“Not a pair, George,” said Uncle Luke, grimly. “Louie’s worth five hundred of the boy.”
“He’d drive me mad, Lou, he’d drive me mad,” cried Harry, tearing his hand from his sister’s grasp, and hurrying away; but only to run back repentant and kiss her fondly before going.
Volume Two—Chapter Five.
The Trifle that Tells Tales.
As Harry Vine left his father’s house, and hurried down the slope, he gazed wildly out to sea. There were no thoughts of old Huguenot estates, or ancient titles, but France lay yonder over that glistening sea, and as he watched a cinnamon-sailed lugger gliding rapidly south and east, he longed to be aboard.
Why should he not do as Pradelle had done—escape from the dangers which surrounded and hemmed him in? It was the easiest way out of his difficulties.
There were several reasons.
To go would stamp him with the crime, and so invite pursuit. To do this was to disgrace father and sister, and perhaps be taken and dragged back.