“He will not suffer much hurt,” said he; “there is something to break his fall.”
I looked down, and there the unhappy wretch was seen squatting and clinging to the slippery shingles of an old stable, unhurt, some twelve feet below us, unable to reascend, and very unwilling to adopt the only alternative which the case presented—-that of descending softly upon the rank bed of stable-ordure which the provident care of the gardener had raised up on every hand, the reeking fumes of which were potent enough to expel us very soon from our place of watch at the window. Of the further course of the elegant culprit we took no heed. The ludicrousness of his predicament had the effect of turning the whole adventure into merriment among those who remained in the establishment; and availing ourselves of the clamorous mirth of the parties, we made our escape from the place with a feeling, on my part, of indescribable relief.
CHAPTER XXXI. — HOW THE GAME WAS PLAYED
“WELL, we may breathe awhile,” said Kingsley, as we found ourselves once more in the pure air, and under the blue sky of midnight. “We have got through an ugly task with tolerable success. You stood by me like a man, Clifford. I need not tell you how much I thank you.”
“I heartily rejoice that you are through with it, Kingsley; but I am not so sure that we can deliberately approve of everything that we may have been required by the circumstances of the case to do.”
“What! you did not relish the playing? I respect your scruples, but it does not follow that it must become a habit. You played to enable a friend to get back from a knave what he lost as a fool, and to punish the knavery that he could not well hope to reform. I do not see, considering the amount of possible good which we have done, that the evil is wholly inexcusable.”
“Perhaps not; but this heap of money which I have in my bosom—should you have taken it?”
“And why not? Whose should it be, if not mine?”