‘I think, Margaret,’ she continued, after a pause, in a weak, trembling, exhausted voice, ’I am glad of it—­I am prouder of Frederick standing up against injustice, than if he had been simply a good officer.’

‘I am sure I am,’ said Margaret, in a firm, decided tone.  ’Loyalty and obedience to wisdom and justice are fine; but it is still finer to defy arbitrary power, unjustly and cruelly used-not on behalf of ourselves, but on behalf of others more helpless.’

’For all that, I wish I could see Frederick once more—­just once.  He was my first baby, Margaret.’  Mrs. Hale spoke wistfully, and almost as if apologising for the yearning, craving wish, as though it were a depreciation of her remaining child.  But such an idea never crossed Margaret’s mind.  She was thinking how her mother’s desire could be fulfilled.

’It is six or seven years ago—­would they still prosecute him, mother?  If he came and stood his trial, what would be the punishment?  Surely, he might bring evidence of his great provocation.’

‘It would do no good,’ replied Mrs. Hale.  ’Some of the sailors who accompanied Frederick were taken, and there was a court-martial held on them on board the Amicia; I believed all they said in their defence, poor fellows, because it just agreed with Frederick’s story—­but it was of no use,—­’ and for the first time during the conversation Mrs. Hale began to cry; yet something possessed Margaret to force the information she foresaw, yet dreaded, from her mother.

‘What happened to them, mamma?’ asked she.

‘They were hung at the yard-arm,’ said Mrs. Hale, solemnly.  ’And the worst was that the court, in condemning them to death, said they had suffered themselves to be led astray from their duty by their superior officers.’

They were silent for a long time.

’And Frederick was in South America for several years, was he not?’

’Yes.  And now he is in Spain.  At Cadiz, or somewhere near it.  If he comes to England he will be hung.  I shall never see his face again—­for if he comes to England he will be hung.’

There was no comfort to be given.  Mrs. Hale turned her face to the wall, and lay perfectly still in her mother’s despair.  Nothing could be said to console her.  She took her hand out of Margaret’s with a little impatient movement, as if she would fain be left alone with the recollection of her son.  When Mr. Hale came in, Margaret went out, oppressed with gloom, and seeing no promise of brightness on any side of the horizon.

CHAPTER XV

MASTERS AND MEN

’Thought fights with thought;
out springs a spark of truth
From the collision of the sword and shield.’ 
W. S. Landor.

‘Margaret,’ said her father, the next day, ’we must return Mrs. Thornton’s call.  Your mother is not very well, and thinks she cannot walk so far; but you and I will go this afternoon.’