In the third,——an heir (in embrio) to inherit it.
True, by the Gods!—Nevertheless, stop your rash conclusions, for I have heard her whole story, therefore I tell you that Miss Ashburn is an angel, Mr. Murden a fine fellow, Mr. Valmont an idiot, Sibella a saint, and Montgomery—a scoundrel: though on my soul she talked so movingly of his never fading faith I could not for my life persuade myself to tell her my true opinion of him.
From the little she knows of Murden, (her hermit and deliverer) I long to know more. I burn to tell you of her wonderful escape, of the marvellous Ruin on the rock, but I have resolved to wave explanations till I come.—I charge you, by your friendship, breathe not a whisper of the adventure till you see me. I am going to restore her to her friends; her eloquence did part, but truly her condition did more.—I never bargained to pay off such a mortgage. I could love her dearly; but then you know my name is Filmar, and as a Lord I am bound in duty to love and cherish no son but a son of my own begetting.
I have dispatched two messengers, one for carriages and another to that inn at Hipsley (which I don't love at all now) to make enquiries after Mr. Murden. I wonder how he and I shall adjust our accounts.—I fear there is a long balance in his favour.
You perceive, Walter, all my secret plottings and contrivings have brought me to a fine heritage at last! Murden cannot call me any thing less than a thief, and will say I deserve a thief's punishment. Valmont too will want a peck at me, neither for the credit of love nor integrity but only because Sibella is the great great great granddaughter of some one or other of his great grandfather's. Montgomery may pretend the honour of his wife (her own phrase) impeached by her residence with me, and if he won't believe that until two hours since I never forced myself into her presence, why I shall be obliged by all the laws of honour and gentlemanship to prove it by the length of a sword.
Heigh ho! and this pretty wisdom-speaking mortal has actually prevailed on me to endure the brunt and carry her back to Miss Ashburn! She has offered high bribes,—solid comforts,—made up of duty and justice;—but I have a sickly palate—spoiled by other viands,—I want a modern seasoned fricassee.
Alas! I have no alternative—unless I shoot her and bury her under a tree. I don't know what of that sort I may be tempted to for myself! for when I have no longer her and her concerns to think of I must turn to my own—a pretty prospect!
Do you know, Walter, any way that a Lord turned plain man can get a living? for unless I get it heaven knows I must go without it.
You are admiring my forbearance in keeping such a distance, Walter; but the fact is, I was a coward. Daily almost hourly Miss Valmont intreated she might speak with me, and I as constantly with a great many civil excuses declined the conversation. What could I have said but what had amounted to this: 'Miss Valmont, I ran away with you, because I wanted your estate, for want of a better.—As to yourself, I know nothing about you, therefore how can I care for you?' Methought, Walter, when I had your cash in hand I should be bold. Your cash came; I pocketed it; and I proudly strutted up to Miss Valmont.——The former pages will tell you the result.