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Barnes had been for several years the instrument of Mr. Tyrrel's
injustice. His mind was hardened by use, and he could, without remorse,
officiate as the spectator, or even as the author and director, of a
scene of vulgar distress. But even he was somewhat startled upon the
present occasion. The character and conduct of Emily in Mr. Tyrrel's
family had been without a blot. She had not a single enemy; and it was
impossible to contemplate her youth, her vivacity, and her guileless
innocence, without emotions of sympathy and compasssion.
"Your worship?--I do not understand you!--Arrest Miss--Miss Emily!"
"Yes,--I tell you!--What is the matter with you?--Go instantly to
Swineard, the lawyer, and bid him finish the business out of hand!"
"Lord love your honour! Arrest her! Why she does not owe you a brass
farthing: she always lived upon your charity!"
"Ass! Scoundrel! I tell you she does owe me,--owes me eleven hundred
pounds.--The law justifies it.--What do you think laws were made for? I
do nothing but right, and right I will have.


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