“Gott is dreadfully afraid of them——” “And he is set apart by the laws to see them executed on these very people,” interrupted Dunscomb, with a sneer; “to levy on their possessions, keep the peace, enforce the laws; in short, to make them _feel_, whenever it is necessary, that they are _governed_!” “Gott says ‘that the people _will_ rule.’ That’s _his_ great saying.” “Will _seem_ to rule, is true enough; but the most that the mass of any nation _can_ do, is occasionally to check the proceedings of their governors. The every-day work is most effectually done by a favoured few here, just as it is done by a favoured few everywhere else. The door, now, if you please, my good Mrs. Gott.” “Yes, sir, in one minute. Dear me! how odd that you should think so. Why, I thought that you were a democrat, Mr. Dunscomb?” “So I am, as between forms of government; but I never was fool enough to think that the people can really rule, further than by occasional checks and rebukes.” “What would Gott say to this! Why, he is so much afraid of the people, that he tells me he never does anything, without fancying some one is looking over his shoulders.” “Ay, that is a very good rule for a man who wishes to be chosen _sheriff_. To be a _bishop_, it would be better to remember the omniscient eye.” “I do declare—oh! Gott never thinks of _that_, more’s the pity,” applying the key to the lock. “When you wish to come out, ’Squire, just call at this grate”—then dropping her voice to a whisper—“try and persuade Mary Monson to show herself at one of the side grates.” But Dunscomb entered the gallery with no such intention. As he was expected, his reception was natural and easy. The prisoner was carefully though simply dressed, and she appeared all the better, most probably, for some of the practised arts of her woman. Marie Moulin, herself, kept modestly within the cell, where, indeed, she passed most of her time, leaving the now quite handsomely furnished gallery to the uses of her mistress. After the first few words of salutation, Dunscomb took the chair he was invited to occupy, a good deal at a loss how to address a woman of his companion’s mien and general air as a culprit about to be tried for her life. He first attempted words of course. “I see you have had a proper regard to your comforts in this miserable place,” he remarked. “Do not call it by so forbidding a name, Mr. Dunscomb,” was the answer, given with a sorrowful, but exceedingly winning smile—“it is _my_ place of _refuge_.” “Do you still persist in refusing to tell me against _what_, Miss Monson?” “I persist in nothing that ought not to be done, I hope. At another time I may be more communicative. But, if what Mrs. Gott tells me is correct, I need these walls to prevent my being torn to pieces by those she calls the people, outside.”