They had nearly reached the middle of the garden before Hemsworth broke silence. At last he said, with a deep sigh—“I fear we are too late Miss O'Donoghue. The zeal, real or affected, of the country magistrates, has stimulated them to the utmost. There are spies over the whole country—he will inevitably be taken.”
Rate re-echoed the last words in an accent of deep anguish, and was silent.
“Yes,” resumed he, “escape is all but impossible—for even if he should get to sea, there are two cruisers on the look-out for any suspicious sail.
“And what if he were to surrender and stand his trial,” said Kate, boldly.
Hemsworth shook his head sorrowfully, but never spoke. “What object can it be with any Government to hunt down a rash, inexperienced youth, whose unguarded boldness has led him to ruin? On whom would such an example tell, or where would the lesson spread terror, save beneath that old roof yonder, where sorrows are rife enough already?”
“The correspondence with France—that's his danger. The intercourse with the disturbed party at home might be palliated by his youth—the foreign conspiracy admits of little apology.” “And what evidence have they of this?”
“Alas! but too much—the table of the Privy Council was actually covered with copies of letters and documents—some, written by himself—almost all, referring to him as a confidential and trusty agent of the cause. This cannot be forgiven him! When I heard a member of the Council say, 'Jackson's blood is dried up already,' I guessed the dreadful result of this young man's capture.”
Kate shuddered at these words, which were uttered in a faint tone, tremulous through emotion. “Oh, God,” she cried, “do not let this calamity fall upon us. Poverty, destitution, banishment, anything, save the death of a felon!”
Hemsworth pressed his handkerchief to his eyes, and looked away, as the young girl, with upturned face, muttered a brief but fervent prayer to heaven.
“But you, so gifted and experienced in the world's ways,” cried she, turning on him a glance of imploring meaning—“can you not think of anything? Is there no means, however difficult and dangerous, by which he might be saved? Could not the honor of an ancient house plead for him? Is there no pledge for the future could avail him.”