Again there was silence save for Ingleby's groan. Democratic aspirations were very well as subjects for discussion, but now that he was brought face to face with the results of attempting to realize them, they appalled him. He did not remember that usually very little worth the having can be obtained without somebody's getting hurt; and it would have afforded him no great consolation if he had remembered, since, for the time being, he had had quite enough of theories. Then he made a little abrupt gesture.
"Tom," he said, "what dolts we are! The thing is perfectly simple. You have only to come out with me, and the fact that you've made a bolt of it will be quite enough to divert suspicion from the other man."
"There is a difficulty. Steamboat fares cost money, and I'm not sure Hetty and I have five pounds in the treasury."
Ingleby laughed almost light-heartedly. "I think I have enough to take us all out at the cheapest rates, and you must let me lend it to you, if only to prove that what you believe in isn't an impracticable fancy."
Leger slowly straightened himself. "I don't want to be ungracious—but it's a difficult thing to do. The money's yours—and you'd have nothing left."
Ingleby laid a hand on his shoulder, and gripped it hard. "Are you willing to see your sister cast adrift to save your confounded pride? The fact that she has a relative undergoing penal servitude isn't much of a recommendation to a girl who has to earn her bread. Besides, like a good many of us, you're not logical. You thought you had a claim on Esmond's property."
There was a light step on the stairway, and he stopped suddenly. "There's Hetty," he said. "We'll leave it to her."
The door swung open, and the girl came in gasping, with horror in her eyes.
"Oh," she said, "its awful! They've come in with the wagonettes, and Harry told me. How did it happen?"
"Sit down," said Ingleby gently. "Tom will explain."