He felt, as a weak man is apt to feel in similar positions of
difficulty, that the best and quickest, and, above all, the easiest,
way out of all embarrassment would be to run away from it--to quit
Ravenna, and give it up--it, and all its inhabitants for ever. He
could do this. He felt that Paolina would be worth such a sacrifice.
But how to accomplish such a step while his uncle lived?
As it was all he could do was to procrastinate, he thought of the
old Italian proverb, "Gain time, and you will pull through," and he
determined to profit by the wisdom of it. Even procrastination would
not be without difficulty. But something might be done in that way,-
-some time might be gained. And then there was always that never-
failing resource and consolation of those who, in the words of
Horace, limit their ambition to adapting themselves to circumstances
instead of adapting circumstances to them, something might turn up;
though, for the present, it was difficult to see what that something
could possibly be, unless it were the death of his uncle, a
perfectly robust and healthy man in the fiftieth year of his life.
Might possibly the something take the shape of a change or
mitigation of Paolina's resolve? No sooner did the idea cross his
mind than he felt ashamed of it, and his heart smote him for having
for a moment harboured a thought that involved falseness to his
promise to her.
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