Her brother had told her the whole circumstances of Emilia’s life and position.  When he said, “Do what you can for her,” she knew that it was not the common empty phrase.  Young as she was, simple in habits, clear in mind, open in all practices of daily life, she was no sooner brought into an active course than astuteness and impetuosity combined wonderfully in her.  She did not tell Merthyr that she had done anything to discover Emilia, and only betrayed that she was moving at all in a little conversation they had about a meeting at the house of his friend Marini, an Italian exile.

“Possibly Belloni goes there,” said Merthyr.  “I wonder whether Marini knows anything of him.  They have a meeting every other night.”

Georgiana replied:  “He went there and took his daughter the night after we were at Besworth.  He took her to be sworn in.”

“Still that old folly of Marini’s!” cried Merthyr, almost wrathfully.  He had some of the English objection to the mixing-up of women in political matters.

Georgiana instantly addressed herself to it:  “He thinks that the country must be saved by its women as well as its men; and if they have not brains and steadfast devotion, he concludes that the country will not be saved.  But he gives them their share of the work; and, dearest, has he had reason to repent it?”

“No,” Merthyr was forced to admit—­taking shelter in his antipathy to the administration of an oath to women.  And consider that this is a girl!”

“The oaths of girls are sometimes more binding on them than the oaths of women.”

“True, it affects their imaginations vividly; but it seems childish.  Does she have to kiss a sword and a book?”

Merthyr made a gesture like a shrug, with a desponding grimace.

“You know,” answered Georgiana, smiling, “that I was excused any formula, by special exemption.  I have no idea of what is done.  Water, salt, white thorns, and other Carbonaro mysteries may be in use or not:  I think no worse of the cause, whatever is done.”

“I love the cause,” said Merthyr.  “I dislike this sort of conspiratorial masque Marini and his Chief indulge in.  I believe it sustains them, and there’s its only use.”

“I,” said Georgiana, “love the cause only from association with it; but in my opinion Marini is right.  He deals with young and fervent minds, that require a ceremony to keep them fast—­yes, dear, and women more than others do.  After that, they cease to have to rely upon themselves—­a reliance their good instinct teaches them is frail.  There, now; have I put my sex low enough?”

She slid her head against her brother’s shoulder.  If he had ever met a man worthy of her, Merthyr would have sighed to feel that all her precious love was his own.

“Is there any likelihood that Belloni will be there tonight?” he asked.

She shook her head.  “He has not been there since.  He went for that purpose.”