“How can you speak so coolly, with those poor people in such agony?”
“Because I am helping them—or preparing to,” said Mr Braine, cheerfully. “Then the game is not lost; be guided by me, and you shall marry Amy, and some day we will talk and chat over these troubles, which time will soften, and they will not be so horrible then.”
“But if it comes to the worst,” cried Murray. “If this wretched despot, presuming on his power, insists upon that poor girl becoming his wife— Wife? No; it is an insult to the name.”
“He will not succeed,” said Mr Braine, sternly; “even monarchs are not all-powerful. The night before the marriage, if everything else has been tried, that man will die.”
“What! be murdered?” cried Murray, in horrified tones.
“No; the cup of his iniquities will be full; he will be adjudged worthy of death; he will die, and a new rajah will reign.”
“A new rajah! Who will it be?”
“Hush! these places are very thin; our words might be heard.”
“But tell me. You can trust me.”
“Hist! some one.”