The man was in a violent state of agitation. His limbs were trembling, his features were convulsed with passion, and he gazed upon Mr. Manners without recognizing him. "I have come," said Mr. Manners, "in accordance with my promise--" "What promise?" cried Mr. Parkinson. "I want my daughter--my daughter!" "It is about her I have come," said Mr. Manners, in great wonder. "What of her?" cried Mr. Parkinson. "You have come about her? Well, where is she--where is she? But let her be careful, or I may be tempted to lay her dead at my feet!" "I do not understand you. Do you not remember what you and I said to each other last night? I said I would see you righted. I said I would bring the man whom you accused." "I remember, I remember," interrupted Mr. Parkinson, in a voice harsh with passion. "You made fair promises, as others have made before you! But what does it matter now? My daughter is gone--gone! Run away in the night, like a thief! She may be in the river. Better for her, a great deal better for her! Stop! Who are you?" He advanced to Mark Inglefield, and, laying his trembling hands upon him, peered into his face. "I know you, you black-hearted scoundrel! You are the man whose picture I found in my daughter's box. Give me my daughter--give me my Mary!" Mark Inglefield shook him off, but with difficulty, and the man stood glaring at him. Already a crowd had gathered around them; the words, "black-hearted scoundrel," caused them to cast angry glances at Mark Inglefield. Mr. Manners looked in astonishment at one and another, utterly unable to comprehend the situation. "The man is mad," said Mark Inglefield. "Yes, I am mad," cried Mr. Parkinson, striving to escape from those who held him back from springing upon Mark Inglefield, "and therefore dangerous. What! Is a man's home to be broken up, is he to be robbed of his only child and disgraced, and is he to stand idly by when the scoundrel is before him who has worked this ruin upon him? As Heaven is my judge, I will have my revenge!" "Come, come," said a working-man, "this violence will do no good, Parkinson. Be reasonable." "If violence will do no good," retorted Mr. Parkinson, "still struggling, what will?" "The truth," replied the working-man who had interposed. "Ah, yes, the truth," said Mr. Parkinson; "and when that is told, let us have justice!" "Spoken like a man," murmured some in the crowd. "But what kind of justice?" demanded Mr. Parkinson. "A cold-blooded law court, with cold-blooded lawyers arguing this way and that, while those who have been brought to ruin and shame sit down with their wasted lives before them? No--not that kind of justice for me! I will have the life of the man who has cast this upon me! And that"--pointing with furious hand towards Mark Inglefield--"that is the monster I will have my justice upon, without appeal to lawyers!"