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 He didn't. On the contrary, he lives in this here very village, under the name of Robin Oakapple, and he's a-going to marry Rose Maybud this very day.

Ruthven alive, and going to marry Rose Maybud! Can this be possible?

Now the question I was going to ask your honour is—ought I to tell your honour this?

I don't know. It's a delicate point. I think you ought. Mind, I'm not sure, but I think so.

That's what my heart says. It says, "Dick," it says (it calls me Dick acos it's entitled to take that liberty), "That there young gal would recoil from him if she knowed what he really were. Ought you to stand off and on, and let this young gal take this false step and never fire a shot across her bows to bring her to? No," it says, "you did not ought." And I won't ought, accordin'.

Then you really feel yourself at liberty to tell me that my elder brother lives—that I may charge him with his cruel deceit, and transfer to his shoulders the hideous thraldom under which I have laboured for so many years! Free—free at last! Free to live a blameless life, and to die beloved and regretted by all who knew me!

— and

You understand? I think I do; With vigour unshaken This step shall be taken. It's neatly planned. I think so too; I'll readily bet it You'll never regret it!

For duty, duty must be done; The rule applies to every one, And painful though that duty be, To shirk the task were fiddle-de-dee!