‘You turn your wife and child out of doors,’ said Nicholas; ‘and, in a fit of rage and jealousy, stab your eldest son in the library.’

‘I should have spoilt his features yesterday afternoon if I could have afforded it,’ said Newman, moving restlessly about, and shaking his fist at a portrait of Mr Canning over the mantelpiece. ‘I was very near it. I was obliged to put my hands in my pockets, and keep ’em there very tight. I shall do it some day in that little back–parlour, I know I shall. I should have done it before now, if I hadn’t been afraid of making bad worse. I shall double–lock myself in with him and have it out before I die, I’m quite certain of it.’