for them!--four thousand--five
thousand--if you want more you can have it. Drive the best bargain you
can!" sneered Melrose, trying to smile.

"I refuse your offer--your very generous offer--with great regret--but I
refuse!" Faversham had risen to his feet.

"And your reason?--for a behaviour so--so vilely ungrateful!"

"Simply, that the gems were left to me--by an uncle I loved--who was a
second father to me--who asked me not to sell them. I have warned you not
once, or twice, that I should never sell them."

"No! You expected both to get hold of my property--and to keep your own!"

"Insult me as you like," said Faversham, quietly. "I probably deserve it.
But you will not alter my determination."

He stood leaning on the back of a chair, looking down on Melrose. Some
bondage had broken in his soul! A tide of some beneficent force seemed to
be flooding its dry wastes.

Melrose paused. In the silence each measured the other. Then Melrose said
in a voice which had grown husky:

"So--the first return you are asked to make, for all that has been
lavished upon you, you meet with--this refusal. That throws a new light
upon your character. I never proposed to leave my fortune to an
adventurer! I proposed to leave it to a gentleman, capable of
understanding an obligation. We have mistaken each other--and our
arrangement--drops. Unless you consent to the very small request--the
very advantageous proposal rather--which I have just made you--you will
leave this room--as penniless--except for any savings you may have made
out of your preposterous salary--as penniless--as you came into it!"

Faversham raised himself. He drew a long breath, as of a man delivered.

"Do what you like, Mr. Melrose. There was a time when it seemed as if
our cooperation might have been of service to both. But some devil in
you--and a greedy mind in me--the temptation of your money--oh, I
confess it, frankly--have ruined our partnership--and indeed--much
else! I resume my freedom--I leave your house to-morrow. And now,
please--return me my gems!"

He peremptorily held out his hand. Melrose glared upon him. Then slowly
the old man reopened the little drawer at his elbow, took thence the
shagreen case, and pushed it toward Faversham.

Faversham replaced it in his breast pocket.

"Thank you. Now, Mr. Melrose, I should advise you to go to bed. Your
health is not strong enough to stand these disputes. Shall I call Dixon?
As soon as possible my ac