"Are there such limits? The man who granted Prince Ali's claims received not thirty pieces of silver, but two million pounds. He lives."
Brand turned away his face.
"Prince Ali was an agent, Brand, an agent of Russia, and the bribe of two million pounds was Russian money. The man who received that price of blood has not hanged himself, neither were his eyes gouged out, nor was he burned like your brother. He bought with it the Chancellorship of the British Empire. He is my father."
Brand's iron-hard face was sterner than ever now. "Have you gone mad?" he asked.
"Prove me insane or dreaming, or bewitched. Prove my father an honest man, and England safe. It would be all right then, Brand. Do you think it is a little thing to tell; that it is easily said? I, Ulster's son, that was a gentleman, am now a spy. His shame has tainted me, and so the leprosy will spread from generation to generation. I suppose," he added, "you think I'm hysterical."
Leaning forward, Brand laid his hand upon Lord Sydney's shoulder.
"There's some mistake," he said.
"I tell you that my father, Ulster, is sold to Russia. He has forced upon the Government a degrading treaty."
Brand was silent. "He has given our Lady, the Queen, to that drunken beast Alexander."
Brand was silent.