CHAPTER LIV
IN A SAD PLIGHT
"How shall I get out of this parole? Or shall I break it, instead of
getting out? Which shall I think of first, my honour, or my country? The
safety of millions, or the pride of one? An old Roman would have settled
it very simply. But a Christian cannot do things so. Thank God there is
no hurry, for a few days yet! But I must send a letter to Desportes this
very night. Then I must consider about waiting for a week."
Scudamore, unable to think out his case as yet--especially after running
as if his wind could turn a vane--was sitting on the bank, to let the
river-bed get darker, before he put his legs into the mud to get across.
For the tide was out, and the old boat high and dry, and a very weak
water remained to be crossed (though, like nearly all things that are
weak, it was muddy), but the channel had a moist gleam in the dry spring
air, and anybody moving would be magnified afar. He felt that it would
never do for him, with such a secret, to be caught, and brought to book,
or even to awake suspicion of his having it. The ancient Roman of whom
he had thought would have broken parole for his country's sake, and then
fallen on his sword for his own sake; but although such behaviour should
be much admired, it is nicer to read of such things than to do them.
Captain Scuddy was of large and steady nature, and nothing came to him
with a jerk or jump--perhaps because he was such a jumper--and he wore
his hat well on the back of his head, because he had no fear of losing
it.
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