‘And if they should take him, what would happen—to him, I mean?’ asked Nina coldly.
‘An escaped convict is usually condemned to death; but I suppose they would not hang him,’ said Dick.
‘Hang him!’ cried Atlee; ‘nothing of the kind. Mr. Gladstone would present him with a suit of clothes, a ten-pound note, and a first-class passage to America. He would make a “healing measure” of him.’
‘I must say, gentlemen,’ said Nina scornfully, ‘you can discuss your friend’s fate with a marvellous equanimity.’
‘So we do,’ rejoined Atlee. ‘He is another Bohemian.’
‘Don’t say so, sir,’ said she passionately. ‘The men who put their lives on a venture—and that venture not a mere gain to themselves—are in nowise the associates of those poor adventurers who are gambling for their daily living. He is a rebel, if you like; but he believes in rebellion. How much do you believe in, Mr. Atlee?’
‘I say, Joe, you are getting the worst of this discussion. Seriously, however, I hope they’ll not catch poor Donogan; and my father has asked Curtis to come over and dine here, and I trust to a good fire and some old claret to keep him quiet for this evening, at least. We must not molest the police; but there’s no great harm done if we mislead them.’
‘Once in the drawing-room, if Mademoiselle Kostalergi will only condescend to aid us,’ added Atlee, ‘I think Curtis will be more than a chief constable if he will bethink him of his duty.’
‘You are a strange set of people, you Irish,’ said Nina, as she walked away. ‘Even such of you as don’t want to overthrow the Government are always ready to impede its march and contribute to its difficulties.’
‘She only meant that for an impertinence,’ said Atlee, after she left the room; ‘but she was wonderfully near the truth, though not truthfully expressed.’