LETTER XXX

FROM ARTHUR MURDEN
TO
CAROLINE ASHBURN

There she is, Madam!—She walks and sighs:—and one little room, a small circumference, contains only Murden and Sibella. When the waiter shut the door and withdrew, I would have given an eye to have detained him.—She knows not I am writing to you; for she would have taken the office on herself, and that would not satisfy me.—It is a relief, madam, to write—tho' any thing upon earth would be preferable to hearing—I mean, seeing her.

Miss Ashburn, till I saw her, I did not understand you.—Well might you warn me!

It will be three hours before we reach you.—I send this letter by a man and horse; because, in knowing that we are safe, you will have at least half an hour of less anxiety.

The place where we are now is only a village, five miles out of the road to Valmont.—Richardson advised me to make this sweep for fear of a pursuit.—He brought us here through cross roads on his own horses. I have sent him back; and the only chaise this little inn maintains is engaged for a two hours airing for some invalid in the village.—Have patience, madam.—Your friend is safe.

Richardson and myself possessed ourselves of the cell at half past nine last night.—Then in our disguises we prowled around the castle till about eleven, and heard the locking of doors, and saw in the upper windows light after light die away as their possessors yielded themselves to rest.

We would not venture too early. I believe it was past two before we left the armoury.—All was hushed.—The stairs!—the gallery!—her apartments!—I seized Richardson by the arm, as he attempted to turn the lock.—It seemed profanation. I feared every thing!—I would have gone back.—Richardson forbade me.

We entered the antichamber. We crossed two others. The door of a third stood open.—In that there was a fire, a candle, and a bed.—The curtains were undrawn; and I caught a glimpse of her face. Instantly, I drew the door so close as only to admit my hand, holding out your letter.—I gasped.—'Speak for me,' I said to Richardson; 'Say, Miss Ashburn.'

'Rise, dear Miss Valmont,' said he, 'Miss Ashburn sends you this.'

I heard her start from the bed.—'Who?—What?'

'Miss Ashburn,' repeated Richardson, 'Miss Ashburn, it is a letter from Miss Ashburn.'

She took or rather snatched the letter; and, as I withdrew my hand, she shut the door hastily.

I heard her utter an exclamation—I could hear her too burst into sobs and bless you.—I heard her also name another.

At length she asked, without opening the door, if I was indeed Mr. Murden, and if I could take her from the castle.

'O yes, yes,' said I, 'Come away.'

'Stay,' she replied.

She was dressed in an instant. She opened the door. She came out to us.—'Ah! what, what is the matter?' cried she, extending her arms as if to save me from falling.—Why were you not more explicit in your letter, Miss Ashburn?—I recoiled from her, from the remembrance of her Clement—and, as I leaned on Richardson's shoulder, I closed my dim eyes, and wished they might never more open upon recollection.

'Shame!' whispered Richardson, 'you are unmanned!'

And so I am, Miss Ashburn. I think too, I should love revenge. I feel a rankling glow of satisfaction, as she walks past my chair, that I have so placed it I cannot look up and behold her.

I recovered strength and courage while my horror remained unabated.—She saw I could hear, and she began to pour forth the effusions of her gratitude upon you and us.—She knew you had been in the castle. Her cruel uncle had informed her of it.—'And then,' said she, 'I fancied I must die without seeing any one that ever loved me.'—As she spoke, I turned my eyes from her now haggard and jaundiced face to my own, reflected in the mirror by which I was standing. 'Moving corpses!' said I to myself—'Why encumber ye the fair earth?'

'He showed me a letter too,' added she. 'He said Clement had renounced me.—Ah, Mr. Valmont! deceiving Mr. Valmont!'—and she waved her hand gracefully—'had you known Sibella's heart as she knows Clement's, you——.'

'Come away!' said I.

'Have you no other preparation to make, madam?' asked Richardson; 'the night is very cold.'

This reminded her of a cloak.—She enquired if she must swim across the moat; and said she was sure she could swim;—for she knew why she had failed before.—I bade Richardson lead her.

I expected to have seen her much more surprised at the strange path through which she had to go.—From the armoury to the cell she never spoke. Her mind was overcharged with swelling emotions.—At times we were obliged to stand still. She even panted for freer respiration. The——

I heard wheels.—I expected our chaise.—It is some travellers who have stopped to bait.

After we had safely crossed the moat, she alternately grasped our hands in a tumult of joy; named you, named me, but talked on the never-failing theme of her Clement.

She rode behind Richardson.—I see she is much worse for the journey; yet her burning eye and vehement spirits would persuade me otherwise.

She kindly ceased her torturing questions concerning Clement, imagining, by my abrupt answers, I was too ill to talk.—She says you will heal me—for you have healed her.—Miss Ashburn, how ardently she loves you!

I find you will receive this letter an hour before we come.—Won't you thank, and praise me?—It is written with a shaking hand, and throbbing temples. I know it would be difficult to keep Sibella from mounting the same horse, if she were informed of the messenger. When we enter the chaise, I will tell her what I have done.

A. MURDEN