'"
CHAPTER LXIII
THE FATAL STEP
As Carne rode up the hill that night towards his ruined castle, the
flush of fierce excitement and triumphant struggle died away, and
self-reproach and miserable doubt struck into him like ague. For the
death of Twemlow--as he supposed--he felt no remorse whatever. Him he
had shot in furious combat, and as a last necessity; the fellow had
twice insulted him, and then insolently collared him. And Faith, who had
thwarted him with Dolly, and been from the first his enemy, now would
have to weep and wail, and waste her youth in constancy. All that was
good; but he could not regard with equal satisfaction the death of the
ancient Admiral. The old man had brought it upon himself by his stupid
stubbornness; and looking fairly upon that matter, Carne scarcely saw
how to blame himself. Still, it was a most unlucky thing, and must lead
to a quantity of mischief. To-morrow, or at the latest Monday, was to
have crowned with grand success his years of toil and danger. There
still might be the landing, and he would sail that night to hasten it,
instead of arranging all ashore; but it could no longer be a triumph of
crafty management. The country was up, the Admiral's death would
spread the alarm and treble it; and worst of all, in the hot pursuit of
himself, which was sure to follow when people's wits came back to them,
all the stores and ammunition, brought together by so much skill and
patience and hardihood, must of necessity be discovered and fall into
the hands of the enemy.
Pages:
647
648
649
650
651
652
653
654
655
656
657
658
659
660
661
662
663
664
665
666
667
668
669
670
671