The calmness of Darrell, so supremely displayed in this irony, began to
tell upon the ruffian--the magnetism of the great man's eye and voice,
and steadfast courage, gradually gaining power over the wild, inferior
animal. Trying to recover his constitutional audacity, Jasper said, with
a tone of the old rollicking voice: "Well, Mr. Darrell, it is all one to
me how I wring from you, in your own house, what you refused me when I
was a suppliant on the road. Fair means are pleasanter than foul. I am
a gentleman--the grandson of Sir Julian Losely, of Losely Hall; I am your
son-in-law; and I am starving. This must not be; write me a cheque."

Darrell dipped his pen in the ink, and drew the paper towards him.

"Oho! you don't fear me, eh? This is not done from fear, mind--all out
of pure love and compassion, my kind father-in-law. You will write me a
cheque for five thousand pounds--come, I am moderate--your life is worth
a precious deal more than that. Hand me the cheque--I will trust to your
honour to give me no trouble in cashing it, and bid you good-night-my
father-in-law."

As Losely ceased with a mocking laugh, Darrell sprang up quickly, threw
open the small casement which was within his reach, and flung from it the
paper on which he had been writing, and which he wrapt round the heavy
armorial seal that lay on the table.

Losely bounded towards him. "What means that? What have you done?"

"Saved your life and mine, Jasper Losely," said Darrell, solemnly, and
catching the arm that was raised against him. "We are now upon equal
terms."