“As for being just, Mr Allcraft,” replied Bellamy composedly, “the less we speak about that matter the better.  Had justice been ever taken into account, you and I would, in all probability, not have met on the present business.  I cannot help saying, that, when you are ready to justify to me your conduct in respect of your late father’s liabilities, I shall be more disposed to listen to any thing you may have to urge in reason touching the produce of this estate.  Until that time, I am an unmoved man.  You conceive me?”

“Yes,” said Michael, changing colour, “I see—­I perceive your drift—­I am aware—­Mr Bellamy,” continued the unhappy speaker, stammering until he almost burst with rage.  “You are a villain!  You have heard of my misfortunes, and you take a mean advantage of your knowledge to crush and kill me.  You are a villain and I defy you!”

Mr Bellamy moved leisurely to the fire-place, and rang the bell.  The stout gentleman in plush walked in, and the landed proprietor pointed to the door.

“For Mr Allcraft, William,” said the squire.

“Very well!” said Michael, white with agitation; “Very well!  As sure as you are a living man, your ruin shall be coincident with mine.  Not a step shall I fall, down which you shall not follow and be dragged yourself.  You shall not be spared one pang.  I warn you of your fate, and it shall come sooner than you look for it.”

“Pooh, pooh; you have been drinking, Mr. Allcraft.”

“You lie, sir, as you have lied for months and years—­lived upon lies, and”—­

“You need not say another word.  You shall finish your sentence, sir, elsewhere.  Begone!  William, show Mr. Allcraft to the door.”

William pretended to look very absent again, and bowed.  Michael stared at him for a second or two, as if confounded, and then, like a madman, rushed from the room and house.

CHAPTER VI.

THE CRASH.

The plans and objects of Mr Walter Bellamy were best known to himself.  Whatever they might be, he diverged from them for a few hours in order to give his miserable partner the opportunity he had promised him, of completing that very inauspicious sentence—­the last which he had uttered in Mr. Bellamy’s house previously to his abrupt departure.  Michael had not been in the banking-house an hour after his return from the Hall before he was visited by a business-like gentleman, who introduced himself as the particular friend of Mr. Bellamy, on whose particular business he professed to come.  Allcraft, with his brain on fire, received the visit of this man with secret glee.  All the way home he had prayed that Bellamy might prove as good as his word, and not fail to demand immediate satisfaction.  He longed for death with a full and yearning desire, and he could kiss the hand that would be merciful and give the fatal blow.  A suicide at heart, it was something to escape the