Chapter 29

BRODIE. Trust me. No man forgets his vice, you dogs, or forgives it either. It must be done: Leslie’s to-night and the Excise to-morrow. It shall be done. This settles it. They used to fetch and carry for me, and now . . . I’ve licked their boots, have I? I’m their man, their tool, their chattel. It’s the bottom rung of the ladder of shame. I sound with my foot, and there’s nothing underneath but the black emptiness of damnation. Ah, Deacon, Deacon, and so this is where you’ve been travelling all these years; and it’s for this that you learned French! The gallows . . . God help me, it begins to dog me like my shadow. _There’s_ a step to take! And the jerk upon your spine! How’s a man to die with a night-cap on? I’ve done with this. Over yonder, across the great ocean, is a new land, with new characters, and perhaps new lives. The sun shines, and the bells ring, and it’s a place where men live gladly; and the Deacon himself can walk without terror, and begin again like a new-born child. It must be good to see day again and not to fear; it must be good to be one’s self with all men. Happy like a child, wise like a man, free like God’s angels . . . should I work these hands off and eat crusts, there were a life to make me young and good again. And it’s only over the sea! O man, you have been blind, and now your eyes are opened. It was half a life’s nightmare, and now you are awake. Up, Deacon, up, it’s hope that’s at the window! Mary! Mary! Mary!