“Are you on your way home, Neal?”
“No, my lord.”
“I suppose I must not ask where you are going or what you mean to do. I don’t ask, but I advise you strongly to go home. The game is up, Neal. The plans of your friends have been blown upon. Their secrets are known. See here.”
He held out a printed paper. Neal took it and read—
“To-morrow we march on Antrim. Drive the garrison of Randalstown before you, and haste to form a junction with the commander-in-chief.—Henry Joy M’Cracken. First year of Liberty, 6th June, 1798.”
“That paper was handed to General Clavering last night,” said Lord Dunseveric, “and half a dozen more copies were sent to other officers. Is it any use going on now?”
“My lord,” said Neal, “I have heard things—I have seen things. Last night I myself was stripped for flogging. They have set a price on my head. I put it to you as a gentleman, as a just man and a brave, would it be right to go back now?”
“It is no use going on.”
“But would you go back? Would you desert friends who did not desert you? Would you leave them?”
“A wise man does not struggle against the inevitable, Neal.”