My horror was lest he should be driven to go off to the sea, which
he loved so well, knowing, as nobody else did, the longing that
sometimes seized him for it, a hereditary craving that curiously
conflicted with the rest of his disposition; and, indeed, his lack
was more of moral than of physical courage. It haunted me
constantly that his entreaty that my father should not come to
London was a bad sign, and that he would never face such another
return home. And was I justified in keeping all this to myself,
when my father's presence might save him from the flight that would
indeed be the surrender of his character, and to the life of a
common sailor? Never have I known such leaden days as these, yet
the misery was not a tithe of what Clarence was undergoing.
I was right in my forebodings. Prosecution and a second return home
in shame and disgrace were alike hideous to Clarence, and the
present was almost equally terrible, for nobody at the office had
any doubt of his guilt, and the young men who had sneered at his
strictness and religious habits regarded him as an unmasked
hypocrite, only waiting on sufferance till his greatly deceived
patron should write to decide on the steps to be taken with him,
while he knew he was thought to be brazening it out in hopes of
again deceiving Mr. Castleford.
The sea began to exert its power over him, and he thought with
longing of its freedom, as if the sails of the vessels were the
wings of a dove to flee away and be at rest.
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