"I make no apology for my actions. In truth, I would do the same again."

After theses words, the deep, firm voice stopped and the whole room fell into silence.

Then Francis heard Dwight whispering beside him, half admirative, half dimayed.

"I've heard more penitent speeches."

"But rarely more eloquent ?" Francis found himself replying, his voice rough in his own ears.

Ross had done it again : steal his breath with his incredible audacity, with what seemed to him an admirable but foolish lack fear in front of any kind of danger.

It was the same familiar feeling he had felt times and times, since the years of their shared childhood. A feeling that brought up unexpected memories from a distant past. Like the first time Ross had climbed to the top of the old oak in the park, while he remained stuck on a much lower branch, his heart in his throat, craning his neck to keep watching his cousin climb up and up, as if his sole gaze could prevent him from falling.

Or, like the time a not much older Ross had decided he would ride his father's stallion, and had been carried away, clinging to the horse's mane, untill the groom had caught up with the animal thanks to his own horse, and stopped the wild gallop.

Or any time Ross had spoken his mind too boldly in front of anyone stronger, or with power over him, older schoolmates, teachers, even Charles, Francis' own father whom he himself feared so much.

To Francis, Ross had always seemed to possess some kind of charm that allowed him to escape unhurt from all the risks he took. He had envied him, resented him even, for this fearlessnes he was unable to match, for his charisma, and of course, for Elizabeth's love. His jealousy had been the rotten spot that had allowed that worm, George Warleggan, to nearly destroy their friendship, and them too.

But Francis was very much afraid that this time, Ross had just behaved like George's best ally. That he had tempted fate and defy authority one time too many. Even the most indomitable spirit could be choked by a rope.

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