“Not a whit strange,” replied Sir Giles, laying down the deed and regarding his partner somewhat contemptuously.  “I waste not what I acquire.  I have passions as well as yourself, Sir Francis; but I keep them under subjection.  I drink not—­I riot not—­I shun all idle company.  I care not for outward show, or for the vanities of dress.  I have only one passion which I indulge,—­Revenge.  You are a slave to sensuality, and pamper your lusts at any cost.  Let a fair woman please your eye, and she must be bought, be the price what it may.  No court prodigal was ever more licentious or extravagant than you are.”

“Sir Giles!  Sir Giles!  I pray you, spare me.  My enemies could not report worse of me.”

“Nay, your enemies would say that your extravagance is your sole merit, and that therein you are better than I,” rejoined Sir Giles, with a sardonic laugh.  “But I rejoice to think I am free from all such weaknesses.  The veriest enchantress could not tempt me.  I am proof against all female seductions.  Think you the damsel lives who could induce me to give for her half these broad lands in Norfolk—­this ancient hall, and its wide-spread domains?  I trow not.”

“Perchance I have given too much,” cried the old usurer, eagerly; “if so, it is not too late to amend our contract.  Between us, there should be fair dealing, Sir Giles.”

“There is none other than fair dealing on my part,” replied the extortioner sternly; “and the terms of our agreement cannot be departed from.  What I have just said applies to your general mode of life; but you have better reason for your conduct in this instance than is usual with you, since you combine the gratification of revenge with the indulgence of your other passions.  You obtain a fair young bride, and at the same time deprive the person whom you hate most of all others, of the mistress of his affections.  This is as it should be.  Vengeance cannot be too dearly purchased, and the more refined the vengeance, the higher must necessarily be the price paid for it.  In no way can you so cruelly injure this detested Mounchensey, as by robbing him of his mistress.  And the blow dealt by you, shall be followed by others not less severe on my part.”

“Ay, ay, Sir Giles, you have to wipe out the outrage he inflicted upon you in the tilt-yard.  As I am a true gentleman, that was worse than the indignity I endured from him in the court-yard of the palace.  It must be confessed that the villain hath a powerful hand as well as a sharp tongue, and follows up his bitter words by bold deeds.  The stroke he dealt you with his sword was like a blow from a sledge hammer, Sir Giles.  He felled you from your horse as a butcher felleth an ox; and, in good truth, I at first thought the ox’s fate had been yours, and that you would never rise again.  Your helmet was dinted in as if by a great shot.  And for twelve hours and upwards you were senseless and speechless;—­But thanks to my care and the skill of Luke Hatton the apothecary who tended you, you have been brought round.  After such treatment, I cannot wonder that you are eager for revenge upon Sir Jocelyn.  How will you deal with him Sir Giles?  How will you deal with him?”