"I really can't see any reason for such despair," said Arthur.
"Of course not," replied Grahame. "But even Lord Constantine could not save Owen Ledwith from prison in times like these, if the authorities learn his identity."
"What is to be done?" inquired Honora.
"You will stay with your father of course?" Honora nodded.
"I'm going to make a run for it at the first opportunity," said Grahame. "I can be of no use here, and we must get back the ship safe and sound. Arthur, if they hold Ledwith you will have the honor of working for his freedom. Owen is an American citizen. He ought to have all the rights and privileges of a British subject in his trial, if it comes to that. He won't get them unless the American minister to the court of St. James insists upon it. Said minister, being a doughhead, will not insist. He will even help to punish him. It will be your business to go up to London and make Livingstone do his duty if you have to choke him black in the face. If the American minister interferes in this case Lord Constantine will be a power. If the said minister hangs back, or says, hang the idiot, my Lord will not amount to a hill of beans."
"If it comes to a trial," said Arthur, "won't Ledwith get the same chance as any other lawbreaker?"
Honora and Grahame looked at each other as much as to say: "Poor innocent!"
"When there's a rising on, my dear boy, there is no trial for Irishmen. Arrest means condemnation, and all that follows is only form. Go ahead now and do your best."
Before lunch the telegrams had done their best and worst. The party was free to go as they came with the exception of Ledwith. They had a merry lunch, enlivened by a telegram from Lord Constantine, and by Folsom's discomfiture. Then Grahame drove away to the ship, Arthur set out for Dublin, and Honora was left alone with her dread and her sorrows, which Captain Sydenham swore would be the shortest of her life.