Mr. Milsom had taken care to make himself familiar with the smallest details of the castle household, and he had even heard of Mrs. Morden's habit of sleeping within closely drawn curtains, from his general informant, James Harwood, the groom, who had received his information from one of the housemaids, in that temple of gossip—the servants' hall.
Gertrude Eversleigh slept in a white-curtained cot, by the side of Mrs.
Morden's bed.
Black Milsom lifted the coverlet, threw it over the face of the sleeping child, and with one strong hand lifted her from her cot, her face still shrouded by the thick down coverlet, which must effectually prevent her cries. With the other hand he snatched up a blanket, and threw it round the struggling form, and then, bundled in coverlet and blanket, he carried the little girl away.
Only when his feet were on the turf, and the castle stood up black behind him, did he withdraw the coverlet from the mouth of the half-suffocated child.
CHAPTER XXXIV.
CAUGHT IN THE TOILS.
Captain Copplestone did not waste half an hour on the road between
London and Raynham.
No words can paint his agony of terror, the torture of mind which he endured, as he sat in the post-chaise, watching every landmark of the journey, counting every minute of the tedious hours, and continually putting his head out of the front window, and urging the postillions to greater speed.
He hated himself for having been duped by that forged letter.
"I had no business to leave the child," he kept repeating to himself; "not even to obey her mother. My place was by little Gertrude, and I have been a fool to desert my post. If any harm has come to her in my absence, by the heaven above me, I think I shall be tempted to blow out my brains."