'Robert,' he said, 'what e'er betide, if, in the conflict which is imminent, we two be separated, the one who survives will be proud of him who's fallen. We shall conquer. Erin shall be free! But many must first lay down their lives for her! I pray God that it may be His pleasure to spare yours!'
Robert turned white, though his heart was stout. He was brave with the highest of all bravery, for though the sight of a cut finger made him ill, yet was he determined now to face the sea of blood, if need were, without blenching. His was a higher courage than that common one which looks on danger without fear. He knew that in action he should be in mortal dread; but he knew too that, upheld by duty, he would nevertheless be always in the van. A thought crossed his mind which brought with it a momentary tremor. When the fiery cross was at last lighted--when the hands of kinsmen were at each other's throats--when Dublin was burning--her gutters running red--what would be the fate of delicate sensitive natures like that of Sara--of sweet, pale Sara Curran, round whose form his heart-strings were softly wrapping themselves? What if he were to fall? what if fortune should not smile upon the patriots? He was quite aware that Heaven frequently delights in persecuting those who do well, and showering favours on the most undeserving, almost offering a premium for evildoing. Therefore, however just the cause of Erin, it was possible that her probation was not over--in such a case what would become of Sara, and such as her? Dear gentle Primrose! He thrust the unwelcome thought aside. There were enough lugubrious subjects which might not be escaped, without wilfully conjuring up baleful images. He returned the pressure of his brother's hand, and with ardent eyes upraised, broke out into song once more, in which all joined solemnly, as though offering up a war-hymn:
'What shelter's right? The sword!
What makes it might? The sword!
What strikes the crown of tyrants down--
And answers with its flash the frown?
The sword!'
Truly there must have been something ill-omened about this special hymn. For the second time it served to cloak the advancing footsteps of the enemy. For the second time it was interrupted by the rap of the same unfriendly fingers.
Somebody was knocking--somebody gave the password 'Mr. Green.' It must be Terence. He had promised to come, in order that a military scheme of his might be discussed; one of which Emmett approved highly, though stupid Cassidy had affected to laugh at it. Certainly it must be Terence, who bade fair to become the leader they had all been sighing for so long in vain. Why did not some one run and open the door? It is but poor manners to keep a gentleman waiting in the street. Robert was hastening to do so--for he loved Terence dearly--when he was stopped by the old woman who kept the house.
'Whisht! Master Robert, darlint,' she said in a terrified whisper. 'Sure, I looked from the garret window and saw the glint of bayonets. For the love of the Holy Mother have a care!'
Swiftly the boy climbed the stairs and looked out. The hag's aged eyes had not deceived her. The street was surrounded by a cordon of soldiers, who stopped passengers at either end at the bayonet's point. A guard of yeomanry was stationed at the front door; another at the private back-entrance, which was accessible by a tortuous passage into a side-street. A short person with hooked beak, eyes too close together, shaded by brows which met in a tuft over his nose, was knocking. It was Major Sirr. How could he know of this back-entrance? How did he know that the watchword was 'Mr. Green'? There was of a surety hideous treachery somewhere!
Robert returned to his comrades and told them who was outside. Then Cassidy had been muddleheaded once again! The news he had brought was worse than none, for it was misleading. Instead of bidding them escape forthwith from Cutpurse Row, he had told them to avoid their homes. The houses was surrounded. The secret back entrance upon which they relied was known. Who was the Judas?
Having revealed so much, how much more might he not reveal? With troubled brain and clouded eye Tom Emmett looked on one and then another of the haggard faces before him.