"A meagre purse for so famous a judge," the man said, weighing it in his
hand; "but your money is a small matter. I have a bigger score to settle
than that. Out with you!" and the man flung open the coach door.
Marriott shrank farther back until he appeared a very small and mean man
in the corner of the coach. He tried to speak, but his words were
inarticulate, and Barbara could feel him trembling violently.
"Get out, or--"
"Surely, sir, you would not kill him?" and Barbara stretched out an arm
to protect him.
"Do you plead for him, mistress? He is lucky to have such an advocate.
Get out, judge. For the sake of those bright eyes beside you, you may
keep your life, but you shall do penance for your sins. Get out, I say."
Very reluctantly Marriott crept from the carriage.
"You have all my money," he whimpered.
"Down on your knees, then, and ask pardon for passing judgment on a
better man than yourself. Down! Quickly, or this pistol of mine may
forget that I have made a promise."
Marriott sank upon his knees in a place where the road was very muddy.
"The man I sent to Tyburn--say it after me."
"The man I sent to Tyburn," repeated Marriott.
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