Page 677 - for-the-term-of-his-natural-life

altation. ‘If I choose to sin, I will sin boldly; and this poor
wretch, who looks up to me as an angel, shall know me for
my true self.’
The notion of thus destroying his own fame in the eyes
of the man whom he had taught to love him, was pleasant
to his diseased imagination. It was the natural outcome of
the morbid condition of mind into which he had drifted,
and he provided for the complete execution of his scheme
with cunning born of the mischief working in his brain. It
was desirable that the fatal stroke should be dealt at the last
possible instant; that he should suddenly unveil his own in-
famy, and then depart, never to be seen again. To this end
he had invented an excuse for returning to the shore at the
latest possible moment. He had purposely left in his room
a dressing-bag—the sort of article one is likely to forget in
the hurry of departure from one’s house, and so certain to
remember when the time comes to finally prepare for set-
tling in another. He had ingeniously extracted from Blunt
the fact that ‘he didn’t expect a wind before dark, but want-
ed all ship-shape and aboard’, and then, just as darkness
fell, discovered that it was imperative for him to go ashore.
Blunt cursed, but, if the chaplain insisted upon going, there
was no help for it.
‘There’ll be a breeze in less than two hours,’ said he.
‘You’ve plenty of time, but if you’re not back before the first
puff, I’ll sail without you, as sure as you’re born.’ North as-
sured him of his punctuality. ‘Don’t wait for me, Captain,
if I’m not here,’ said he with the lightness of tone which
men use to mask anxiety. ‘I’d take him at his word, Blunt,’

For the Term of His Natural Life