The scene is almost prepared to shift. I am dismissed from the parlour; and, as Griffiths tells them, am at rest. Now, I wait but his summons. He is gone to hint among the servants here the advantage he is about to take of his master's infirmity, and hypocritically to request some one will make an excuse for him should I by chance awake and ring my bell before he returns.—The coast securely clear, I quit the house; join Griffiths at the lodge; and, at the corner of a little town, only a quarter of a mile from Sir Gilbert's, we are to find Griffiths' brother waiting in a chaise. This brother, who would not have been here if we hadn't sent for him, was only a common footman a week ago, but the two days he has passed at the inn in our neighbourhood has transformed him into a man of property; and he does not choose to go four miles in the rain without a covered carriage. Had it not rained, he would probably have received a sprain in his ancle, or his knee. The grand business over, for which his assistance is required, he puts on the Filmar livery, and becomes my footman. I was going to say my wife's, but there's hazard in that. Gratitude may beget love; and violently grateful will she be, no doubt, to the man that has helped to make—her fortune.——Walter, I am no coward: yet, I say again, would it were over!
I will put this paper in my pocket.——Should I get undetected into the castle, I shall have many hours of waiting; and to write my thoughts will certainly relieve me during the tedious interval.
I hear Griffiths' signal.——I come.——Adieu.——Safe in the castle!——'Tis just eleven o'clock.—Two will be the earliest I dare attempt to seize my prize.——Three hours! three ages, I may say, to undergo all the misery of expecting, in every blast of wind, the destruction of my project!——Wind enough!——how it rolls!—Floods of rain too!—A horrid and tempestuous night, this!——We must procure some covering, to shield her from the storm till we reach the chaise. I will mention it to Griffiths, that he may be quite in readiness. I should be sorry were she to suffer by the storm's inclemency. Does she go unwillingly, she suffers enough in going; goes she willingly, still she deserves not to suffer.——Why, thou cold whining Filmar, where is thy manhood?—Only the last stroke wanting, and that the easiest to accomplish, and thy scheme—thy darling scheme is—perfect.—Thy very valet claps the wings of exultation, and sings the song of triumph! Shame! shame! Rouse thyself! cast a look forward, Filmar!——
Yes, Walter, I am here happily supplied with a lighted taper by the dexterity and contrivance of Griffiths.—Securely stationed in one of the best apartments where even the mirth of the servants cannot reach me in a buzzing murmur, there is no hazard that any one of them should quit his diversions to wander among the mazy recesses of this mansion; and I do rejoice abundantly in my security.—Yet, Walter, I may rejoice, and feel the benumbing effects of this cold gloomy dwellings, too.—These old buildings are admirably contrived to fix odd impressions on the mind.—I do not at all wonder that every ancient castle is haunted in report.—Another such night, in another such place, and I could swear I perceived shapeless forms gliding around me.——I listen one minute to the variety of sound produced by the gathering winds; and, the next, find it hushed to so dead a calm, that the sound of my breathings alone interrupts the silence. Such—think of it, think of it, Walter—such are my employments!
I wonder whereabouts this armoury lays. Griffiths could tell.—The castle is amazing large, yet Griffiths is perfectly skilled in its geography.—He described to me, as we came hither, the situation of Miss Valmont's apartments.—They are nearer to where I am now stationed than to any other habitable part of the building.
The spacious gallery into which this room opens, runs the length of the whole front, excepting the wings and the towers. Narrow long passages connect the wings with the main building; and the passage nearest my side of the gallery, conducts you by a short flight of steps immediately up to Miss Valmont's abode. But this is not the road we are to take, because in a little room within that passage sleeps her attendant, silent Andrew; and we choose not to pass so near him, lest perhaps these resounding walls tell him of our footsteps.—Our's is a more intricate path. The adjoining antichamber will lead us to a narrower stair-case; descending this, we shall cross some of the lower apartments; and, making a circuit, gain the bottom of the West Tower; from whence, alleys and winding stone stairs will introduce us to the end of Miss Valmont's gallery, opposite to that we must have entered had we gone in the straight forward direction. We deem it advisable to descend with our charge the same way, and to leave the castle by a little door in the West Tower. It is, to be sure, on the wrong side, and will oblige us to carry our burthen, if the young lady should not be disposed just then to make use of her limbs, so much the further.
Griffiths' brother is a strong, bony, dark-looking fellow. Strength will be necessary, if persuasion should fail; and I cannot spare more than ten minutes to try the effects of my rhetoric. I will enter first; and, should a shriek of surprise or shriek of rapture (remember my person, Walter) escape her, the closed doors, distance of situation, and sleep of security, will prevent Andrew from hearing. Indeed, should he, mal-a-propos, interfere, it is only the extra trouble of binding him to good behaviour. It did once enter my thoughts to bribe this old fellow to our purposes, but the attempt might have wrought a discovery. Fearing nothing, he suspects nothing; absence of all care and a warm night-cap lull him to repose:—and pleasant be his dreams.—Ours all the hazard! Ours the reward! I have promised 500l. to Griffiths, and 100l. to his brother. My share of the plunder is to them a secret.
Now, though I allow the damsel one squall, yet I positively interdict any repetitions of the sort; and as, you know, I immediately became the arbiter of her fate, the sooner I accustom her to implicit obedience, the easier it will be to both in future.
Walter, I mend! My flagging spirits begin to bound and curvet. Oh! when we are once seated in that chaise and four, which now waits our coming in a retired corner, not above a hundred yards from the other side of the moat, how will my imagination outstrip the speed of the horses!