“He would deliver himself up. I know him too well; I cannot doubt what he would do,” said Willy.
“Still, I think he ought to know,” said Rotha. The girl was speaking in a low tone, but with every accent of resolution.
“He would be denied the pardon if he obtained the indemnity. He would be banished perhaps for years.”
“Still, I think he ought to know.” Rotha spoke calmly and slowly, but with every evidence of suppressed emotion.
“My dear Rotha,” said Willy in a peevish tone, “I understand this matter better than you think for, and I know my brother better than you can know him. There would be no pardon, I tell you. Ralph would be banished.”
“Let us not drive them to worse destruction,” said Rotha.
“And what could be worse?” said Willy, rising and walking aimlessly across the room. “They might turn us from this shelter, true; they might leave us nothing but charity or beggary, that is sure enough. Is this worse than banishment? Worse! Nothing can be worse—”
“Yes, but something can be worse,” said the girl firmly, never shifting the fixed determination of her gaze from the spot whence the constables had disappeared. “Willy, there is worse to come of this business, and Ralph should be told of it if we can tell him.”
“You don't know my brother,” repeated Willy in a high tone of extreme vexation. “He would be banished, I say.”
“And if so—” said Rotha.