“The magistrates cannot hang him,” answered Mr. Tremodart; “and if he is committed for trial, several weeks will elapse before the assize comes on, and things may have happened to divert public attention; so perhaps the feeling against him will not be running so high. All those things make a great difference.” “But have they hanged men before for this sort of thing?” “Yes--they have certainly done so.” Bride shuddered again. She spoke some words, as if to herself, in so low a voice that he could not catch them; but he thought he heard the name of Eustace pass her lips. He shook his own head sorrowfully. “I was afraid Mr. Marchmont was wrong in trying to stir up the people to be discontented and rebellious. He meant well--all those reformers mean well, and have a great deal on their side; but they go to work so often in the wrong way, and their followers make the blunder ten times worse. It’s not easy to say out of hand how the thing should be done; but I take it they’ve not got hold of the right end of the stick yet.” The two walked with rapid steps, their thoughts keeping them silent for the most part. Bride’s mind was hard at work; her feelings were keenly stirred within her. The burden of the song which kept ringing in her ears was, “This is Eustace’s doing, this is Eustace’s work. Oh, how can we let another die, and die perhaps unfit and impenitent through his act, through his teaching? It must not be. Oh, it shall not be! Saul must not die through Eustace’s fault!” Bride had come to think of Eustace in a way she scarcely understood herself. She had not greatly liked him on his visit. For many weeks she had thought little of him, and later on, when she knew him better, she saw too much in him to disapprove to grow in any way dependent upon him. And yet since his departure she was conscious that he filled a good deal of her thoughts, that she felt a certain responsibility in his career, and that she was unable to help identifying herself with him in a fashion she could neither understand nor explain.