“No, you don’t,” she repeated, in the same tone, “who is to do it? Charlie’s gone, and vilely as he used me, he never would have done that; and Alice won’t, she told you so. I’m better informed, I believe, than you fancied. So don’t you suppose I am at all anxious.”
“I wanted to take you off in a coach, and you won’t let me,” said he.
“Thanks, simple Harry,” she sneered.
“And I’m coming this day week, and then it will be within ten days o’ the ’sizes.”
“And I’ll be discharged; and I’ll bring separate actions against every soul that had a hand in putting me here. Ask my attorney,” said the lady, with a pale angry simper.
“And Judge Risk is coming down, and you’d better ask your attorney, as you talk of him, whether he’s a hangin’ judge or no.”
“Cunning beast! all won’t do,” she said, sarcastically.
“Well, Bertha, this day week I’ll be here, and this day week will be your last chance, for things will begin that day, and no one can stop them.”
“Lord have mercy upon us!” she whined, with an ugly mockery and an upturning of her sightless eyes.
“You may be saying something like that in the press-room yet, if you won’t take the trouble to think in earnest before it’s too late. Now, listen, once for all, for it’s the last words I’ll say. That’s all true you say: Charlie’s gone, and if he was here, instead of in kingdom come, ’twould ’a been all one, for he wouldn’t never ’a moved a hand in the matter, nor ’a suffered it; and as for Alice, she won’t neither. But if you don’t sign that paper by this day week, and make no bones about it”—here he swore a hard oath—“blind as you be, I’ll open your eyes—and I’ll prosecute the indictment myself. Good-by, ma’am, and think between this and then.”