“I foresaw that, wretch.”
“Press me not too hard, Thorne; I thank Heaven that I alone shall be the victim; and yet, how I shudder at the thought, with all my sins upon me—no, I cannot bear to dream of it. Save me, Thorne!—save me! save me! I throw myself on my knees before you. I never wronged you—I have admired your firmness when I have cursed my own weakness. Save me! save me!”
“Confess, then, did you not mean to sell Mendoza to save yourself?”
“I know not my own motives, Thorne. I am entirely unmanned—ask me not to what lengths despair might have driven a guilty man. Believe me, I laboured anxiously and keenly for his safety to the neglect and danger of my own; for then my thoughts were ennobled by my aspirations for his daughter. I am too mean and degraded now to dream of matching myself with such purity; and I have sunk into mean grovelling selfishness. Thank God! he has escaped. I would not—no, it is impossible I could have betrayed Mendoza, the father of Anita, to have saved my own worthless self. The first sight of that old man’s honest self must have driven such demon thoughts from my mind. I sought Mendoza, Thorne, to give him these papers. Nay, do not frown so upon me: they are papers signed by himself last night disposing of the half of his property to me in the anticipation of my being his son-in-law; if he escapes his property may be disembargoed—mine never can be. Some papers of my own are there too; some of these claims of mine, Thorne, will be recoverable. I have not a relative in the world; pray give them when—oh, I shudder to think of it—give them to the family of Mendoza, give them to Anita.”
“Silence, wretched pettifogger! think not that Anita Mendoza can ever stoop to accept the wages of treachery. I may, I will try to save your own mean life. Sit down there, take advantage of the short time yet spared you to arrange your affairs. I am off to see what may be done to save you from Rosas, whom I despise more than I pity you!” and he rushed out of the room before the trembling Le Brun could thank him for his offered assistance.
Thorne was the creature of impulse. Possessed of a generous heart and warm temperament, he often conferred favours at the same time that he showered reproaches. He had known Le Brun as a respected and honoured member of society: he had never liked him—he was too prim, sober, and methodical, for his errant and jovial disposition. Le Brun’s steady, plodding business habits Tom Thorne had sometimes considered a kind of reproach to his own careless, hap-hazard way of conducting his affairs; and though he had never made regular approaches to gain the favour of Anita Mendoza, his vanity was offended to see the advances that the quiet, easy, insinuating address of Le Brun made, in gaining the affections of the only woman who ever interested him. For all these reasons he had ever disliked Le Brun, and now he despised him: but still, however dangerous it might be, he resolved, if possible, to save him; and while in this state of mind he fell in with the captain of an English man-of-war. It was usual for the English and French vessels-of-war in those dismal times to receive all fugitives who claimed their protection; and the Frenchmen even went so far as to walk through the streets in armed bodies, and receive among their number those whom persecution induced to claim their assistance. Thorne had little difficulty in persuading the captain to lend his assistance in carrying off an intended victim. His vessel was to sail that evening; many of his boats were on shore; and it was arranged that at four o’clock, when they were ready to start, a number of the seamen should find their way to the Sala by different routes; and as the Sala was not far from the beach, they anticipated no difficulty in carrying off Le Brun.
This being arranged, Thorne hurried to inform and prepare the fugitive. Le Brun was still there, and another was there also, heaping every term of opprobrium that could be fancied on that hapless and miserable individual.
“You scum of the sea, you! Will nothing I can say to you persuade you to be a gentleman? By the powers of Moll Kelly! I’ll bring in the marker to dust your hair with chalk powder—the only powder you know any thing about, you black-faced sheep! Faith! a sheep is innocent, and a ram will stand to its own defence: so the only resemblance you have to a sheep is the chance you have of——”
“Hallo there, Griffin!” cried Thorne, “don’t abuse Le Brun now: our friends with the lanterns are after him, and here we come to the rescue. Le Brun, there is not one moment to spare. English seamen are now at the door—they will take you safe to their ship in spite of the friends who are dodging you outside—and so good-bye. God forgive you!”
“Oh, Thorne, how can I?”