“To settle family matters, I suppose,” said the turnkey, with a grin, as he retired, and closed the door once more.
The interruption seemed to offer a favourable opportunity to Hemsworth of giving an amicable turn to the interview, for with a changed voice, and a look of well-assumed friendship, he said—
“I have misspent my moments here sadly, Lanty. I came to befriend you, and not to interchange words of angry meaning. If I had been in Dublin, I'm certain you would never have fallen into this perilous position. Let us see how best to escape from it. This information—I see it is all confined to young O'Donoghue's business—is of no value whatever, until signed by you. It is just as if it were never spoken. So that, if you steadily determine not to sign it, you need give no reason whatever, but simply refuse when asked. Do this, and all's safe.”
“Couldn't they transport me?” said Lanty, in a feeble voice, but whose very accent betrayed the implicit trust he reposed in Hemsworth's answer.
“They'll threaten that, and worse, too; but never flinch; they've nothing against you save, your own evidence. When the time comes—mark me, I say, when the time comes—your evidence is worth five thousand pounds; but, now, all it will do is convict young O'Donoghue, and warn all the others not to go forward. I don't suppose you want that; the young fellow never did you any harm.”
“Never,” said Lanty, dropping his head with shame, for even in such a presence his conscience smote him.
“Very well—there's no use in bringing him to trouble. Keep your own counsel, and all will be well.”
“I'm just thinking of a plan I've a notion in my head will do well,” said Lanty, musingly. “I'm to see Father Kearney, the priest of Luke's Chapel, to-morrow morning—he's coming over to confess me. Well, when the Attorney-general and the others come for me to write my name, I'll just say that I daren't do it. I'll not tell why nor wherefore—sorra word more, but this, 'I dar'n't do it.' They'll think at once it's the priest set me against it. I know well what they'll say. That Father Kearney put me under a vow, and so they may. They'll scarcely get him to say much about it, and I'll take care they won't make me.”
“That thought was worthy of you, Lanty,” said Hemsworth, laughing, “but take care that you don't swerve from your determination. Remember that there is no accusation against you—not a word nor a syllable of testimony. Of course they'll threaten you with the worst consequences. You'll be told of prosecutions for perjury, and all that. Never mind—wait patiently your time. When the hour arrives, I'll make your bargain for you, and it will not be merely the evidence against an individual, but the disclosure of a great plot of rebellion, they must pay you for. Cockayne got four thousand pounds and a free pardon. Your services will rank far higher.”
“If they won't bring me up in open court,” said Lanty, timidly, “I'll do whatever they please.”