'The guilt and shame would have been all the same to us,' said my
mother.
'Come, Mary, don't be hard on the poor fellow. In quiet times like
these a poor boy can't look over the wall where one might have
stolen a horse, ay, or a dozen horses, when there was something else
to think about!'
'You would not have forgiven such a thing, sir.'
'It never would have happened under me, or in any decently commanded
ship!' he thundered. 'There wasn't a fault to be found with him in
the Calypso. What possessed Winslow to let him sail with Brydone?
But the service is going,' etc. etc., he ran on--forgetting that it
was he himself who had been unwilling, perhaps rightly, to press the
Duke of Clarence for an appointment to a crack frigate for his
namesake. However, when he took leave he repeated, as he kissed my
mother, 'Mind, Mary, don't be set against the lad. That's the way
to make 'em desperate, and he is a mere boy, after all.'
Poor mother, it was not so much hardness as a wounded spirit that
made her look so rigid. It might have been better if the return
could have been delayed so as to make her yearn after her son, but
there was nowhere for him to go, and the coach was already on its
way. How strange it was to feel the wonted glow at Clarence's
return coupled with a frightful sense of disgrace and depression.
The time was far on in October, and it was thus quite dark when the
travellers arrived, having walked from Charing Cross, where the
coach set them down.
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