“Yes, at our mercy,” said Lady Marvlynn, turning towards her female companion and regarding her with an enquiring look. “Poor wretch, he is at our mercy, and is, moreover, in a sorry plight.”
“I don’t know you, madam,” observed Peace, “but I think if I am to judge from appearances, that you are kind and tender-hearted. The other lady I know perfectly well, and she owes me a deep debt of gratitude, and ought not to upbraid me.”
“She does not do so,” returned Lady Marvlynn.
“She does not? Well perhaps I am mistaken. But you will admit that it is hard to be treated in this merciless cruel way. Let Aveline Gatliffe speak for herself.”
“She is no longer Mrs. Gatliffe but a lady of title.”
“I know that, and who caused her to be recognised as a lady of title? People in this world soon forget past favours.”
“I do not, sir,” cried Lady Batershall, with something approaching to hauteur in her manner, “be less personal in your observations. I find you here a criminal, a thief, an outcast, but at the same time I am ready and willing to render you whatever service lies in my power. Gracious heaven, how terrible is all this! Tell me what you desire me to do.”
“I want to be free. If I am given into custody, I am a ruined man, but if you let me free——”
“Well, what then? Will you promise me to abandon your present course? Oh! for mercy’s sake tell me that you will reform and lead a new life.”
“I will—I promise,” cried Peace, in a hypocritical whining tone, “I hereby solemnly swear——”