Cruikshank, George, 1792-1878; Illustration of books -- Great Britain -- 19th century; Watercolor painting, British
‘How dare you urge me to it, young man?’ replied Mr. Brownlow,
confronting him with a steady look. ‘Are you mad enough to leave
this house? Unhand him. There, sir. You are free to go, and we to
follow. But I warn you, by all I hold most solemn and most sacred,
that instant will have you apprehended on a charge of fraud and
robbery. I am resolute and immoveable. If you are determined to be
the same, your blood be upon your own head!’
‘By what authority am I kidnapped in the street, and brought here by
these dogs?’ asked Monks, looking from one to the other of the men
who stood beside him.
‘By mine,’ replied Mr. Brownlow. ‘Those persons are indemnified by
me. If you complain of being deprived of your liberty--you had power
and opportunity to retrieve it as you came along, but you deemed
it advisable to remain quiet--I say again, throw yourself for
protection on the law. I will appeal to the law too; but when you
have gone too far to recede, do not sue to me for leniency, when the
power will have passed into other hands; and do not say I plunged
you down the gulf into which you rushed, yourself.’
Monks was plainly disconcerted, and alarmed besides. He hesitated.
‘You will decide quickly,’ said Mr. Brownlow, with perfect firmness
and composure. ‘If you wish me to prefer my charges publicly, and
consign you to a punishment the extent of which, although I can,
with a shudder, foresee, I cannot control, once more, I say, for
you know the way. If not, and you appeal to my forbearance, and the
mercy of those you have deeply injured, seat yourself, without a
word, in that chair. It has waited for you two whole days.’
Monks muttered some unintelligible words, but wavered still.
‘You will be prompt,’ said Mr. Brownlow. ‘A word from me, and the
alternative has gone for ever.’
Still the man hesitated.
‘I have not the inclination to parley,’ said Mr. Brownlow, ‘and, as
I advocate the dearest interests of others, I have not the right.’
‘Is there--’ demanded Monks with a faltering tongue,--‘is there--no
middle course?’
‘None.’
Monks looked at the old gentleman, with an anxious eye; but, reading
in his countenance nothing but severity and determination, walked
into the room, and, shrugging his shoulders, sat down.
‘Lock the door on the outside,’ said Mr. Brownlow to the attendants,
‘and come when I ring.’
The men obeyed, and the two were left alone together.
‘This is pretty treatment, sir,’ said Monks, throwing down his hat
and cloak, ‘from my father’s oldest friend.’
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
Reviews
Reviews
No reviews yet
Be the first to share your thoughts on this work.
Elsewhere in the archive
Join the Discussion
Join the discussion
Sign in to leave a comment or review.
Sign InorCreate an account