finally stood still at a street corner, evidently pondering some matter
of considerable import to him. "By heaven, I'm more than half resolved to
try it!" he exclaimed at last. And after a little further reflection, he
added, "And I shall--

"He either fears his fate too much,
Or his deserts are small,
Who dares not put it to the touch
To win or lose it all."

Then he turned and walked deliberately back to Dawson Place: coming to
the house which he had lately quitted, he peered anxiously at windows and
doors, and presently caught sight of a faint reflection from burning gas
or candle within on the fanlight over the street door, which, he
conjectured, came from the open dining-room.

"Fortune favours me," he said to himself. "'Faint heart never won fair
lady.' A happy inspiration, I am beginning to think. Losing that toss
will perhaps result in my winning a higher stake. There's a good deal of
dash and devilry in that infernal blackguard Horton, and doubtless that
is why he has made some progress here. Well then, she ought to appreciate
my spirit in coming to her at this time of night, or morning, rather.
There's a wild, primitive strain in her; she's not to be wooed and won in
the usual silly mawkish way. More like one of the old Sabine women, who
liked nothing better than being knocked down and dragged off by their
future lords. I suppose that a female of that antique type of mind can be
knocked down and taken captive, as it were, with good vigorous words,
just as formerly they were knocked down with the fist or the butt end of
a spear."