowance from you. Is that true?” “I am too poor to make my son an allowance,” replied Usher. “You know what I mean,” replied Matthew, sternly. “I pay £100 a quarter into your banking account for you to remit, as from yourself, to Roderick. Does he get it?” Ushers eyes shifted from Matthew's glance. He shuffled a step towards the fireplace before replying. “You outrage a father's feelings, Matthew. I live for my son. You yourself have a son.” Matthew strode up to him and laid a hand on his collar. “Confound it, sir, answer my question! Roderick states that he hasn't received a penny from you for years. Have you kept all these sums back from him? By God! you shall speak.” Involuntarily he shook him in his angry grasp. Usher was scared. “No violence, Matthew.” Matthew released him with a contemptuous exclamation. “I see by your face you have kept the money. I was a fool to trust you. You're an infernal mean-spirited hound. I've known that for years. But I never thought you would rob your son.”