“I thought it possible,” said Mr. Sharp, mistaking her tone for one of assent. “Well, madam, you must not allow yourself to be too much cast down. I can easily conceive that your anxiety is aroused in your friend’s behalf, but if one has ingenuity there are always methods of evading the law, and if you will confide the case to me, I hope to succeed in clearing your friend.”
“That is just what I do not wish.”
“Pardon me,” said the lawyer, in surprise. “I do not think I understand you.”
“You do not. In the first place, it is not a friend in whose welfare I am interested.”
“A relation?” suggested Mr. Sharp, still in the dark.
“He is nothing to me,—nothing, do you hear?” exclaimed Margaret, with fierce emphasis. “At least, not now. What he has been it is needless for you to know, or me to remember. Enough, that I have reason to hate him, that I wish to be revenged upon him, and that I ask you to lend me your assistance.”
“Explain the case, madam, if you please. I will give you my best attention.”
“I have sworn to be revenged upon him, and I will,” said Margaret, hoarsely, rather to herself than to the lawyer. “There shall be no flinching now.”
She pressed her hand upon her breast, as if to still forcibly suppress any remonstrance that might find a place there.
“This man,” she continued, in a hurried tone, “has committed forgery. As yet, it is undiscovered. I wish him brought to justice.”