A less ready imagination than even thine, Walter, might picture to itself the manner in which Griffiths deluded Miss Valmont's knight-errant with a tale of pursuit and discovery. The youth checked his surprise, and renewed his vigour. He hastened to secure his lovely ward; and Griffiths, mean while, stole round the inn, mounted the grey mare, and was out of sight and sound of the consequences. I hear her walking. A slight partition divides her chamber from mine. No more of those deep-drawn sighs, my fair one! I thank heaven I am not an agent of Valmont's neither. He must have used her cruelly. She is excessively pale; and strangely altered. I stand, Walter, the watchful sentinel of her chamber door, which I presume not to enter. Till I had her in my possession, my thoughts, in gadding after the enterprise, possessed all the saucy gaiety which youth and untamed spirits could impart. Nay, when I began to write this letter, they wore their natural character. I must shift my station from this room. Those deep deep sighs will undo me! Hasten, dear Walter, make the wings of speed thy messengers to bear to me a hundred guineas, that we may fly to the land of blessings ere I forgot that her cupids have golden headed arrows.--Hem!--_Seven thousand per annum_--O 'tis an elixir to chear the fainting spirits! And now, as sure as I have possession of the rich and beauteous prize after which I have so long yearned, so sure will I recompense her present uneasiness by a life of tenderness, attention, and, to the best of my present belief, of unabated constancy. But marry me she must and shall, by G--d! FILMAR LETTER XXXIV FROM CAROLINE ASHBURN TO LADY BARLOWE Dear Madam, By a strange concurrence of accidents I am at present attending Mr. Murden, who during many days has lain dangerously ill in a small country inn nine miles from Valmont castle. I must leave it to your prudence to acquaint Sir Thomas Barlowe (to whom I know it will be most distressing tidings) that his nephew is in danger, but it is necessary that Sir Thomas should know it immediately, for I have made preparations for bringing Mr. Murden to London, that he may have better accommodation and better advice. Though I speak of advice, I dare not encourage any hope in Sir Thomas, for I have watched the progress of his nephew's disorder, and I believe he is only lingering--abide he cannot. Sir Thomas Barlowe loved this young man as a son; and, to receive him scarcely a shadow of his former self, will create distressing emotions. Yet, I beseech you to urge Sir Thomas carefully to avoid any strong expressions of sorrow when his nephew arrives, for I have the grief to tell you that Mr. Murden's reason is shaken: and dreadful paroxysms may follow the slightest agitation.