“You are too sanguine, my friend. The young man is daring;—he may make a second effort. If he succeed—if he gain a second time the sight of his grandfather, the tale is told. This fabricated letter may prevent the meeting for a while—but more effectual measures to secure mutual safety are indispensable.”
“I understand you, holy father,” returned the steward;—“money will be necessary.”
“Money shall not be wanting,” said the Confessor. “This note procrastinates, but does not avert the crisis.”
The steward nodded his head. “‘Tis a breathing-time, that shall not be thrown away;—I’m off to London immediately.”
“Heaven speed thee!” said the monk; and the hand of God’s minister, imprecating a blessing, was laid upon a wretch’s head whose avowed embassy was—murder!
To my humble counsellors, the keeper and the sergeant, I communicated what we all considered the decided failure of my experiment. I resolved to return direct to town—and a place was booked accordingly in the stage. Another passenger accompanied me—and how different are the ends which influence men’s actions! I hurried back to town to bask in the smiles of my young and artless Isidora. The object of my compagnon du voyage was very opposite,—the gentleman was Mr. Morley; and his embassy—nothing but to accomplish my assassination.