'Inextricable! Am I, then, the Duke of St.
James? Am I that being who, two hours ago, thought that the world was
formed alone for my enjoyment, and I quiver and shrink here like a
common hind? Out, out on such craven cowardice! I am no Hauteville! I
am bastard! Never! I will not be crushed. I will struggle with this
emergency; I will conquer it. Now aid me, ye heroes of my house! On
the sands of Palestine, on the plains of France, ye were not in a more
difficult situation than is your descendant in a ball-room in his own
county. My mind elevates itself to the occasion, my courage expands with
the enterprise; I will right myself with these Dacres with honour, and
without humiliation.'
The dancing ceased, the dancers disappeared. There was a blank between
the Duke of St. James on one side of the broad room, and Mr. Dacre and
those with whom he was conversing on the other. Many eyes were on his
Grace, and he seized the opportunity to execute his purpose. He advanced
across the chamber with the air of a young monarch greeting a victorious
general. It seemed that, for a moment, his Majesty wished to destroy
all difference of rank between himself and the man that he honoured.
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