white satin cravat. Bearing and countenance alike were those of a conscious hero rather than of a criminal self-convicted and self-confessed.
“You let an innocent man suffer for your crime!” said Nicholas Harding, with a shiver.
“Did I? And do you suppose I would have let him hang? I was under the impression that I saved his neck. I would have saved it with my own had that been necessary. Only yesterday I risked my life to save his. Who took him away from the iron-gang? I had to commit a forgery and risk my liberty to do it, by God! Who would have treated him like a brother from that day? It was his own doing, mark you, that made him a menial! And he would hang me, would he, for ridding the earth of the crying rascal who picked his own pocket like a common thief? He shakes his head, but I know him better. And that’s his gratitude—after all I’ve done! Something like yours, you Harding! I save your daughter from a poisonous scoundrel, so I am not to marry her for my pains. A just pair—convict bushranger and fraudulent M.P.!—a precious pair to join forces against an honest man! Do your worst: I shall marry her against you both—I shal—I shall—I shall!”
Tom knew this voice: he wondered he had not heard the madness in it from the first.
“Never!” cried Harding. “I would rather see her in her coffin.”
“You soon will if you prevent it!”
“You would murder her too? I quite believe it—if you got the chance!”
“You fool!” said Daintree, with a superior sneer. “Can’t you see that it would kill her not to marry me?”
