"I know that; I know it very well, Mr. Blount. You are too good a friend of our family. I know it, and I feel it--I do, indeed; but look here, where's the good of driving a fellow to desperation? I tell you I'll do something that will bring it to a crisis; I can't stand the hell I live in. And let him prosecute me if he likes; it is very easy for me to put a pistol to my head--it's only half a second and it's over--and I'll leave a letter telling the world how he has used me, and then see how he'll like the mess he has made of it." "Now, pardon me, sir," said Mr. Blount, ceremoniously, "that's all stuff; I mean he won't believe you. When I have an unacceptable truth to communicate, I make it a rule to do so in the most courteous manner; and, happily, I have, hitherto, found the laws of truth and of politeness always reconcilable; he has told me, my dear sir, fifty times, that you are a great deal too selfish ever to hurt yourself. There is no use, then, in trying, if I may be permitted the phrase, to bully him. If you seek, with the smallest chance of success, to make an impression upon Sir Harry Rokestone, you must approach him in a spirit totally unlike that. I'll tell you what you must do. Write me a penitent letter, asking my intercession, and if you can make, with perfect sincerity, fair promises for the future, and carefully avoid the smallest evidence of the spirit you chose to display in your last--and it is very strange if you have learned nothing--I'll try again what I can do." The young man advanced, and took Mr. Blount's hand and wrung it fervently. I don't think Mr. Blount returned the demonstration with equal warmth. He was rather passive on the occasion. "Is he--here?" asked Mr. Marston. "No, and you must not remain an hour in this house, nor at Golden Friars, nor shall you go to London, but to some perfectly quiet place; write to me, from thence, a letter such as I have described, and I will lay it before him, with such representations of my own as perhaps may weigh with him, and we shall soon know what will come of it. Have the servants seen you?" "No one." "So much the better." "I scaled your window about ten minutes ago. I thought you would soon turn up, and I was right. I know you will forgive me." "Well, no matter, you had better get away as you came; how was that?" "By boat, sir; I took it at the Three Oaks." "It is all the better you were not in the town; I should not like him to know you are in England, until I have got your letter to show him; I hope, sir, you will write in it no more than you sincerely feel. I cannot enter into any but an honest case. Where did your boat wait?" "At the jetty here." "Very good; as you came by the window, you may as well go by it, and I will meet you a little way down the path; I may have something more to say." "Thank you, sir, from my heart," said Marston.