“Worse, girl? there is no worse!” cried Vine, sternly. “I thank my God that we are living in a land where stern good laws are pre-eminent, and where justice rules with unswerving hand. You know not what you say.”
“Yes, father—dearest father, help him to go and repent the evil he has done.”
“Go and repent? Yes, that is the only hope; but it shall be as the honest repentant man, ready to acknowledge and bear the punishment of his crime.”
“Father!”
“Yes; look at him—look at the base, cowering wretch, ready to go and hide his face in any shelter to escape the fate he has earned! Look at his guilty conscience, branding him even now! And you say, let him go!”
“Yes, father. What could I say?”
“Nothing!” cried Harry, turning round, as the trampled worm turns beneath the boot that crushes it into the earth. “It is true; I struck poor old Van Heldre down; but whatever I may have thought before, I did not go to steal that money. I did not steal it. And now what do you want me to do?”
“Go: act as a man who claims such descent as ours should do, in the country which opened to him its arms, and whose laws he has transgressed. The police are here from London. Go and give yourself up; suffer your punishment as one who would atone, and years hence in the future, when you are freed, come to me and ask my pardon—kneeling humbly by my grave.”
“Father!”
“No more. The way is open now. Go at once, before you are dragged through the streets handcuffed like some common felon. To save us from disgrace you say—that is the only way.”