The Works of Robert Louis Stevenson - Swanston Edition, Vol. 20Stevenson, Robert Louis
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The Works of Robert Louis Stevenson - Swanston Edition, Vol. 20
Stevenson, Robert Louis
French -- England -- Fiction; Prisoners of war -- Fiction
At the reading of this paragraph my heart turned over. In a moment I saw
my castle in the air ruined; myself changed from a mere military
fugitive into a hunted murderer, fleeing from the gallows; my love,
which had a moment since appeared so near to me, blotted from the field
of possibility. Despair, which was my first sentiment, did not, however,
endure for more than a moment. I saw that my companions had indeed
succeeded in their unlikely design; and that I was supposed to have
accompanied and perished along with them by shipwreck--a most probable
ending to their enterprise. If they thought me at the bottom of the
North Sea, I need not fear much vigilance on the streets of Edinburgh.
Champdivers was wanted: what was to connect him with St. Ives? Major
Chevenix would recognise me if he met me; that was beyond bargaining: he
had seen me so often, his interest had been kindled to so high a point,
that I could hope to deceive him by no stratagem of disguise. Well, even
so; he would have a competition of testimony before him: he knew
Clausel, he knew me, and I was sure he would decide for honour. At the
same time, the image of Flora shot up in my mind's-eye with such a
radiancy as fairly overwhelmed all other considerations; the blood
sprang to every corner of my body, and I vowed I would see and win her,
if it cost my neck.
"Very annoying, no doubt," said I, as I returned the paper to Mr.
Romaine.
"Is annoying your word for it?" said he.
"Exasperating, if you like," I admitted.
"And true?" he inquired.
"Well, true in a sense," said I. "But perhaps I had better answer that
question by putting you in possession of the facts?"
"I think so, indeed," said he.
I narrated to him as much as seemed necessary of the quarrel, the duel,
the death of Goguelat, and the character of Clausel. He heard me through
in a forbidding silence, nor did he at all betray the nature of his
sentiments, except that, at the episode of the scissors, I could
observe his mulberry face to turn three shades paler.
"I suppose I may believe you?" said he, when I had done.
"Or else conclude this interview," said I.
"Can you not understand that we are here discussing matters of the
gravest import? Can you not understand that I feel myself weighted with
a load of responsibility on your account--that you should take this
occasion to air your fire-eating manners against your own attorney?
There are serious hours in life, Mr. Anne," he said severely. "A capital
charge, and that of a very brutal character and with singularly
unpleasant details; the presence of the man Clausel, who (according to
your account of it) is actuated by sentiments of real malignity, and
prepared to swear black white; all the other witnesses scattered and
perhaps drowned at sea; the natural prejudice against a Frenchman and a
runaway prisoner: this makes a serious total for your lawyer to
consider, and is by no means lessened by the incurable folly and levity
of your own disposition."
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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