Then Sylvester's jealousy vanished, and he remembered the wrong that had been done.
“My father did all that a human soul could do to make atonement,” said he.
“And mine did everything in his power to prevent it. Will you sit down?”
Roderick motioned Sylvester to a chair, and sat down near him.
“I don't pretend to love my father. I never had reason to. I am a bad lot, I know, but compared to him, I am the incarnation of virtue. When I forged the cheque, I was given to understand for the first time that my father had some mysterious hold over Mr. Lanyon. But, as God hears me, I never dreamed until last night of the true nature of the case. Do you believe me?”
“Thank you,” returned Roderick; “now I know where I am.”
He lit a cigarette, having offered his case to Sylvester, who declined.
“It is now in my power,” said he, after enjoying the first two fragrant whiffs, “to restore the money I stole from you. You observe I have the grace to use the naked expression. Will you accept it?”
“Certainly,” said Sylvester. “It is but just.”
“And having heard my father's story last night, do you think I'll touch a penny of your father's money?” he cried, bringing his hand with a thump on the round centre-table. “My God! I would sooner die.”
“The balance above the three thousand is yours,” said Sylvester. “I cannot accept a gift from you.”
Roderick puffed violently at his cigarette, threw it away, and rose to his feet excitedly.
“I can't touch it. I have been a damned villain, I know. I was hard put to it, and I worked upon a girl's emotions so that I could marry her for her money. Then, by Heaven, I began to love her, finished by loving her madly, with an insensate passion. To get her, I committed a cowardly crime. I broke my parole, as it were, with you. I deserve every epithet of dishonour as regards that which you like to heap upon me, but to carry on this horrible, hideous blackmail--by God, I can't do it. Last night has turned me into a moral man. I'll forswear sack and live cleanly for the rest of my life. I could vomit with disgust. It is _écourant_,--makes one's heart retch! Do you know what I've found out? You asked me once whether my father didn't make me an allowance. That put me on the track last night. I cross-questioned, found out that for years and years Mr. Lanyon, besides submitting to my fathers extortion, had given him £400 a year to be handed to me as an allowance; and I've never in my life received a penny of it, so help me God, never! Your father has made atonement, every atonement. I learn that he has been sucked dry, and that there is nothing left for you. It is I who now must make atonement for my father. Could blackmail be more abject than his? Consider for one ghastly moment the nature of it. In the name of charity, for the sake of what is left of my manhood, take back all this money.”