He knew perfectly well that he was about to do wrong; but he tried to deceive himself into the belief that Ephraim’s casuistry afforded him a sufficient excuse for going off without the leave which would certainly never have been granted him. Moreover, he argued that, after the sacrifice which Ephraim had made just to give him pleasure, he could not now hang back. In a word, as many a wise person has done before and since, he set up objections like so many men of straw, and deliberately proceeded to knock them down again.
At last he succeeded in crowding his conscience into a corner, and about eleven o’clock, when every one else in the house was fast asleep, rose from the bed where he had tossed and turned since nine, and slipping on his clothes, softly opened the window and got out.
The night was very dark; a light breeze blew from the south; and the waving branches of shrubs and trees smote Lucius gently on the face as he stole through the plantations to the turnpike. His heart thumped violently against his ribs, for it seemed to him as if unseen hands were laying hold of him and striving to draw him back to his duty. But all these sombre thoughts took flight when he reached the rendezvous, where Ephraim, with the aid of half a dozen of his fellow-workmen, was engaged in inflating the balloon.
Three or four great torches illuminated the scene, which was to Lucius at least sufficiently awe-inspiring, for what he had last seen a tangled heap upon the floor of the cabin, now rose a vast bulk, which, passing into the mirk above the flare of the torches, seemed to rear itself into the very vault of heaven. Lucius trembled as he watched it.
‘Hello! Luce,’ said Ephraim, coming forward. ‘Ye’re hyar on time.’
Lucius attempted to reply, but the words stuck in his throat, and he only gripped Ephraim nervously by the arm.
‘Purty, ain’t she?’ asked Ephraim with pardonable pride, as he surveyed his handiwork, which, now nearly full, and securely anchored to the ground by strong ropes, swayed to and fro in the night wind.
‘She ain’t big, ye know,’ went on Ephraim—big! she seemed to Lucius like a vast mountain—‘she ain’t big, ye know, but she’ll carry the like er us two shore and easy. Say, Luce,’ as he felt the latter shaken by a violent shiver, ‘ye ain’t afraid, air ye?’
‘Not I,’ answered Lucius, as well as he could for his chattering teeth. ‘I’m cold—I’m excited; but I’m not in the least frightened. Shall we get into the car?’
‘Not yet,’ answered Ephraim. ‘She ain’t full yet. I’ll tell ye when.’