"Rather hard, but true, sir. Ah Irishman, you know, is naturally a rebel and a conspirator."
"Quite so; and those who are not drowned may expect to be hanged," said the admiral, sternly.
"As I am a sailor, I might reasonably have hoped for the former end, but I have forfeited my rights by coming on shore, I suppose." He paused, and as the admiral nodded gravely, he continued with well-simulated indifference: "'Tis not a pleasant mode of death, my Lord, nor one that I would have chosen, nor one that is becoming a gentleman; but I trust I shall meet it with equanimity at least," replied O'Neill, a little paler than before, but still dauntlessly smiling.
"I am glad to see that you are a man of such resolution, sir," said the admiral. "If your discretion equal your courage, the matter may be arranged."
"It is useless to try it," was the reply; "to have known your ward, to have seen her, and to know that she is destined for the arms of another, makes life a hell, and death a pleasure."
"Is it so?" said the admiral, pausing.
"Think of the days of your own youth, sir, and one that you loved, and you will understand me."
The admiral reflected. The stake he was playing for was so high, his desire was so great--like the woman who hesitated, he fell. There would be some way out of it, surely. As he drew near to the moment and to the goal, his overwhelming desire took possession of him, and blinded him; desire blinds as well as love.
"Even that," finally he said slowly, looking meaningly at O'Neill the while, "may be arranged."
"Good God!" said O'Neill, white to the lips. "What is it you would have me do? Speak! Titles, rank, station, friends, fame, opportunities, life itself, would I cheerfully give for her who has taken possession of me. Speak, my Lord!" cried the young man, entreatingly.