The Disowned — CompleteLytton, Edward Bulwer Lytton, Baron
General
The Disowned — Complete
Lytton, Edward Bulwer Lytton, Baron
English fiction -- 19th century
I think I have before said that there was a garden between Talbot’s
house and Copperas Bower; this was bounded by a wall, which confined
Talbot’s peculiar territory of garden, and this wall, describing a
parallelogram, faced also the road. It contained two entrances,--one the
principal adytus, in the shape of a comely iron gate, the other a wooden
door, which, being a private pass, fronted the intermediate garden
before mentioned and was exactly opposite to Clarence’s window.
Linden had been more than ten minutes at his post, and had just begun to
think his suspicions without foundation and his vigil in vain, when he
observed the same figures he had seen before advance slowly from the
distance and pause by the front gate of Talbot’s mansion.
Alarmed and anxious, he redoubled his attention; he stretched himself,
as far as his safety would permit, out of the window; the lamps,
agitated by the wind, which swept by in occasional gusts, refused to
grant to his straining sight more than an inaccurate and unsatisfying
survey. Presently, a blast, more violent than ordinary, suspended as
it were the falling columns of rain and left Clarence in almost total
darkness; it rolled away, and the momentary calm which ensued enabled
him to see that one of the men was stooping by the gate, and the other
standing apparently on the watch at a little distance. Another gust
shook the lamps and again obscured his view; and when it had passed
onward in its rapid course, the men had left the gate, and were in the
garden beneath his window. They crept cautiously, but swiftly, along
the opposite wall, till they came to the small door we have before
mentioned; here they halted, and one of them appeared to occupy himself
in opening the door. Now, then, fear was changed into certainty, and
it seemed without doubt that the men, having found some difficulty or
danger in forcing the stronger or more public entrance, had changed
their quarter of attack. No more time was to be lost; Clarence shouted
aloud, but the high wind probably prevented the sound reaching the ears
of the burglars, or at least rendered it dubious and confused. The next
moment, and before Clarence could repeat his alarm, they had opened the
door, and were within the neighbouring garden, beyond his view. Very
young men, unless their experience has outstripped their youth, seldom
have much presence of mind; that quality, which is the opposite to
surprise, comes to us in those years when nothing seems to us strange or
unexpected. But a much older man than Clarence might have well been at
a loss to know what conduct to adopt in the situation in which our
hero was placed. The visits of the watchman to that (then) obscure and
ill-inhabited neighborhood were more regulated by his indolence than his
duty; and Clarence knew that it would be in vain to listen for his cry
or tarry for his assistance. He himself was utterly unarmed, but the
stock-jobber had a pair of horse-pistols, and as this recollection
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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