‘No,’ said Peebles, ‘nor will they be, wi’ my good will. Man, ’twould break my lord’s heart! His ain brother, Mr. Blake! his ain brother’s son! No, no. They must be let gang, for the honour o’ the family, though it’s a hard lump to swallow, and goes terribly against my conscience, that twa such wretches should be free while many a decent man’s in prison. But there’s just no help for it. And noo, just tell me, Mr. Blake, are ye sober--sober enough, I mean, to know the value of what ye’re saying?’ ‘Sober, is it?’ cried Blake. ‘Soberer than I’ve been this five-and-twenty years, bad luck to me!’ ‘Then listen to me,’ said Peebles. ‘’Twas you that married his lordship to Moya Macartney?’ ‘’Twas so,’ returned Blake. ‘And ye had really been ordained a clerk in holy orders before that time?’ ‘I had, but when I performed the ceremony I used a false name.’ ‘That makes no difference,’ returned Peebles. ‘You were a clergyman, you are a clergyman, and a clergyman you’ll die. Holy orders are indelible! I ken that much, though I’m no churchman mysel’. Noo, Moya’s safe, and it’s my intention, jest as soon as it can be done withoot chance of damage to my lord’s health, to break the news to him, and I’ll look to you to put all possible assistance in the way o’ proving your possession o’ the necessary power to perform a legal marriage.’ ‘H’m!’ said Blake doubtfully. ‘And what the deil d’ye mean by “h’m”?’ asked Peebles. ‘You’re talkin’ mighty aisy,’ said Blake, ‘of my givin’ up the only means o’ livelihood I’ve had these years past.’ ‘Means o’ livelihood,’ repeated Peebles. ‘You’re doited, man alive! What has this question to do wi’ your means of livelihood?’ ‘Just the blackmail that Dick Conseltine has paid me to hold my tongue,’ replied Blake with a beautiful candour. ‘That’s all o’er now,’ said Peebles. ‘He kens that Moya’s alive, and he kens that _I_ ken it. Eh, Patrick Blake,’ he continued, shaking his head reproachfully at the burly figure opposite him, ‘ye’ve been a sad scoun’rel in your time, I doubt. But ye helped to save that puir lass’s life, and I’ll no be hard on ye. What can be done for ye in reason shall be done. Maybe the wages o’ honesty won’t amount to as much as the wages o’ sin, but ye’ll hae a clearer conscience to mak’ up the balance. I can promise naething, but I’ll speak to Desmond and my lord. I’m thinking ye’d be best oot o’ the country. Some hundred pounds and a passage to America would suit ye fine.’