"Then you just write as I bid you," said Brisket.
"Bid me, sir!"
"Well,—ask you; if that will make it easier."
"And what if I don't?"
"Why, I shall drop into you. That's all about it. There's the pen, ink, and paper; you'd better do it."
Not at first did Robinson write those fatal words by which he gave up all his right to her he loved; but before that interview was ended the words were written. "What matters it?" he said, at last, just as Brisket had actually risen from his seat to put his vile threat into execution. "Has not she renounced me?"
"Yes," said Brisket, "she has done that certainly."
"Had she been true to me," continued Robinson, "to do her a pleasure I would have stood up before you till you had beaten me into the likeness of one of your own carcases."
"That's what I should have done, too."
"But now;—why should I suffer now?"