Turning away from the Juggernaut of Orangeism, Robert beheld the subject of his thoughts, and the man of whom he was in search. Mr. Curran and his ex-junior were standing in earnest talk under the colonnade of the senate-house. The rush of events had changed both men even in their externals. The older one seemed shrunken and grey-skinned. His unkempt elf-locks were more wild, his uncleanly linen more disordered, his eye more bright and restless, than of yore. Those who knew him well perceived that he was torn in sunder by two antagonistic selves. He yearned in secret for the success of the popular movement; he peered out anxiously for the first glimmering white sail in the offing; his soul bled for his country's misery; he longed to know precisely the patriot leaders' plan, that his keen brain might advise upon it--yet he railed at and derided those very leaders to their faces, spoke scoffingly of France, declared that all was hopeless; snapped up any incautious delegate who spoke to him too openly of the society. The reason for his odd conduct is obvious. His judicial mind--expert in weighing evidence--had seen long ago that the combatants were ill-matched--that it was Honesty fighting against Guile. It was possible--just possible--that Heaven for once would change its usual tactics, and permit Honesty to come off the conqueror. It was possible--but oh, how improbable! Curran saw that so soon as Honesty had tumbled into the Slough of Despond, the firm grasp of a friend who was a paradox would be needed to pull him out; of one who should be protected by the glamour of his own virtue against the dagger of the murderer, even as medieval saints are mythically supposed to have been protected against the torments of the caldron and the wheel. Such a peculiar and delicate position Curran actually occupied. As we have seen, he remained in close friendship with Emmett and the rest, and also with such important people in the opposite camp as the Glandores, without the faintest suspicion of treachery falling on him. He fearlessly rose and poured forth such denunciations against the executive in parliament, as would have brought any other man to Kilmainham and its minuet. But for all that, the informer dared not point his finger at him; even Lord Clare was convinced that he must be endured or bought--not browbeaten. Once or twice he had been hustled in the street, but had curbed his peppery nature by a sublime effort. His life was of more value to his country than that of many drunken rufflers. He quietly refused to fight now with any such paltry ruffians.