Warenne composed his letter with the greatest care; stated his extreme reluctance to disobey the orders which he had received; hoped that, under the circumstances of the case, he should merely anticipate his general’s wishes by the arrangements which he had made to prevent the loss of life and destruction of property, which could not fail to be consequent on the execution of a plot such as he developed; and added the informations of Nicholas and Nanny Rudd. This done, for the first time since Nicholas’s arrival, he ventured to turn his mind wholly to the difficulties of his situation. To the charge of disobedience, to the risk of disgrace, when so important an object was in view, he had reconciled himself without a struggle; but now that he had leisure to reflect, there was much to appal him in the enterprise which he had undertaken. He was about to stake his military character on a single cast; to disobey the strict orders of his general, to act upon his own responsibility; wherefore, if he failed, he must expect to be dismissed from the service. He doubted for a moment whether it would not have been wiser to adopt the safe line—obey orders, and avoid danger of every sort—but it was only for a moment; the next, his generous nature spurned the thought. His self-devotion, however, was tasked to the utmost when he contemplated the effect that might be produced on Adelaide’s mind by his being disgraced. Hope, spite of reason, had hitherto remained an inmate of his breast; and had whispered that a day might come when he could venture to declare to her his passion; but can this, he asked himself, ever take place if I am dishonoured? Can I, with a tarnished reputation, ever ask her to wed me? or can she ever believe my vows, when I now leave this spot, where danger is supposed to threaten, and trust her to the protection of any arm but my own? These ideas, in every variety of form, for a time pressed upon Warenne’s heated imagination; but wrestling with the rebellious feelings of his heart, he would not suffer his love to unman him. His only hope was in success—a poor hope, perhaps; for even success might not rescue him from censure for presumption and disregard of discipline. Still it was his only hope; he would not, therefore, willingly throw it away, by yielding to thoughts which, at the best, could but enervate him. He forced his mind from the reflections which he had allowed to bewilder him, and tried to compose himself for the night—how well, let those declare who have endured the torments of uncertainty. Certainty, even of the worst, may be borne; the condemned criminal sleeps, who is to rise to execution; but while hope has power to frame visions for the future, which fear shall the next moment dissipate, sleep is chased from the eyelids of the unfortunate, and forgetfulness is a boon which they are not permitted to enjoy. CHAPTER XI.