Riperdá, Juan Guillermo, Duke of, 1680-1737 -- Fiction; Wharton, Philip Wharton, Duke of, 1698-1731 -- Fiction
When he emerged into the open part of the suburbs, the feeble light
of the stars, being no longer traversed by the deep shadows of close
buildings, afforded him sufficient guidance. The waters of the Danube
glimmered at some distance on his right; while the murky line which
clouded his view to the left, informed him he was within sight of the
avenue which led direct to the ambush he must avoid. He kept on towards
the river; and, having reached its banks, turned along the margin to
the path that led to the Chateau. After half an hour's walk, he entered
on the woodland, which declined from the garden-wall to the Danube; and
when he arrived at the wall itself, he found it a rampart of stupendous
height, and quite perpendicular. But he who had climbed the beetling
rocks of Northumberland, and gazed around from their eagle summits with
the careless eye of security, had no difficulty in surmounting a few
feet more or less of any structure raised by man. The old crumbling
stones made a breach wherever he placed his ascending foot; but he soon
gained the top; and jumping down into the garden, (for on that side the
wall was merely a parapet), ran swiftly through the grass-grown walks
to the terrace before the house.
He found the door open. He entered; but closing it after him, pushed
the strong bolts into their guard; and then felt his way through the
midnight darkness of the passages to the kitchen, where he expected
to find Gerard on the watch for his return. The honest German was
asleep in a huge wooden chair, by the side of a large half-burnt log,
now extinguished; and a lamp, almost reduced to its last drop of oil,
flickered on the table, near an unlighted candle and a flambeau.
Louis lighted the candle; and hesitated a moment, whether he should
awaken Gerard to accompany him to the examination it was proper to
make, or leave him quiet, till he had seen whether the ambuscade were
still in the porch. Thinking it most prudent to go alone, he took
the candle and proceeded to the hall, where he left his light in an
obscure corner, and then without noise opened the great door. With
his pistol in his hand, he crossed the court-yard, and drew near the
gates; but the wood of which they were constructed being very deep and
studded with iron, he listened in vain for a sound from the other side.
Judging that it was their thickness which prevented his hearing some
sign of the intended assailants, and wishing to assure Ignatius that he
had obtained sensible proof of the veracity of this second warning, he
determined to seek further.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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