"I have promised him a hundred crowns; I do not care if I make it two hundred," answered the young man.
"Sir," said Knight, "I thank you. May I leave the gentleman here whilst I see to the cleaning of that dog's kennel?"
The governor nodded.
Worn out, the colonel's head fell on his breast; he was in a sort of coma.
"I'll write a letter," said the governor, "which you may take to the Secretary of State, or, if you prefer it, to the king himself. If you can get an audience, that might be better. If your father is really to be prosecuted, he must be removed from this prison to Aldersgate."
"I do not think he will be removed anywhere except fro his last resting-place," said Reginald.
"Tut, tut! men do not die so easily," said the governor. "That is our strong point. I will represent that if the colonel is left here he will certainly die, and then who would pay the fine, which will be the least thing imposed upon him? The king's exchequer, they say, is empty, and there is nothing to be got out of a dead dog; therefore, you see, it is to their interest to keep him alive. Rest assured they will nurse him with the utmost tenderness, so that, if he be hanged, he may be hanged alive, and his lands forfeited to the crown. If he dies now, you will inherit; you have committed no misdemeanour. On the contrary, you are the king's man, and they cannot, in all decency, prosecute you. Do you understand?"
"Yes, I understand," said Reginald, with evident disgust. "Write the letter for me, sir, and I will carry it."
The governor scrawled a few lines, folded it, and gave it to Reginald.
"I think you will find that serve your purpose," he said.