The Mysteries of Udolpho

The sun, at length, set behind the western mountains; his fiery beams

faded from the clouds, and then a dun melancholy purple drew over them,

and gradually involved the features of the country below. Soon after,

the sentinels passed on the rampart to commence the watch.

Twilight had now spread its gloom over every object; the dismal

obscurity of her chamber recalled fearful thoughts, but she remembered,

that to procure a light she must pass through a great extent of the

castle, and, above all, through the halls, where she had already

experienced so much horror. Darkness, indeed, in the present state of

her spirits, made silence and solitude terrible to her; it would also

prevent the possibility of her finding her way to the turret, and

condemn her to remain in suspense, concerning the fate of her aunt; yet

she dared not to venture forth for a lamp.

Continuing at the casement, that she might catch the last lingering

gleam of evening, a thousand vague images of fear floated on her fancy.

'What if some of these ruffians,' said she, 'should find out the private

stair-case, and in the darkness of night steal into my chamber!' Then,

recollecting the mysterious inhabitant of the neighbouring apartment,

her terror changed its object. 'He is not a prisoner,' said she, 'though

he remains in one chamber, for Montoni did not fasten the door, when he

left it; the unknown person himself did this; it is certain, therefore,

he can come out when he pleases.'

She paused, for, notwithstanding the terrors of darkness, she considered

it to be very improbable, whoever he was, that he could have any

interest in intruding upon her retirement; and again the subject of her

emotion changed, when, remembering her nearness to the chamber, where

the veil had formerly disclosed a dreadful spectacle, she doubted

whether some passage might not communicate between it and the insecure

door of the stair-case.

It was now entirely dark, and she left the casement. As she sat with

her eyes fixed on the hearth, she thought she perceived there a spark

of light; it twinkled and disappeared, and then again was visible. At

length, with much care, she fanned the embers of a wood fire, that had

been lighted in the morning, into flame, and, having communicated it to

a lamp, which always stood in her room, felt a satisfaction not to be

conceived, without a review of her situation. Her first care was to

guard the door of the stair-case, for which purpose she placed against

it all the furniture she could move, and she was thus employed, for

some time, at the end of which she had another instance how much more

oppressive misfortune is to the idle, than to the busy; for, having then

leisure to think over all the circumstances of her present afflictions,

she imagined a thousand evils for futurity, and these real and ideal

subjects of distress alike wounded her mind.