Hand to hand he has had many an encounter with the brutes,
and always came off victor; never did he fail to serve the interests
of the state, nor to protect the property of his client. With a sort
of bravado he makes another advance. The city esteems him for the
valuable services he has rendered its safety; why should he shrink
in this emergency?
Our southern readers, in a certain state, will readily recognise the
scene we here describe. The chained man, drawing his shining steel
from his bosom, says, "You take me not from here, alive." Mr.
Monsel's face becomes pale, while Nicholas's flashes angry scowls;
an irresistible nervousness seizes him,--for a moment he hesitates,
turns half round to see if his companions stand firm. They are close
behind, ready for the spring, like sharp-eyed catamounts; while
around the door anxious visitors crowd their curious faces. The
officers second in command file off to the right and left, draw
their revolvers, and present them in the attitude of firing. "Use
that knife, and you fall!" exclaims one, with a fearful imprecation.
At the next moment he fires, as Monsel rushes upon the chained man,
followed by half a dozen officials. An agonising shriek is heard,
and Monsel, in guttural accents, mutters, "I am a murdered man-he
has murdered me! Oh, my God,--he has murdered me!" Nicholas has
plunged the knife into the fleshy part of Monsel's right arm; and
while the bloody weapon, wrested from his hand, lies on the floor,
an official drags the wounded man from his grasp.
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