"
And then, finding that the landlord of the "Cat and Fiddle" did not
offer anything more in the way of refreshment, Mr. Harwood departed.
There was a full moon that January night, and when Mr. Milsom had
attended to the wants of his customers, seen the last of them to the
door a little before twelve o'clock, shut his shutters, and
extinguished the lights, he stole quietly out of his house, went forth
into the deserted street, and made his way towards the summit of the
hill on which the castle stood, like an ancient fortress, frowning
darkly upon the humble habitations beneath it.
He passed the archway and the noble gothic gates, and crept along by
the fine old wall that enclosed the park, where the interlaced
branches of giant oaks and beeches were white under the snow that had
fallen upon them, and formed a picture that was almost like a scene in
Fairyland.
He climbed the wall at a spot where a thick curtain of ivy afforded him
a safe footing, and dropped softly upon the ground beneath, where the
snow had drifted into a heap, and made a soft bed for him to fall on.
"There will be more snow before daylight to-morrow," he muttered to
himself, "if I'm any judge of the weather; and there'll be no trace of
my footsteps to give the hint of mischief." He ran across the park,
leaped the light, invisible fence dividing the park from the gardens,
and crept cautiously along a shrubberied pathway, where the evergreens
afforded him an impenetrable screen.
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