had, in fact, learnt of him
almost all he knew in an irregular, voluntary sort of fashion, and who
loved him heartily.

His health was failing now, and to bring him home was one of Harold's
prime objects, since London advice might yet restore him. Harold had
made one attempt in his cause at Sydney, sending in a copy of his
father's dying statement, also signed by his uncle; but though he was
told that it had been received, he had no encouragement to hope it
would be forwarded, and had been told that to apply direct to the
Secretary of State, backed by persons from our own neighbourhood, would
be the best chance, and on this he consulted Mr. Prosser, but without
meeting much sympathy. Mr. Prosser said many people's minds had
changed with regard to English or Irish demagogues, and that the Alison
Brothers themselves might very probably have been pardoned, but
everyone was tired of Poles, and popular tradition viewed Prometesky as
the ogre of the past. Mr. Prosser did not seem as if he would even
very willingly assist in the drawing up in due form a petition in the
Pole's favour, and declared that without some influential person to
introduce it, it would be perfectly useless.

Eustace turned round with, "There, you see, Harold, nothing can be
done."

"I do not see that," said Harold, in his quiet way.

"You do not mean to do anything?"

"Yes, I do."

"But what--what? What can you do?"

"I do not yet know."

"You see it is of no use. We shall only get into a scrape with all the
gentlemen of the county."

"Never mind now, Eustace," said Harold, briefly. But I knew the
expression of his face by this time quite well enough to be certain
that nothing would make him abandon the cause of his father's old
friend; and that his silence was full of the strongest determination. I
think it fascinated me, and though in my cooler senses I reverted to my
old notion of Prometesky as a dangerous firebrand, I could not help
feeling for and with the youth whose soul was set on delivering his
friend from exile.

My turn came the next morning, before Mr. Prosser went away. He had
much to say against my making Arghouse my home, telling me that I had a
full independence and could live where I pleased; but that I knew
already, and had decided on the amount I ought to pay towards the
housekeeping.

Then he wanted me to understand how the young men were looked upon, and
the dread all the neighbourhood had of them. I said I h