“And where have you been, my pretty maid?” asked he.
“To the post-office--with a letter; a letter to Frederick. Oh, papa, perhaps I have done wrong: but mamma was seized with such a passionate yearning to see him--she said it would make her well again--and then she said that she must see him before she died--I cannot tell you how urgent she was! Did I do wrong?”
Mr. Hale did not reply at first. Then he said:
“You should have waited till I came in, Margaret.”
“I tried to persuade her--” and then she was silent.
“I don’t know,” said Mr. Hale, after a pause. “She ought to see him if she wishes it so much; for I believe it would do her much more good than all the doctor’s medicine--and, perhaps, set her up altogether; but the danger to him, I’m afraid, is very great.”
“All these years since the mutiny, papa?”
“Yes; it is necessary, of course, for government to take very stringent measures for the repression of offences against authority, more particularly in the navy, where a commanding officer needs to be surrounded in his men’s eyes with a vivid consciousness of all the power there is at home to back him, and take up his cause, and avenge any injuries offered to him, if need be. Ah! it’s no matter to them how far their authorities have tyrannised--galled hasty tempers to madness--or, if that can be any excuse afterwards, it is never allowed for in the first instance; they spare no expense, they send out ships--they scour the seas to lay hold of the offenders--the lapse of years does not wash out the memory of the offence--it is a fresh and vivid crime on the Admiralty books till it is blotted out by blood.”
“Oh, papa, what have I done! And yet it seemed so right at the time. I’m sure Frederick himself, would run the risk.”
“So he would; so he should! Nay, Margaret, I’m glad it is done, though I durst not have done it myself. I’m thankful it is as it is; I should have hesitated till, perhaps, it might have been too late to do any good. Dear Margaret, you have done what is right about it; and the end is beyond our control.”
It was all very well; but her father’s account of the relentless manner in which mutinies were punished made Margaret shiver and creep. If she had decoyed her brother home to blot out the memory of his error by his blood! She saw her father’s anxiety lap deeper than the source of his latter cheering words. She took his arm and walked home pensively and wearily by his side.