"You won't," cried Burleigh, starting up in a frenzy of rage.

"I won't," said Fletcher. "You can choose the alternative: disgrace and
penal servitude. Don't stand over me; you won't frighten me, I can
assure you. Sit down."

"You have arranged so many things in your kindness," said Burleigh,
slowly, resuming his seat again, "have you arranged how I am to live?"

"You have two strong hands, and health," replied Fletcher. "I will give
you the two hundred pounds I mentioned, and after that you must look out
for yourself. You can take it now."

He took a leather case from his breast pocket, and drew out a roll of
notes. Burleigh, watching him calmly, stretched out his hand and took
them from the table. Then he gave way to a sudden access of rage, and
crumpling them in his hand, threw them into a corner of the room.
Fletcher smoked on.

"Mrs. Marl is out?" said Burleigh, suddenly.

Fletcher nodded.

"She will be away the night," he said, slowly; "and Jane too; they have
gone together somewhere, but they will be back at half-past eight in the
morning."

"You are going to let me have one more breakfast in the old place, then,"
said Burleigh. "Half-past eight, half-past----"