The cause and the creed are nothing to me as such,
for I place no value on either. Your talk about the right divine of old
Mr. Melancholy, mumming and mimicking away there at Rome, makes me smile.
He's an old fool, that's the long and short of it. But a Blount's a Blount
after all. I owe something to my ancestors. My word to my father ought not
to be an empty breath. Yet here I am, with all the interests of life
pulling one way--wait till you've a boy five weeks old by a wife you'd be
cut in little pieces for, and you'll know, sir,--and a dead father and a
dead creed pulling the other. I knew what was coming, and I've talked
about it and thought about it till my head's like a bee-hive. Now, sir,
give me your advice!"
"I have joined the standard of your Prince," I said.
"Damme, sir, you mock me. That's not advice. That's torture."
"I have turned my back on the creed of my life and on every sound
instinct in me," I continued.
He stopped his walk and looked intently at me.
"I have ancestors whose memory I cherish, and I have torn up their work
as if it were a scrap of paper covered with a child's meaningless
scribble.
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