“More blood, more blood. God help us, Eustace, our lot is cast in evil times. Would it be any use if I spoke, if I wrote! I think I could manage to write.”
“None, my friend, none. Keep quiet, you have enough to bear without taking my troubles and my friend’s troubles on your shoulders.”
For a long time there was silence in the room, broken only by an occasional groan from the wounded man and a word or two murmured low by Lord Dunseveric. Maurice took his place at the window again. He understood that his father’s intercession for Neal had failed, but he was not hopeless. He did not know what was to be said or done next, but he waited confidently. It was not often that Lord Dunseveric was turned back from anything he set his hand to do. It was likely that if he wanted Neal Ward’s release the release would be accomplished whatever General Clavering might think or say.
The evening darkened slowly. Lord O’Neill dropped into an uneasy dose. Lord Dunseveric rose, and crossed the room to Maurice.
“You heard what I said, son? They are to hang Neal Ward to-morrow.”
Maurice nodded.
“I can do no more. Besides, I am tired. I want to rest.”
Maurice looked at his father in surprise. He could not recollect ever having heard before of his being tired or wanting rest.
“I shall sleep here in your bed, Maurice, so as to be at hand if Lord O’Neill wants me. You must go down to the public room of the inn or to the tap-room. You can get James, the groom, to keep you company if you like. You cannot go to bed to-night, you understand. You must sit by the fire till those roisterers have drunk themselves to sleep. James will keep you company, There will be sound sleep for many in this inn to-night, but none for poor Neal, who’s down in some cellar, nor the sentry they post over him, nor for you, Maurice, nor for James. Maybe after all Neal won’t be hanged in the morning. That’s all I have to say to you, my son. A man in my position can’t say more or do more. You understand?”
“I understand,” said Maurice, “and, by God, they’ll not hang——”