We went our way in much better heart. We were fortified indeed by such a generous confidence. And so susceptible is the mind to the opinion of others, that on the strength of the landlord's disposition, we began to hold up our heads again in the world, and to take a rose-coloured view of our affairs. All was not lost yet by a good deal. With our admirable equipage we had resources of a sort; and we were still in the complete possession of our freedom. It remained for us to utilize it to the full. It was while we were engaged with this train of speculation that a concrete and definite idea came into my head. Why not make for the port of Bristol and flee the country? Why not indeed? "A brave plan, truly," Cynthia says, "but we cannot do it without money." "We will sell our horses and chariot to some honest vintner of Bristol city," says I, "and the proceeds should easily suffice to take us to the Americas." Although Mrs. Cynthia shook her head and deprecated it as a wild-goose scheme, she was compelled to admit that it was the best that offered. Her protests were not unmingled with regret, for she could not be got to consider it so light a thing to renounce her country. For my part I must confess that I was troubled with no such scruples. Like all persons who serve it scurvily, and who are least of an ornament to it, I held myself to be as ill-used by it as ever it had been by me. I felt that I could renounce it for ever without a pang. After some little meditation I became immeasurably taken with this scheme. There was no reason why with one bold stroke we should not renounce our liabilities and put away our dangers. Every hour we spent in England now was at our peril. But let us reach the port of Bristol and turn our chaise and horses into ready money sufficient to defray the expenses of the voyage, and once again should we be able to breathe the air of freedom. Seeing me more than ever possessed with the notion, Mrs. Cynthia, like a dutiful wife, began presently to yield to it. She owned at least that a life over seas could not be much more precarious than the one we were at present enjoying, and it might conceivably be less so. "But I could wish," says she, "that we had more to found our fortunes on. How can we support ourselves when we get to--to what-d'ye-call-'em?" "You will spin, my dear," says I, "and I shall delve, in some lone wood cabin on the prairie." "But we shall perish of the dulness in a twelve-month." "Oh no, my dear," says I, "there will be wild beasts and Red Indians to provide us with more than enough of relaxation."