“What pluck! I call that pluck.”
“It's more like madness than real courage,” said the other, peevishly; and for some minutes they walked on side by side without a word.
“If I remember rightly,” said Stocmar, “she was not put on her trial?”
“No; there was a great discussion about it, and many blamed the Crown lawyers for not including her; but, in truth, there was not a shadow of evidence to be brought against her. His treatment of her might have suggested the possibility of any vengeance.”
“Was it so cruel?”
“Cruel is no word for it. There was not an insult nor an outrage spared her. She passed one night in the deep snow in the garden, and was carried senseless into the house at morning, and only rallied after days of treatment. He fired at her another time.”
“Shot her!”
“Yes, shot her through the shoulder,—sent the bullet through here,—because she would not write to Ogden a begging letter, entreating him to assist her with a couple of hundred pounds.”
“Oh, that was too gross!” exclaimed Stocmar.
“He told her, 'You 've cost me fifteen hundred in damages, and you may tell Ogden he shall have you back again for fifty.'”