“I cannot accept your proffered aid, Sir Francis,” the young man replied, in an altered tone, and with great sternness.  “And you will understand why I cannot, when I announce myself to you as Jocelyn Mounchensey.”

It was now the knight’s turn to start, change colour, and tremble.

CHAPTER VI.

Provocation.

A momentary pause ensued, during which Mounchensey regarded the knight so fiercely, that the latter began to entertain apprehensions for his personal safety, and meditated a precipitate retreat.  Yet he did not dare to move, lest the action should bring upon him the hurt he wished to avoid.  Thus he remained, like a bird fascinated by the rattlesnake, until the young man, whose power of speech seemed taken from him by passion, went on, in a tone of deep and concentrated rage, that communicated a hissing sound to his words.

“Yes, I am Jocelyn Mounchensey,” he said, “the son of him whom your arts and those of your partner in iniquity, Sir Giles Mompesson, brought to destruction; the son of him whom you despoiled of a good name and large estates, and cast into a loathsome prison, to languish and to die:  I am the son of that murdered man.  I am he whom you have robbed of his inheritance; whose proud escutcheon you have tarnished; whose family you have reduced to beggary and utter ruin.”

“But Sir Jocelyn, my worthy friend,” the knight faltered, “have patience, I pray of you.  If you consider yourself aggrieved, I am willing to make reparation—­ample reparation.  You know what were my intentions towards you, before I had the slightest notion who you might be. (If I had but been aware of it, he thought, I would have taken care to keep at a respectful distance from him.) I will do more than I promised.  I will lend you any sums of money you may require; and on your personal security.  Your bare word shall suffice.  No bonds—­no written obligations of any kind.  Does that sound like usury?  As I am a true gentleman!  I am most unfairly judged.  I am not the extortioner men describe me.  You shall find me your friend,” he added in a low earnest tone.  “I will re-establish your fortune; give you a new title, higher and prouder than that which you have lost; and, if you will follow my counsel, you shall supplant the haughty favourite himself.  You shall stand where Buckingham now stands.  Hear reason, good Sir Jocelyn.  Hear reason, I entreat you.”

“I will hear nothing further,” Jocelyn rejoined.  “Were you to talk till Doomsday, you could not alter my feelings towards you a jot.  My chief errand in coming to London was to call you and Sir Giles Mompesson to strict account.”

“And we will answer any charges you may bring against us readily—­most readily, Sir Jocelyn.  All was done in fairness—­according to law.  The Star-Chamber will uphold us.”

“Tut! you think to terrify me with that bugbear; but I am not so easily frightened.  We have met for the first time by chance, but our next meeting shall be by appointment.”