The
deaf and silent old dame, who had nursed Northmour in his childhood, was
his associate in this underhand affair.
I followed her at a little distance, taking advantage of the innumerable
heights and hollows, concealed by the darkness, and favored not only by
the nurse's deafness, but by the uproar of the wind and surf. She entered
the pavilion, and, going at once to the upper story, opened and set a
light in one of the windows that looked toward the sea. Immediately
afterwards the light at the schooner's masthead was run down and
extinguished. Its purpose had been attained, and those on board were sure
that they were expected. The old woman resumed her preparations; although
the other shutters remained closed, I could see a glimmer going to and fro
about the house; and a gush of sparks from one chimney after another soon
told me that the fires were being kindled.
Northmour and his guests, I was now persuaded, would come ashore as soon
as there was water on the floe. It was a wild night for boat service; and
I felt some alarm mingle with my curiosity as I reflected on the danger of
the landing. My old acquaintance, it was true, was the most eccentric of
men; but the present eccentricity was both disquieting and lugubrious to
consider. A variety of feelings thus led me toward the beach, where I lay
flat on my face in a hollow within six feet of the track that led to the
pavilion.
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