You may know that he is not the man to
forgive you for it. So, Waverton. You have suborned murder and furnished
evidence to hang you for it. You must meddle with Colonel Boyce to make
sure that his Whiggish party who hold the government shall not spare you.
You set every Jacobite against you when you struck at Harry. However
things go now there'll be those in power urgent to hang you. Go home and
wait till the runners take you off to Newgate. March!"
Mr. O'Connor opened the door with alacrity.
"I am not afraid of you," Waverton cried. "And you, madame, you, the
widow--be sure if I am attacked, your loose treachery shall not win you
off. What I have done--you know well it was done for you and in commerce
with you." Mr. O'Connor took him by the arm. "Don't presume to touch me!"
he called out, trembling with rage. Mr. O'Connor propelled him out.
"I believe Patrick will cut the coat off his back," said McBean pensively
and then laughed a little. He brushed his hand over his face and stood up
and marched on Alison. "Now for you," he said. "I beg leave of the
company." He made them a bow and waved them out of the room.
"Sir, Mr. Boyce?" Mrs. Weston said faintly.
"Madame, Mr. Boyce is not dead. He lies wounded. I make no apology,
_pardieu_! It is imperative to frighten the Waverton out of the
country--since he would not stand up to be killed.
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