The paragraph in question was brief. It announced the recapture of
one of the prisoners recently escaped from Edinburgh Castle; gave
his name, Clausel, and added that he had entered into the
particulars of the recent revolting murder in the Castle, and
denounced the murderer:-
'It is a common soldier called Champdivers, who had himself
escaped, and is in all probability involved in the common fate of
his comrades. In spite of the activity along all the Forth and the
East Coast, nothing has yet been seen of the sloop which these
desperadoes seized at Grangemouth, and it is now almost certain
that they have found a watery grave.'
At the reading of this paragraph, my heart turned over. In a
moment I saw my castle in the air ruined; myself changed from a
mere military fugitive into a hunted murderer, fleeing from the
gallows; my love, which had a moment since appeared so near to me,
blotted from the field of possibility. Despair, which was my first
sentiment, did not, however, endure for more than a moment. I saw
that my companions had indeed succeeded in their unlikely design;
and that I was supposed to have accompanied and perished along with
them by shipwreck--a most probable ending to their enterprise. If
they thought me at the bottom of the North Sea, I need not fear
much vigilance on the streets of Edinburgh.
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