He was fully determined only to part with it
with life itself. For once, the picture of Trevethick and his son-in-law
(for he had heard before he left Cross Key of Harry's marriage with his
rival), unsuspecting, complacent, and exposed to the full force of his
revenge, failed to occupy his gloating thoughts; they were fixed as ever
there, but on the means and not upon the end--his whole being was
engrossed in the coming enterprise. He feared the warder should read
that forbidden word "Escape" in his eager eyes, or on his restless lips.
A change of cell or a sudden examination of his bed-furniture--no
uncommon occurrence--would prove his ruin. He took the file out of his
mattress, and placed it in his breast: let that man beware who found it
there!
At last the long night, which should have found him free, passed by, and
the next weary day. The appointed time had come.
It was past midnight, and not a sound was heard in the vast prison;
there was no moon, but a few stars shone on him as he worked at the iron
bars; the noise of his file was muffled--he had rubbed it well with
soap--but every now and then he paused and listened. He half fancied he
could hear the distant tramp of the patrols, who, musket in hand,
watched the walls of Lingmoor from the roofs of its four stone towers;
but it was only fancy, and, at all events, no one else but they was
stirring.
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