At
last they spoke of carrying him back to the inn. "There must be three or
four men," Rowland said, "and they must be brought here quickly. I have
not the least idea where we are."
"We are at about three hours' walk from home," said Singleton. "I will
go for help; I can find my way."
"Remember," said Rowland, "whom you will have to face."
"I remember," the excellent fellow answered. "There was nothing I could
ever do for him in life; I will do what I can now."
He went off, and Rowland stayed there alone. He watched for seven long
hours, and his vigil was forever memorable. The most rational of men was
for an hour the most passionate. He reviled himself with transcendent
bitterness, he accused himself of cruelty and injustice, he would
have lain down there in Roderick's place to unsay the words that had
yesterday driven him forth on his lonely ramble. Roderick had been fond
of saying that there are such things as necessary follies, and Rowland
was now proving it. At last he grew almost used to the dumb exultation
of the cliff above him. He saw that Roderick was a mass of hideous
injury, and he tried to understand what had happened.
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