Consigning to her care all the duties of receiving the crowd of visitors, which old Count Stephen was but too happy to see, Kate only ventured for a few minutes at a time to enter the drawing-room. It was while hastening back from one of these brief intervals that she heard her name spoken in a low but distinct voice. She turned round, and saw a man, closely enveloped in a large cloak, beside her.
“It is I, Miss Dalton,—the Abbé D'Esmonde,” said he. “May I speak with your brother?”
Kate could hardly answer him from terror. All the scenes in which she had seen him figure rose before her view, and the man was, to her eyes, the very embodiment of peril.
“My brother is too ill, sir, to receive you,” said she. “In a few days hence—”
“It will then be too late, Miss Dalton,” said he, mournfully. “The very seconds as they pass, now, are as days to one who stands on the brink of eternity.”
“Is there anything which I could communicate to him myself? for I am fearful of what might agitate or excite him.”
“If it most be so,” said he, sighing, and as if speaking to himself. “But could you not trust me to say a few words? I will be most cautious.”
“If, then,' to-morrow—”
“To-morrow! It must be now,—at this very instant!” cried he, eagerly. “The life of one who is unfit to go hence depends upon it.” Then, taking her hand, he continued: “I have drawn up a few lines, in shape of a petition for mercy to this wretched man. They must be in London by to-morrow night, to permit of a reprieve before Saturday. Your brother's signature is all-essential. For this I wished to see him, and to know if he has any acquaintanceship with persons in power which could aid the project. You see how short the time is; all depends upon minutes. The Secretary of State can suspend the execution, and in the delay a commutation of the sentence may be obtained.”
“Oh, give it to me!” cried she, eagerly. And, snatching the paper from his hands, she hurried into the chamber.