RODERICK HUDSON
is n't so tender as your conscience. My compliments to your conscience! It must give you great happiness. Of course it 's your own affair. Since you fail us we 're indeed driven to the wall. But I 've fought my own battles before and have never really lost courage, so I don't see why I should break down now. Cavaliere, come here!" That personage rose at her summons and stood impenetrably at attention. He had shaken hands with Rowland in silence. "Mr. Mallet refuses to say a word," Mrs. Light went on. "Time presses, every minute 's precious. God only knows what that poor boy may be doing. If at this moment a truly clever woman should get hold of him it would n't matter if she were a fright: it would be her grand chance. It 's horrible to think of."
The Cavaliere fixed his eyes on Rowland, and his expression, which the night before had been singular, was now extraordinary in its mixture of fine anxiety—an anxiety that seemed to plead against the young man's reluctance—and of some emotion of a bearing less calculable. Suddenly and vaguely Rowland felt the presence of a new active element in the situation that had been made a drama somehow by Christina's having been made, so all generically, a heroine. It was as if a subordinate performer had suddenly advanced to the footlights. He looked from their companion to Mrs. Light, whose tears had been succeeded by a grand air of detachment.
"If you could bring yourself," the Cavaliere said with all his grave rich unction and with the effect, in his fine Roman voice, as of a round-hand copy set
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