“False or true, I am no judge, Master Cobbe. I am here to execute the King’s commands. The case is left in my hands to act as I see fit. If you prove a good subject of his Majesty, and supply him with the ordnance, well. If you refuse, you stamp yourself a rebel, and as one guilty of high treason.”
“But I do not refuse, Sir Mark; I offer to supply his Majesty.”
“You refuse the proposal of his servant.”
“Did his Majesty bid thee truck and bargain with me, making my child the price at which I should obtain this order?” said the founder, curtly.
“His Majesty bade me do what seemed the best,” said Sir Mark; “so what is it to be, Master Cobbe—Peace or war?”
“War,” cried the founder, angrily; and he brought his fist down heavily on the table.
“As you will, Master Cobbe; but I warn you of your folly. You lose heavily in wealth and liberty, and you deprive your child of her natural protector, leaving her almost entirely at my mercy.”
“No,” cried the founder, “not so. If by your lies and trickery I am snatched from her, there are two men who would take upon themselves the part of guardian. Father Brisdone would—”
“Be in prison or a fugitive,” said Sir Mark, quietly.
“Then Master Peasegood would—”