"What harm if he did?" muttered Hubert; but, before Miss Vane could reply, the door was opened and the General entered the room.
He was a tall, white-haired man, with a stoop in his shoulders which had not been perceptible a year before. His finely-cut features strongly resembled those of his sister, but there was some weakness in the slightly receding chin, some hint of irresolution in the lines of the handsome mouth, which could not be found in Leonora Vane's expressive countenance. The General's eyes were remarkably fine, clear and blue as sea-water or the sky, but their expression on this occasion was peculiar. They had a wild, wandering, irresolute look which impressed Hubert painfully. He rose respectfully from his chair as the old man came in; but for a moment or two the General gazed at him unrecognisingly.
"Hubert has come to spend the day with us, Richard," said Miss Vane.
"Hubert? Oh, yes, Hubert Lepel!" murmured the General, as if recalling a forgotten name. "Florence Lepel's brother—a cousin of ours, I believe? Glad to see you, Hubert," said the General, suddenly awakening, apparently from a dream. "Did you come down this morning? From London or from Whitminster?"
"From London, sir."
"Oh, yes—from London! I thought perhaps that you had been"—the General's voice sank to a husky whisper—"to see that fellow get his deserts. Hush—don't speak of it before Leonora; ladies should not hear about these things, you know!" He caught Hubert by the sleeve and drew him aside. "The execution was to be this morning; did you not know?" he said, fixing his wild eyes upon the young man's paling face. "Eight o'clock was the hour; it must be over by now. Well, well—the Lord have mercy upon his sinful soul!"
"Amen!" Hubert muttered between his closed teeth. Then he seemed to make a violent effort to control himself—to assume command over his kinsman's disordered mind. "Come, sir," he said—"you must not talk like that. Think no more of that wretched man. You know there was a chance—a loophole. Some people were not convinced that he was guilty. There have been petitions signed by hundreds of people, I believe, to the Home Secretary for mercy."
"Mercy—mercy!" shouted the General, his pale face growing first red and then purple from excitement. "Who talks of mercy to that ruffian? But Harbury"—naming the Home Secretary for the time being—"Harbury will stand firm; Harbury will never yield! I would take my oath that Harbury won't give in! Such a miscarriage of justice was never heard of! Don't talk to me of it! Harbury knows his duty; and the man has been punished—the man is dead!"
Hubert's voice trembled a little as he spoke.
"The man is not dead, sir," he said.