shall get at the throat of that old villain, and strangle him.”
Cornelius, at these words, stopped for a moment, biting his lips, and staring out before him; then, eagerly returning to an idea which seemed to possess a strange fascination for him, he continued,—
“Well, and once having strangled him, why should not I take his keys from him; why not go down the stairs as if I had done the most virtuous action; why not go and fetch Rosa from her room; why not tell her all, and jump from her window into the Waal? I am expert enough as a swimmer to save both of us. Rosa! but, oh, Heavens, Gryphius is her father. Whatever may be her affection for me, she will never approve of my having strangled her father, brutal and malicious as he has been. It will not do, Cornelius, my fine fellow,—it is a bad plan. But, then, what is to become of me, and how shall I find Rosa again?”
Such were the cogitations of Cornelius three days after the sad scene of separation from Rosa, at the moment when we find him standing at the window.
And at that very moment Gryphus entered.
He held in his hand a huge stick; his eyes glistening with spiteful thoughts, a malignant smile played round his lips, and the whole of his carriage, and even all his movements, betokened bad and malicious intentions.
Cornelius heard him enter, and guessed that it was he, but did not turn round, as he knew well that Rosa was not coming after him.
There is nothing more galling to angry people than the coolness of those on whom they wish to vent their spleen.
The expense being once incurred, one does not like to lose it; one’s passion is roused, and one’s blood boiling,
