“Shall I tell you this man’s name?” the pitiless dowager inquired.
In assent I bowed my head.
“Anthony Dare,” says she, with unction; “escaped rebel, who is to be hanged as a common malefactor.”
“Yes, aunt, Anthony Dare,” says I; “and ’tis all very true, except in the main particular. He is not to be hanged as a common malefactor.”
“Indeed,” says she. “But that is the Government’s disposition, I understand.”
“I do not deny that it is the Government’s disposition, ma’am, but ’tis not the disposition of your niece, Bab Gossiter.”
“You are the law, then, Barbara?”
“Nine-tenths of it,” says I.
“Assertion will be a proof when assumption becomes a claim,” says my sententious relative.
“Possession is allowed to be nine-tenths of it,” says I; “and certainly I have possession of this most charming prisoner.”