Although I uphold such actions as heroic, as springing from true moral greatness, and worthy of our deepest reverence, yet it must not be supposed that there is anything marvellous in this self-abnegation. The followers of De la Rochefoucauld might find out egotism even here, if they used their cold scalpel aright. They might say Captain Heath was convinced that Blanche loved another, and all his efforts to prevent that would be useless. Finding himself thus completely excluded from all hope of obtaining her, he made up his mind to the defeat, and instead of allowing himself to be made miserable by idle regrets and idler jealousy, he gave himself the delight of assisting her.
To Cecil, however, who was certainly so incapable of such conduct as to be incapable of believing it, the captain was evidently a scoundrel, whom he would first outwit and then challenge.
To outwit him, he determined to carry Blanche off.
Cecil, vacillating between his passion and his prudence, between his love for Blanche and his horror at poverty, suddenly lost all hesitation, the instant he was aware of a rival. The selfishness which had made him unwilling to encounter poverty, to rush into the great battle of life, there to gain a footing for the sake of Blanche, now made him ready to run all risks for the sake of triumphing over a rival. No suggestions assailed him now respecting the imprudence of marriage; no horrors at bringing a family into the world without the means of properly providing for them; no thought of what she would suffer now disturbed him, as it had before. And why? because it then was only a mask under which he hid the face of his own selfishness from himself. The one-absorbing thought was how to quickly call her his; how to irrevocably bind her to him.
"He thinks to dupe me, does he? He shall find out his mistake. I will this instant go to her, and arrange our flight."
CHAPTER XIX.
THE PERILS OF ONE NIGHT.
Words that weep, and tears that speak.
COWLEY.
Blanche's bed-room formed the angle of the right wing at the back of the Hall. Her window looked upon the terrace. Between the right wing and the offices ran an arcade, as a sort of a connecting link. The top of this arcade formed an open gallery with heavy balustrades, and paved with dark iron-grey tiles. A small side-door opened on to it from the bed-room; and frequently, in summer, did Blanche sit out in this gallery to enjoy the cool night-air, or, leaning against the balustrade, gazed at the heavy curtain of clouds,—
"While the rare stars rush'd thro' them dim and fast."