“We know not yet. The most stubborn natures may be subdued; even ignorance can be made to open its ears at the voice of entreaty. I may prevail.”
“There is one temper to be quelled—one reason to convince—one prejudice to conquer, over which you have no power.”
“Whose is that?”
“My own.”
“What mean you, sir? Surely you are not weak enough to suffer resentment against such beings to goad you to an act of madness?”
“Do I seem mad?” demanded Wilder. “The feeling by which I am governed may be false, but, such as it is, it is grafted on my habits, my opinions; I will say, my principles. Honour forbids me to quit a ship that I command, while a plank of her is afloat.”
“Of what use can a single arm prove at such a crisis?”.
“None,” he answered, with a melancholy smile. “I must die, in order that others, who may be serviceable hereafter, should do their duty.”
Both Mrs Wyllys and Gertrude stood regarding his kindling eye, but otherwise placid countenance, with looks whose concern amounted to horror. The former read, in the very composure of his mien, the unalterable character of his resolution; and the latter shuddering as the prospect of the cruel fate which awaited him crowded on her mind, felt a glow about her own youthful heart that almost tempted her to believe his self-devotion commendable. But the governess saw new reasons for apprehension in the determination of Wilder. If she had hitherto felt reluctance to trust herself and her ward with a band such as that which now possessed the sole authority, it was more than doubly increased by the rude and noisy summons she received to hasten and take her place among them.
“Would to Heaven I knew in what manner to choose!” she exclaimed. “Speak to us, young man, as you would counsel mother and sister.”