'Half-confidences are worse than none, my lord,' blurted out Curran. 'If you'd really do the lad a turn, speak out. Why give him a nut to crack?'
'Betwixt you and me, sir,' Clare said with hauteur, 'there can be nothing but animosity. I try to make things as pleasant as I can, and you publicly insult me. I purposely fire wide; you try all you know to kill me. I would gladly have been your friend.'
'Begorra! such a friend,' growled Curran, 'as I'd help out of mee cabin with mee boot! But never mind us. We're talking of this lad. Who's his enemy--who is it that's playing devil's capers among honest men? We know that they're not all saints who use holy water!'
Lord Clare was still looking away into the darkness, while Phil followed the direction of his glance, and said nothing.
'Don't press him,' Terence said, with coldness as chilling as the chancellor's. 'If he chooses to make confession for conscience' sake, so be it---I will be under no personal obligation to his clemency.'
'Silly boy! I want to save you, and, like the other asses, you pose and mouth heroics!' Clare said impatiently. 'Your name was on the list of those scatter-brains who were caged to-day, but I struck it through with my own pen. Yet I tell you fairly that if you commit yourself beyond a certain point, I shall be powerless to protect you. I should bring more odium than I dare upon the Government, if I were instrumental in stringing up a lot who deserve the rope, and saving the worst of all because he happened to be my old friend's son. I can't do more than I am doing. Even Mr. Curran here should tell you that. I tell you that you have an enemy who would gladly destroy you. You must guess who it is. Who is there whom you have injured? I tell you further that Lord Camden has signed a warrant for your arrest, which I believe is in his bureau. He deplores with me that one of the aristocracy should be a cause of scandal. But he may be called upon to permit execution of that warrant, and, acting as you do, I don't see how he can refuse to let justice take its course. Had you no enemy it might probably lie snug enough. But that enemy will ferret it out ere long, I fear. My boy, I earnestly implore you to leave the country. Every port shall be left open. Go to Paris--Vienna--Rome--anywhere. If you are short of funds I will provide them--come! I would so gladly see you gone,' he concluded after a pause, during which Terence's heart was touched, and Curran stared at this new aspect of the lord chancellor. 'For if I mistake not, such events will happen here ere long as will cause the best-balanced mind to quake.'
What a pity that he uttered those last few words! Curran beheld again the well-known Lord Clare. Terence became hot with resentment.
'If you are preparing a St. Bartholomew,' he said, 'why should I be specially favoured? Murderer!'
'Murderer?' echoed Curran, with a scorn which incensed the chancellor. 'Worse than murderer! Common butcher of your fellows! You have netted the leaders--you will goad the leaderless sheep to leap after them. You will drive them to rise against you. Then you'll massacre them for rising. You'll turn your artillery against the helpless peasants. You'll mow them down like grass. You know their peculiarities--so far you are Irish. With a cudgel or a shillalagh there's none can beat 'em. But they're bad at firearms. Firearms! The use of gunpowder's been forbidden them for ever so many years!'
'On my honour, it's provoking to save people despite themselves,' affirmed the exasperated chancellor. 'If the boy's hanged it'll be your fault, Curran.'