"None in the eye of the law," replied Mr. Filmer, gravely; "but it may make much in the ear of a jury. I know these things well, Clive; and depend upon it, that if this matter should come before a court of justice at the present time, especially when such wild acts have been committed by the people, you are lost. In the first place, you cannot prove the very defence you make----" "Why, my child was there, and saw it all!" cried Clive, interrupting him. "Her evidence would go for very little," answered the priest; "and as I know you would not deny having done it, your own candour would ruin you. The best view that a jury would take of your case, even supposing them not to be worked upon by the rank of the dead man, could only produce a verdict of manslaughter, which would send you for life to a penal colony, to labour like a slave, perhaps in chains." Clive started, and gazed anxiously in his face, as if that view of the case were new to him. "Better die than that!" he said; "better die than that!" "Assuredly," replied Mr. Filmer. "But why should you run the risk of either? I tell you, if you will follow my advice, you shall pass without suspicion." But Clive waved his hand almost impatiently, saying, "Impossible, father, impossible! I am not a man who can set a guard upon his lips; and I should say things from time to time which would soon lead men to see and know who it was that did it. I could not converse with any of my neighbours here without betraying myself." "Then you must go away for a time," answered Filmer. "That was the very advice I was going to give you. If you act with decision, and leave the country for a short time, I will be answerable for your remaining free from even a doubt." "The very way to bring doubt upon myself," answered Clive, with a short, bitter laugh. "Would not every one ask why Clive ran away?" "The answer would then be simple," said the priest, "namely, that he went, probably, because he had engaged with his brother-in-law, Norries, in these rash schemes against the government which have been so signally frustrated this night at Barhampton." "One crime instead of another!" answered Clive, gloomily, bending down his brow upon his hands again. "With this difference," continued Mr. Filmer, "that the one will be soon and easily pardoned, the other never; that for the one you cannot be pursued into another land, that for the other you would be pursued and taken; that the one brings no disgrace upon your name, that the other blasts you as a felon, leaves a stain upon your child, deprives her of a parent, ruins her happiness for ever." "Oh fly, father, fly!" cried Helen. "Save yourself from such a horrible fate!" "What! and leave you here unprotected!" exclaimed Clive. "Oh no! let me go with you!" cried Helen,