Identifier: libraryoffiction02dick (find matches)
Title: The Library of fiction : or, Family story-teller, consisting of original tales, essays, and sketches of character
Year: 1836 (1830s)
Authors: Dickens, Charles, 1812-1870. Tugg's at Ramsgate Dickens, Charles, 1812-1870. Little talk about spring and the sweeps
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Publisher: London : Chapman and Hall
Contributing Library: University of Illinois Urbana-Champaign
Digitizing Sponsor: University of Illinois Urbana-Champaign

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so. Dare me to open it! You may fire into it, if you like. I take you at your word; I will fire into it. De Villars drewback, and his colour changed to a sepulchral paleness : he whis-pered something to the landlord, who answered in the same tone,** Let him try it, and waste his charge; tis ball-proof. Cathcart now cocked his pistols and presented at the chest,and Julian, motionless, as if setting the first covey of the season,marked, in eager suspense, the result of the trial shot; whileDe Villars, steady as if waiting an antagonists fire and ready toreturn it, confronted William, and smiled at the fears of thefemales of the establishment, who, deafened in anticipation bythe coming report, were clinging round each others necks interror. Cathcart suddenly lowered his \veapon and appealed to DeVillars ;— Innocence is always bold, but I have sometimes, too,seen guilt brasen. Now pause before I fire; for if blood be spilled,the crime be yours—you will not answer me ?—Then bide the
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Page 313. Vol. 2 THE MODERN lACHIMO. 313 event:—one—two—the last number was drowned in tlie pistol-shot—the lock was forced, the lid dashed open—and in the mid-dle of the sulphurous smoke, Julian had leaped into the chest, andseized the pent-up and prisoned form of a man, who, armed witha dagger and provided with instruments to liberate himself fromhis ambush, was couching at tlie bottom. The apprehendedassassin craved his life at Cathcarts hand, who had raised hispistol-handle to strike him down, but on reflection, permittediiini to crawl slowly and unmolested from the apartment; butrushing on De Villars, he grasped him by the throat, and broughthim fainting to his knee.—* Batlled murderer, I know you now !It is my cousin George Cathcart I have to thank for this nightsentertainment: you are the ingenious manager of this our well-wrought melodrame. A new idea, certainly, to drive into myproperty in my own phaeton. I regret to have proved such aMarplot; and to compensate fo

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