[_BLORE goes into the Library, turns out the lamp there, and disappears._
What dreadful wave threatens to engulf the Deanery? What has come to us in a few fatal hours? A horse of sporting tendencies contaminating my stables, his equally vicious owner nestling in the nursery, and my own widowed sister, in all probability, smoking a cigarette at her bedroom window with her feet on the window-ledge! [_Listening._] What's that? [_He peers through the window curtains._] I thought I heard footsteps in the garden. I can see nothing--only the old spire standing out against the threatening sky. [_Leaving the window shudderingly._] The Spire! My principal creditor! My principal creditor, the most conspicuous object in the city!
_BLORE re-enters with his lantern, carrying some bank-notes in his hand._
[_Laying the notes on the table._] I found these, sir, on your dressing-table--they're bank-notes, sir.
[_Taking the notes._] Thank you. I placed them there to be sent to the Bank to-morrow. [_Counting the notes._] Ten--ten--twenty--five--five, fifty. Fifty pounds! The very sum Georgiana urged me to--oh! [_To BLORE, waving him away._] Leave me--go to bed--go to bed--go to bed! [_BLORE is going._] Blore!
What made you tempt me with these at such a moment?
Temp' you, sir! The window was hopen, and I feared they might blow away.
[_Catching him by the coat collar._] Man, what were you doing at St. Marvells Races last summer?
[_With a cry, falling on his knees._] Oh, sir! Oh, sir! I knew that 'igh-sperited lady would bring grief and sorrow to the peaceful, 'appy Deanery! Oh, sir, I _'ave_ done a little on my hown account from time to time on the 'ill, halso hon commission for the kitchen!
Oh, sir, you are a old gentleman--turn a charitable 'art to the Races! It's a wicious institution what spends more ready money in St. Marvells than us good people do in a year.
Get up, Blore--get up. Oh, Edward Blore, Edward Blore, what weak creatures we are!
We are, sir--we are--'specially when we've got a tip, sir. Think of the temptation of a tip, sir.
I confess heverything, sir. Bonny Betsy's bound for to win the 'andicap.
I know better; she can never get down the hill with those legs of hers.
Dandy Dick! That old bit of ma'ogany, sir. They're layin' ten to one against him.