Blyth Scudamore's case was a mixture of those two. It would have been
better for his comfort if he had shut his eyes; but having opened them,
he should have stayed where he was, without any fluttering. However, he
acted for the best; and when a man does that, can those who never do so
find a word to say against him?
According to the best of his recollection, which was generally near the
mark, it was upon Christmas Eve, A.D. 1804, that his curiosity was first
aroused. He had made up his room to look a little bit like home, with
a few sprigs of holly, and a sheaf of laurel, not placed daintily as a
lady dresses them, but as sprightly as a man can make them look, and as
bright as a captive Christmas could expect. The decorator shed a little
sigh--if that expression may be pardoned by analogy, for he certainly
neither fetched nor heaved it--and then he lit his pipe to reflect upon
home blessings, and consider the free world outside, in which he had
very little share at present.
Mild blue eyes, such as this young man possessed, are often
short-sighted at a moderate range, and would be fitted up with glasses
in these artificial times, and yet at long distance they are most
efficient, and can make out objects that would puzzle keener organs. And
so it was that Scudamore, with the sinking sun to help him, descried at
a long distance down the tidal reach a peaceful-looking boat, which made
his heart beat faster.
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