“They are no aliens, whose hearts beat alike for liberty. Language, country, seas may divide us, but we are brothers in the glorious cause of humanity. Their swords are with us now, as would be ours for them, did the occasion demand them. Besides, we must teach the traitors, boy, that we can do without them—that if her own sons are false, Ireland has friends as true; and then, woe to them who have betrayed her. Oh, my brother, the brother of my heart, how would I kneel in thankfulness to heaven, if the same hopes that stirred within me were yours also. If the genius you possess were enlisted in the dear cause of your own country—if we could go forth together, hand in hand, and meet danger side by side, as now we stand.”
“My love for you would make the sacrifice, Mark,” said Herbert, as the tears rolled heavily along his cheek; “but my convictions, my reason, my religion, alike forbid it.”
“Your religion, Herbert?—did I hear you aright?”
“You did. I am a Protestant.”
Mark fell back as his brother spoke; a cold leaden tinge spread over his features, and he seemed like one labouring against the sickness of an ague.
“Oh, is it not time!” cried he, as he clasped his hands above his head, and shook them in an agony of emotion—“is it not time to strike the blow, ere every tie that bound us to the land should be rent asunder; rank, place, wealth, and power they have despoiled us of; our faith degraded, our lineage scoffed, and now the very links of blood divided—We have not brothers left us!”
Herbert bent down his head upon his knees, and wept bitterly.
“Who will tell me I have not been tried, now?” continued Mark, in a strain of impassioned sorrow—“deceived on every hand—robbed of my heritage—my friends all false—my father”—he stopped short, for at the moment Herbert looked up, and their eyes met.
“What of our father, Mark?”
“My brain was wandering then,” said Mark, in a broken voice. “Once more I ask forgiveness: we are brothers still; if we be but true of heart to Him who knows all hearts, He will not suffer us to be divided. Can you remain a while with me, Herbert?—I know you don't mind a rough bivouac.”