The hot blood surged up into Tom’s face, his heart pounded like a hammer against his breast, his head was in a whirl.
A hundred dollars! and sight for Bennie! No lies to be told—only to keep quiet—and sight for Bennie! Would it be very wrong? But, oh, to think of Bennie in the joy of seeing! The temptation was terrible. Stronger, less affectionate natures than Tom’s might well have yielded.
[CHAPTER III.]
THE UNQUIET CONSCIENCE.
And Tom yielded.
The whisperings of conscience were drowned in the anticipation of Bennie’s joy. The fear of personal violence would not have conquered him; neither would the fallacious argument of compensation by destruction have done so. But that vision of Bennie, with eyes that could look into his eyes, with eyes that could see the houses and the breakers, the trees and the birds and the flowers, that could even see the far-off stars in the sky at night,—that was the vision that crowded out from Tom’s mind the sharp distinction between right and wrong, and delivered him over wholly to the tempter.
But he felt the shame of it, nevertheless, as he answered, in a choking voice, at last,—
“Yes, I could. A hundred dollars ’d give sight to Bennie. I wouldn’t lie for it, but I’ll keep still for it.”