‘He has spoken, Sir,’ replied Lowe, whose angry passions were roused by the insults of Dangerfield, and who had, for the moment, lost his customary caution.

‘Ha!’ cried Dangerfield, with a sort of gasp, and a violent smirk, the joyousness of which was, however, counteracted by a lurid scowl and a wonderful livid glare in his wild eyes; ’ha! he has?  Bravo, Sir, bravissimo!’ and he smirked wider and wider, and beat his uninjured hand upon the table, like a man applauding the denouement of a play.  ’Well, Sir; and notwithstanding his declaration, you arrest me upon the monstrous assertion of a crazy clerk, you consummate blockhead!’

’’Twon’t do, Sir, you sha’n’t sting me by insult into passion; nor frighten me by big words and big looks into hesitation.  My duty’s clear, and be the consequences what they may, I’ll carry the matter through.’

‘Frighten you! ha, ha, ha!’ and Dangerfield glared at his bloody shirt-sleeve, and laughed a chilly sneer; ’no, Sir, but I’ll punish you, with Doctor Sturk’s declaration against the babble of poor Zekiel Irons.  I’ll quickly close your mouth.’

’Sir, I never made it a practice yet to hide evidence from a prisoner.  Why should I desire to put you out of the world, if you’re innocent?  Doctor Sturk, Sir, has denounced you distinctly upon oath.  Charles Archer, going by the name of Paul Dangerfield, and residing in this house, called the “Brass Castle,” as the person who attempted to murder him in the Butcher’s Wood.’

’What, Sir?  Doctor Sturk denounce me!  Fore heaven, Sir—­it seems to me you’ve all lost your wits.  Doctor Sturk!—?  Doctor Sturk charge me with having assaulted him! why—­curse it, Sir—­it can’t possibly be—­you can’t believe it; and, if he said it, the man’s raving still.’

‘He has said it, Sir.’

’Then, Sir, in the devil’s name, didn’t it strike you as going rather fast to shoot me on my own hearth-stone—­me, knowing all you do about me—­with no better warrant than the talk of a man with a shattered brain, awakening from a lethargy of months?  Sir, though the laws afford no punishment exemplary enough for such atrocious precipitation, I promise you I’ll exact the last penalty they provide; and now, Sir, take me where you will; I can’t resist.  Having shot me, do what you may to interrupt my business; to lose my papers and accounts; to prevent my recovery, and to blast my reputation—­Sir, I shall have compensation for all.’

So saying, Dangerfield, with his left hand, clapt his cocked hat on, and with a ghastly smile nodded a farewell to Mrs. Jukes, who, sobbing plentifully, had placed his white surtout, cloakwise over his shoulders, buttoning it about his throat.  The hall-door stood open; the candles flared in the night air, and with the jaunty, resolute step of a man marching to victory and revenge, he walked out, and lightly mounted to his place.  She saw the constables get in, and one glimpse more of the white grim face she knew so well, the defiant smirk, the blood-stained shirt-sleeve, and the coach-door shut.  At the crack of the whip and the driver’s voice, the horses scrambled into motion, the wheels revolved, and the master of the Brass Castle and the equipage glided away like a magic lantern group, from before the eyes and the candle of the weeping Mrs. Jukes.