Of course, I said to myself, if I knew him better I should be able to help him.

Would vanity do anything?
It was his mainspring; I could but try.

He might be led by the hope of making Englishmen talk of him again, talk of him as one who had dared to escape; wonder what he would do next.

I would try, and I did try.

But his dejection foiled me: his dislike of the struggle seemed to grow from day to day.
He would scarcely listen to me.