I passed through the door, which was only
closed, and moved as rapidly as I could, consistently with stillness,
along the lobby. Before I had gone many yards, I heard the door through
which I had just passed double-locked on the inside. I glided down the
stairs in terror, lest, at every corner, I should meet the murderer or
one of his accomplices. I reached the hall, and listened for a moment, to ascertain whether all
was silent around; no sound was audible. The parlour windows opened on
the park, and through one of them I might, I thought, easily effect my
escape. Accordingly, I hastily entered; but, to my consternation, a
candle was burning in the room, and by its light I saw a figure seated
at the dinner-table, upon which lay glasses, bottles, and the other
accompaniments of a drinking-party. Two or three chairs were placed
about the table irregularly, as if hastily abandoned by their occupants. A single glance satisfied me that the figure was that of my French
attendant. She was fast asleep, having probably drunk deeply. There was
something malignant and ghastly in the calmness of this bad woman's
features, dimly illuminated as they were by the flickering blaze of the
candle. A knife lay upon the table, and the terrible thought, struck
me--"Should I kill this sleeping accomplice, and thus secure my
retreat?" Nothing could be easier--it was but to draw the blade across her
throat--the work of a second. An instant's pause, however, corrected me. "No," thought I, "the God who has conducted me thus far through the
valley of the shadow of death, will not abandon me now. I will fall into
their hands, or I will escape hence, but it shall be free from the stain
of blood. His will be done!" I felt a confidence arising from this reflection, an assurance of
protection which I cannot describe. There was no other means of escape,
so I advanced, with a firm step and collected mind, to the window. I
noiselessly withdrew the bars and unclosed the shutters--I pushed open
the casement, and, without waiting to look behind me, I ran with my
utmost speed, scarcely feeling the ground under me, down the avenue,
taking care to keep upon the grass which bordered it. I did not for a moment slacken my speed, and I had now gained the centre
point between the park-gate and the mansion-house. Here the avenue made
a wider circuit, and in order to avoid delay, I directed my way across
the smooth sward round which the pathway wound, intending, at the
opposite side of the flat, at a point which I distinguished by a group
of old birch-trees, to enter again upon the beaten track, which was from
thence tolerably direct to the gate. I had, with my utmost speed, got about half way across this broad flat,
when the rapid treading of a horse's hoofs struck upon my ear. My heart
swelled in my bosom as though I would smother. The clattering of
galloping hoofs approached--I was pursued--they were now upon the sward
on which I was running--there was not a bush or a bramble to shelter
me--and, as if to render escape altogether desperate, the moon, which
had hitherto been obscured, at this moment shone forth with a broad
clear light, which made every object distinctly visible. The sounds were now close behind me. I felt my knees bending under me,
with the sensation which torments one in dreams. I reeled--I stumbled--I
fell--and at the same instant the cause of my alarm wheeled past me at
full gallop. It was one of the young fillies which pastured loose about
the park, whose frolics had thus all but maddened me with terror. I
scrambled to my feet, and rushed on with weak but rapid steps, my
sportive companion still galloping round and round me with many a frisk
and fling, until, at length, more dead than alive, I reached the
avenue-gate, and crossed the stile, I scarce knew how. I ran through the village, in which all was silent as the grave, until
my progress was arrested by the hoarse voice of a sentinel, who cried,
"Who goes there?" I felt that I was now safe. I turned in the direction
of the voice, and fell fainting at the soldier's feet. When I came to
myself, I was sitting in a miserable hovel, surrounded by strange faces,
all bespeaking curiosity and compassion. Many soldiers were in it also: indeed, as I afterwards found, it was
employed as a guard-room by a detachment of troops quartered for that
night in the town. In a few words I informed their officer of the
circumstances which had occurred, describing also the appearance of the
persons engaged in the murder; and he, without loss of time, proceeded
to the mansion-house of Carrickleigh, taking with him a party of his
men. But the villains had discovered their mistake, and had effected
their escape before the arrival of the military. The Frenchwoman was, however, arrested in the neighbourhood upon the
next day. She was tried and condemned upon the ensuing assizes; and
previous to her execution, confessed that "_she had a hand in making
Hugh Tisdall's bed_." She had been a housekeeper in the castle at the
time, and a kind of _chère amie_ of my uncle's. She was, in reality,
able to speak English like a native, but had exclusively used the French
language, I suppose, to facilitate her disguise. She died the same
hardened wretch she had lived, confessing her crimes only, as she
alleged, that her doing so might involve Sir Arthur T----n, the great
author of her guilt and misery, and whom she now regarded with
unmitigated detestation. With the particulars of Sir Arthur's and his son's escape, as far as
they are known, you are acquainted. You are also in possession of their
after fate--the terrible, the tremendous retribution which, after long
delays of many years, finally overtook and crushed them. Wonderful and
inscrutable are the dealings of God with His creatures. Deep and fervent as must always be my gratitude to Heaven for my
deliverance, effected by a chain of providential occurrences, the
failing of a single link of which must have ensured my destruction, I
was long before I could look back upon it with other feelings than those
of bitterness, almost of agony. The only being that had ever really
loved me, my nearest and dearest friend, ever ready to sympathize, to
counsel, and to assist--the gayest, the gentlest, the warmest heart; the
only creature on earth that cared for me--_her_ life had been the price
of my deliverance; and I then uttered the wish, which no event of my
long and sorrowful life has taught me to recall, that she had been
spared, and that, in her stead, _I_ were mouldering in the grave,
forgotten and at rest. [Illustration]

Strange Event in the Life of Schalken the Painter. You will no doubt be surprised, my dear friend, at the subject of the
following narrative. What had I to do with Schalken, or Schalken with
me? He had returned to his native land, and was probably dead and buried
before I was born; I never visited Holland, nor spoke with a native of
that country. So much I believe you already know.