Mr. C. (starting up). Maria Davidson, I believe you are either a fool or insane.
(Maria sits down, and begins to cry. Mr. C. gazes at her in astonishment. A drumming is heard outside, R.)
Mr. C. (putting his hands to his head). Oh, my poor head! my poor head! Maria, take my pistol from the closet, and shoot the rascal. (She goes to the closet, gets the pistol, and fires, according to his direction.)
Mr. C. What the deuce has got into the girl! (He starts up, and goes to the window, L.,—mechanically takes up the pistol which Maria had laid down. She glides out by one door, R., and immediately a policeman enters by another, L.)
Policeman. So here you are. I’ll just slip on these bracelets, so you won’t do any more mischief.
Mr. C. (drawing back). What do you mean by insulting me in such a manner?
P. You’ve been attempting to murder a man.
Mr. C. No, I haven’t.
P. Didn’t you fire a pistol from the window just now?
Mr. M. No, I didn’t fire it.