It did not occur
to Richard even now that he had had no right to kill him; but he
shuddered to think, if he had really done so, how this late opening
flower of love which he had just discovered would blossom into fear and
loathing. In that case his heart would have been softened only to be
pierced. His mother's death, the knowledge of Harry's fidelity, and of
the existence of his son, to whom his affection had been already drawn,
unknowingly and in spite of himself, had dissolved his cruel purpose. He
was eager to spare his mother's memory the shame of the foul crime he
had contemplated, and passionately anxious that in the veins of his
new-found son there should at least run no murderer's blood.
"Faster! faster!" was still his cry, though the horses galloped whenever
it was practicable, and the wheels cast the winter's mire into his eager
face. This haste was made, as he well knew, upon the road to his own
ruin. To find Solomon alive was to be accused of having compassed his
death. There was no hope in the magnanimity of such a foe. But yesterday
Richard had cared little or nothing for his own safety, and was only
bent upon the prosecution of his scheme against his foe; now life had
mysteriously become dear to him, and he was about to risk it in saving
the man he had hated most on earth from the doom to which he had himself
consigned him.
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