“Perhaps Mr. Thornton can assist you,” said Despard.
Langhetti shook his head.
“No; he is a man of law, and does not understand the man who acts from feeling. I can be as logical as he, but I obey impulses which are unintelligible to him. He would simply advise me to give up the matter, adding, perhaps, that I would do myself no good. Whereas he can not understand that it makes no difference to me whether I do myself good or not; and again, that the highest good that I can do myself is to seek after her.”
Mrs. Thornton looked at Despard, but he avoided her glance.
“No,” said Langhetti, “I will ask assistance from another—from you, Despard. You are one who acts as I act. Come with me.”
“When?”
“To-morrow morning.”
“I will.”
“Of course you will. You would not be a Despard if you did not. You would not be the son of your father—your father!” he repeated, in thrilling tones, as his eyes flashed with enthusiasm. “Despard!” he cried, after a pause, “your father was a man whom you might pray to now. I saw him once. Shall I ever forget the day when he calmly went to lay down his life for my father? Despard, I worship your father’s memory. Come with me. Let us emulate those two noble men who once before rescued a captive. We can not risk our lives as they did. Let us at least do what we can.”
“I will do exactly what you say. You can think and I will act.”