“Now, governor, you’d better take it quietly!” said Marshall, while Monk struggled, and gnashed his teeth in impotent rage. “You’re a smart one, you are, but the game’s up at last.”
Monk recovered himself and laughed fiercely.
“Let me go! Of what do you accuse me? It was murder just now, but since the murdered person is alive (curse him!) I should like to know on what charge you arrest me.”
“Oh, there’s no difficulty about that!” said Brinkley, looking at him superciliously. “In the first place, you have by fraud and perjury possessed yourself of what never legally belonged to you. In the second place, you attempted murder, at any rate. But upon my life, I don’t think you are worth prosecuting. I think, Mr. Marshall, you might let him go.”
“It’s letting a mad dog loose, sir,” replied Marshall. “He’ll hurt somebody.”
“What do you say, Miss Monk?” said Brinkley. “This amiable-looking person is your father’s cousin. Shall I release your bridegroom, in order that you may go with him to the altar of Hymen and complete the ceremony?”
“I hate him,” cried Matt; “I should like to drown him in the sea.”
Brinkley laughed.
“Your sentiments are natural, but unchristian. And the gentle Jones, now, who is looking at you so affectionately, what would you do with him? Drown him in the sea too?”
“No, no, Matt,” interposed William Jones, abjectly; “speak up for me, Matt. I ha’ been father to you all these years.” Matt seemed perplexed what to say. So Brinkley again took up the conversation.