It was
the commonwealth he had injured. Yet, even then, why was I the one to
administer justice? Why not continue with my coffee in the morning, my
kings and cabinets and national chess at noon, my opera at night, and
let the poor devil go? Why, but that justice is brought home to every
member of society,--that naked duty requires no shirking of such
responsibility,--that, had I failed here, the crime might, with reason,
lie at my door and multiply, the criminal increase himself?
Very possibly you will not unite with me; but these little catechisms
are, once in a while, indispensable, to vindicate one's course to
one's-self.
This Ulster was a handsome youth;--the rogues have generally all
the good looks. There was nothing else remarkable about him but his
quickness; he was perpetually on the alert; by constant activity, the
rust was never allowed to collect on his faculties; his sharpness was
distressing,--he appeared subject to a tense strain. Now his quill
scratched over the paper unconcernedly, while he could join as easily in
his master's conversation; nothing seemed to preoccupy him, or he held
a mind open at every point. It is pitiful to remember him that morning,
sitting quiet, unconscious, and free, utterly in the hands of that
mighty Inquisition, the Metropolitan Police, with its countless arms,
its cells and myrmidons in the remotest corners of the Continent, at the
mercy of so merciless a monster, and momently closer involved, like some
poor prey round which a spider spins its bewildering web.
Pages:
34
35
36
37
38
39
40
41
42
43
44
45
46
47
48
49
50
51
52
53
54
55
56
57
58