“Patience, sir,” cried Albert. “Why should I have any under a tyranny as unexampled as it is despicable? In plain words, sir, tell me what you mean by detaining me?”
“Young man, it is for your own good. Let me advise you now, for your own benefit. I shall send some one to you, to talk you out of your unreasonable humour.”
“I warn you, Sir Francis Hartleton,” said Albert. “I am now upon my defence, and, if you send any of your myrmidons to me, they may chance to regret coming within the reach of my arm.”
“Indeed! Now, I will wager you my head that you will be in a more complaisant humour shortly. Bring him in, and confine him in my parlour.”
Resistance against the powerful men who held him, Albert felt would be quite absurd, and merely wasting his energies to no purpose; so he suffered himself, although boiling with rage, to be led into a room on the ground floor.
“Now my young friend,” said Sir Francis, “I shall send some one to you to tame your proud spirit.”
“I defy your utmost malice,” cried Albert.
“Oh!—Let him rave—let him rave. Shut him in,” said Sir Francis calmly.
The moment the door was closed upon the prisoner, he drew from his breast the confession of Gray, and was upon the point of opening it, when his high sense of honour forbade him breaking the seal of a communication addressed to another, and he dropped it on the floor, as he said,—
“No, no! Although this magistrate, from some inexplicable cause, is my enemy, I must not forget that I am a gentleman.”