"O, my good heaven!" exclaimed poor Feltram at last. "I'm very ill."

"So you are, of course. It takes a stiff emetic to get all that money
off a fellow's stomach; and it's like parting with a tooth to give up a
bank-note. Of course you're ill, but that's no sign of innocence, and
I'm no fool. You had better give the thing up quietly."

"May my Maker strike me----"

"So He will, you d----d rascal, if there's justice in heaven, unless you
produce the money. I don't want to hang you. I'm willing to let you off
if you'll let me, but I'm cursed if I let my note off along with you;
and unless you give it up forthwith, I'll get a warrant and have you
searched, pockets, bag, and baggage."

"Lord! am I awake?" exclaimed Philip Feltram.

"Wide awake, and so am I," replied Sir Bale. "You don't happen to have
got it about you?"

"God forbid, sir! O, Sir--O, Sir Bale--why, Bale, _Bale_, it's
impossible! You _can't_ believe it. When did I ever wrong you? You know
me since I was not higher than the table, and--and----"

He burst into tears.

"Stop your snivelling, sir, and give up the note. You know devilish well
I can't spare it; and I won't spare you if you put me to it. I've said
my say."