“That depends on you, Miss Kate--Luttrell,” added he, after a brief struggle with himself. “On _me?_ How can it depend upon _me?_” “Here’s how it is, then. If they catch Peter, what between the character he has already, and what’s known of his sons, they’ll make short work of it he’ll ‘swing,’ as sure as you are there this minute. So there’s nothing for it but to get him away to America by any of the ships coming round from the north, and it would be easy enough for him to get on board; but what’s not so easy, Miss Kate, is to pay his passage. He hasn’t one shilling in the world. The boys got together last night, and all they could make up was eleven and fourpence; there it is, and a pawn ticket for an old pistol, that nobody would give half-a-crown for----” “But what can I do?” broke she in, passionately. “What can I do?” “Help him with a few pounds. Give it or lend it; but let him have enough to make his escape, and not go to the ‘drop’ for want of a little help.” “There is not one belonging to him poorer than me,” began she. “Why do you shake your head? Do you disbelieve me?” “I do; that’s just it.” “Shall I swear it--shall I take my oath to you, that except the trifle that remains to me of what I had to pay my journey here, I have not one farthing in the world?” “Then what’s the fine story of the great castle where you were living, and the grand clothes and the jewels you used to wear? Do you mean to tell me that you left them all behind, when you came away?” “It is true. I did so.” “And came off with nothing?” She nodded, and he stared at her, partly in astonishment, and partly with some show of admiration; for even to his nature this conduct of hers displayed a degree of character that might be capable of great sacrifices. “And so,” said he, after a pause, “you can do nothing for him?” “What can I do?” asked she, almost imploringly. “I’ll tell you,” said he, calmly. “Go up to John Lnttrell, and say, My grandfather is hiding from the police; they have a warrant out against him, and if he’s taken he’s sure to be condemned; and we know what mercy a Malone will meet at the assizes of Donegal. Tell him--it’s just the one thing he’ll care for--that it wouldn’t be pleasant for him to be summoned as a witness to character, and have to declare in open court that he married the prisoner’s daughter. Say a ten-pound note, or even five, is a cheap price to pay for escaping all this disgrace and shame; and tell him, besides, when old Peter goes, you’ve seen the last of the family. He’ll think a good deal of that, I promise you----” “Stop,” said she, boldly. “You know nothing of the temper of the man you talk of; but it is enough that I tell you he has got no money. Listen to me, O’Rorke. It was but yesterday he sent off a little ornament his wife nsed to wear to have it sold, to pay a county rate they were threatening to distrain for----”