matter better than you think for, and I know my brother better than
you can know him. There would be no pardon, I tell you. Ralph would be
banished."

"Let us not drive them to worse destruction," said Rotha.

"And what _could_ be worse?" said Willy, rising and walking aimlessly
across the room. "They might turn us from this shelter, true; they
might leave us nothing but charity or beggary, that is sure enough. Is
this worse than banishment? Worse! Nothing can be worse--"

"Yes, but something _can_ be worse," said the girl firmly, never
shifting the fixed determination of her gaze from the spot whence the
constables had disappeared. "Willy, there _is_ worse to come of this
business, and Ralph should be told of it if we can tell him."

"You don't know my brother," repeated Willy in a high tone of extreme
vexation. "He would be banished, I say."

"And if so--" said Rotha.

"If so!" cried Willy, catching at her unfinished words,--"if so we
should purchase our privilege of not being kicked out of this place at
the price of my brother's liberty. Can you be so mean of soul, Rotha?"

"Your resolve is a noble one, but you do me much wrong," said Rotha
with more spirit than before.

"Nay, then," said Willy, assuming a tone of some anger, not unmixed
with a trace of reproach, "I see how it is. I know now what you'd have