"Come, then," said young Marston, seizing him by the collar, "come
quietly to the house. Guilty and unhappy man, you are now my prisoner,
and, depend upon it, I shall not let you go."

"I don't want to go, I tell you, sir. I have traveled fifteen miles
today, to come here and give myself up to the master."

"Accursed madman," said Marston unconsciously, gazing at the prisoner;
and then suddenly rousing himself, he said, "Well, miscreant, you wish to
die, and, by ----, you are in a fair way to have your wish."

"So best," said the man, doggedly. "I don't want to live; I wish I was in
my grave; I wish I was dead a year ago."

Some fifteen minutes afterwards, Merton, accompanied by Marston and his
son Charles, entered the hall of the mansion which, not ten weeks
before, he had quitted under circumstances so guilty and terrible. When
they reached the house, Merton seemed much agitated, and wept bitterly
on seeing two or three of his former fellow servants, who looked on him
in silence as they passed, with a gloomy and fearful curiosity. These,
too, were succeeded by others, peeping and whispering, and upon one
pretence or another crossing and re-crossing the hall, and stealing
hurried glances at the criminal. Merton sate with his face buried in his
hands, sobbing, and taking no note of the humiliating scrutiny of which
he was the subject. Meanwhile Marston, pale and agitated, made out his
committal, and having sworn in several of his laborers and servants as
special constables, dispatched the prisoner in their charge to the
county gaol, where, under lock and key, we leave him in safe custody for
the present.