hurt. If the latter—well! you know Lest what is likely to happen then."
Jonas left the window, and walked up close to him. He did not look him in the face; it was not his habit to do that; but he kept his eyes towards him—on his breast, or thereabouts—and was at great pains to speak slowly and distinctly, in reply. Just as a man in a state of conscious drunkenness might be.
"Lying is of no use, now," he said. "I did think of getting away this morning, and making better terms with you from a distance."
"To be sure! To be sure!" replied Montague. "Nothing more natural. I foresaw that, and provided against it. But I am afraid I am interrupting you."
"How the devil," pursued Jonas, with a still greater effort, "you made choice of your messenger, and where you found him, I 'll not ask you. I owed him one good turn before to-day. If you are so careless of men in general, as you said you were just now, you are quite indifferent to what becomes of such a crop-tailed cur as that, and will leave me to settle my account with him in my own manner."
If he had raised his eyes to his companion's face, he would have seen that Montague was evidently unable to comprehend his meaning. But continuing to stand before him, with his furtive gaze directed as before, and pausing here, only to moisten his dry lips with his tongue, the fact was lost upon him. It might have struck a close observer that this fixed and steady glance of Jonas's was a part of the alteration which had taken place in his demeanour. He kept it rivetted on one spot, with which his thoughts had manifestly nothing to do; like as a juggler walking on a cord or wire to any dangerous end, holds some object in his sight to steady him, and never wanders from it, lest he trip.
Montague was quick in his rejoinder, though he made it at a venture. There was no difference of opinion between him and his friend on that point. Not the least.
"Your great discovery," Jonas proceeded, with a savage sneer that got the better of him for the moment, "may be true, and may be false. Whichever it is, I dare say I'm no worse than other men."
"Not a bit," said Tigg. "Not a bit. We 're all alike—or nearly so."
"I want to know this," Jonas went on to say; "is it your own? You 'll not wonder at my asking the question."
"My own!" repeated Montague.
"Aye!" returned the other, gruffly. "Is it known to anybody else? Come! Don't waver about that."
"No!" said Montague, without the smallest hesitation. "What would it be worth, do you think, unless I had the keeping of it?"
Now, for the first time, Jonas looked at him. After a pause, he put out his hand, and said, with a laugh:
"Come! make things easy to me, and I'm yours. I don't know that I may not be better off here, after all, than if I had gone away this morning. But here I am, and here I'll stay now. Take your oath!"
He cleared his throat, for he was speaking hoarsely, and said in a lighter tone:
"Shall I go to Pecksniff? When? Say when!"
