We three lingered until a rather late hour, but after I had retired, Norman asked Stephen why he looked so grave on hearing his story about the affair with the mail-bag.
"You are learned in the law. Tell me what my freak will cost, Stephen?"
"I am afraid it is not a matter of money," replied Stephen; "but, you know, I have had no actual experience of exactly such a case."
His unwillingness to answer directly made Norman uneasy, and, laying his hand on that of his friend, he asked—
"Is it a matter of imprisonment? Surely I shall not have to pay so dearly for what was only a piece of foolish bravado! But let me know the worst that can happen."
Stephen told him in two words—"Seven years."
Poor Norman! He was utterly unprepared for such a response, and felt certain that Steve was wrong. At the worst, he had only anticipated a heavy fine or a sharp reprimand, and he was stunned by the words. The colour forsook his face, and he dropped back on the seat from which he had risen, utterly overcome, gasping out, "You must be mistaken."
"I wish I were," said Stephen; "but I do happen to know the exact law in such a case, for I was concerned in one a few months back. There was, however, this difference between it and yours. The man who opened the mail-bag did it to obtain a letter not intended for him, and the contents of which enabled him to carry out successfully a plan for a gigantic robbery. But had the plot failed, the abstraction of the letter alone rendered him liable to seven years' imprisonment."
"There must be mitigations," said Norman.
"Unfortunately, there are none. The law has long been in existence, and has remained unaltered to the present day. The penalty for such an offence is seven years or nothing."