ake any oath you like that there is
no paper there concerned with politics. You will be sorry if you read
them. I assure you that you will repent it afterwards. You will be
doing a base action. You will pry into a woman's secrets. You will bring
dishonour on the name of a lady, a noble lady."

"Do you expect us to believe," said Donald, "that any lady, noble or
other--that any woman, that any soldier's drab even--has written love
letters to you?"

He opened the first which came to hand of the pile of papers which lay
at his feet on the ground. Finlay suddenly collapsed. His impudence,
his ready tongue, deserted him. He had fought hard for his life, had
lied--though he lied clumsily in his terror--had twisted, doubled,
fought point after point. Whatever the papers were that had been found
on him, he recognised that they condemned him utterly and hopelessly.
The game was up for him. He saw death near at hand, as he had seen it
earlier when he first realised that he was trapped in Moylin's kitchen.
Donald read paper after paper silently. Some he laid aside, some he
passed to the man next him to read. Finlay rallied again. He made
another effort to save himself.

"Listen," he said, "I have influence with the Government. I don't deny
it. Call me an informer, a spy, any name you like, but admit that I have
served my masters well. I can claim my reward from them. Let me go, and
I swear to obtain pardons for you. I can save you, and I will. I offer
you your lives as a ransom for mine."

"Would you make us what you are?" said Donald, sternly. "Would you buy
our honour, you that have sold your own?"

Finlay, who had knelt during his last appeal, fell forward. He grasped
Neal with his hands. It was impossible in the dim light to see the faces
of the men around him, but some instinct told him that Neal alone felt
any pity for him, that from Neal alone he could look for mercy.

"Save me, Neal Ward," he cried. "For God's sake, save me. Plead for me.
They will listen to you. I am not fit to die. Grant me one day, only one
day. I will do anything you wish. I will---- Oh God, Oh Christ, Oh save
me, save me now."

Neal felt drops fall on his hands, sweat from Finlay's brow or tears
from his eyes. He spoke--

"Spare him," he said. "Who are we to judge and to slay? James Hope said
to me last night that we should refrain from taking vengeance. I ask
you to respect what he said. Think of it. This man's case to-day may
be your's to-