"
He got up, and walked to and fro in the cell, musing, and his
face grew dark and darker. "Your Monmouth was a fool," he said.
"He struck from the boundaries; the blow should fall in the very
chambers of the King." He put a finger musingly upon his lip. "I
see--I see how it could be done. Full of danger, but brilliant,
brilliant and bold! Yes, yes...yes!" Then all at once he seemed to
come out of a dream, and laughed ironically. "There it is," he
said; "there is my case. I have the idea, but I will not strike; it
is not worth the doing unless I am driven to it. We are brave
enough, we idlers," he went on; "we die with an air--all artifice,
artifice! ... Yet of late I have had dreams. Now that is not well.
It is foolish to dream, and I had long since ceased to do so. But
somehow all the mad fancies of my youth come back. This dream will
go, it will not last; it is--my fate, my doom," he added lightly,
"or what you will!"
I knew, alas, too well where his thoughts were hanging, and I
loathed him anew; for, as he hinted, his was a passion, not a deep
abiding love. His will was not stronger than the general turpitude
of his nature. As if he had divined my thought, he said, "My
will is stronger than any passion that I have; I can never plead
weakness in the day of my judgment.
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