Once he had been within an ace of cutting and running. That was in the
early days, soon after his marriage. Trade had petered out; and there
would have been as little to leave behind as to carry with him. But,
even so, circumstances had proved too strong for him: what with Mary's
persuasions and John's intermeddling, his scheme had come to nothing.
And if, with so much in his favour, he had not managed to carry it out,
how in all the world could he hope to now, when every thing conspired
against him. It was, besides, excusable in youth to challenge fortune; a
very different matter for one of his age.
Of his age! . . . the words gave him pause. By their light he saw why he
had knuckled under so meekly, at the time of his first attempt. It was
because then a few years one way or another did not signify; he had them
to spare. Now, each individual year was precious to him; he parted with
it lingeringly, unwillingly. Time had taken to flashing past, too;
Christmas was hardly celebrated before it was again at the door. Another
ten years or so and he would be an old man, and it would in very truth
be too late. The tempter voice--in this case also the voice of reason--
said: now or never!
But when he came to look the facts in the face his heart failed him
anew, so heavily did the arguments against his taking such a step--and,
true to his race, it was these he began by marshalling--weigh down the
scales. He should have done it, if done it was to be,
five .
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