Dost thou talk of pursuit, Walter.—No! no! I mock pursuit! Supposing we get not away till three or four, we still shall have six or seven hours advantage in point of time. Then the old dons won't dream which way we are gone.—They do not know, what you and I do know, the great reward attendant on my deed; and, sorrowfully remembering the wickedness and sinfulness of their own youthful hearts, they will unrighteously judge of me, and sit down piteously to lament the loss of the lady's honour, whilst I, like a good Christian and worthy member of society, so far from diminishing am increasing her stock of honour, for the honour of a virgin is but a single portion, whereas, according to wise institutions, the honour of a wife is twofold—she bearing her husband's honour and her own. Pray heaven the cargo be not too mighty!
'Where is Lord Filmar?' says one of the party assembled at ten to-morrow morning to breakfast in Monkton Hall parlour.
'Tell Griffiths to let his lordship know we expect him at breakfast,'—says the earl.
'I told Mr. Griffiths, my lord,' replies the footman (one servant will always lie for another), 'but he says his lordship is asleep.'
This produces many pleasant allusions to last night's intemperance among the good souls; and they go to breakfast without me. Now, in the steward's room, one wonders Mr. Griffiths is not come home, a second wonders at my good nature and his faults, and a fourth wonders I do not awake. Amidst all this wit and wonder, another hour or two passes; and then two or three more probably in the surmises occasioned by the discovery of my absence.
The servants of the castle in the mean time are employed in their usual occupations, not at all surprised that their visitors had quitted them early unseen, because it had been so intended by them. Andrew, indeed, waits Miss Valmont's summons for breakfast, and deems it somewhat tardy. He concludes her walk to be unusually pleasing, and eats his own repast in peace and quietness. At length, his thoughts verge towards the extraordinary, and he inclines to seek further.
No, Andrew, 'tis in vain you search. No fair wood-nymph greets your eye. No voice answers to your call.——Ay! ay! assemble them:—hold your convocations in the great hall:—crowd, closer and closer:—whisper your suspicions, lest the dread ear of Valmont catch the tidings, that—she is gone!—Who shall carry these tidings to Mr. Valmont?—Not I! not I! not I! answers every voice at once; and up to the hall door drives his coach and six. Away fly the pale culprits!—Jostling against each other, confusion retards their speed, and the dreadful secret is in part betrayed.
Fye! Mr. Valmont, fye! don't swear! don't call hard names!
Can't you hear him, Walter, declaring his rage, and threatening his vengeance?—I can.
Ill news fly fast. Mr. Valmont's horses are not unharnessed.—Turn your eyes to Monkton Hall. See the squire enter—See the earl turn pale; the baronet attempt to look sorry; and see them, as I before observed, sitting in judgment on me, and putting their own black constructions on my innocent praise-worthy intentions.