'Too true. You are not sober, Mr. Neville.'

'I am afraid I am not, sir, though I can satisfy you at another
time that I have had a very little indeed to drink, and that it
overcame me in the strangest and most sudden manner.'

'Mr. Neville, Mr. Neville,' says the Minor Canon, shaking his head
with a sorrowful smile; 'I have heard that said before.'

'I think--my mind is much confused, but I think--it is equally true
of Mr. Jasper's nephew, sir.'

'Very likely,' is the dry rejoinder.

'We quarrelled, sir. He insulted me most grossly. He had heated
that tigerish blood I told you of to-day, before then.'

'Mr. Neville,' rejoins the Minor Canon, mildly, but firmly: 'I
request you not to speak to me with that clenched right hand.
Unclench it, if you please.'

'He goaded me, sir,' pursues the young man, instantly obeying,
'beyond my power of endurance. I cannot say whether or no he meant
it at first, but he did it. He certainly meant it at last. In
short, sir,' with an irrepressible outburst, 'in the passion into
which he lashed me, I would have cut him down if I could, and I
tried to do it.'

'You have clenched that hand again,' is Mr. Crisparkle's quiet
commentary.