The Mysteries of Udolpho

She considered for a moment whether she should venture to speak: then,

not choosing, lest it should be he, to mention his name, and yet too

much interested to neglect the opportunity of enquiring, she called from

the casement, 'Is that song from Gascony?' Her anxious attention was

not cheered by any reply; every thing remained silent. Her impatience

increasing with her fears, she repeated the question; but still no sound

was heard, except the sighings of the wind among the battlements above;

and she endeavoured to console herself with a belief, that the stranger,

whoever he was, had retired, before she had spoken, beyond the reach

of her voice, which, it appeared certain, had Valancourt heard and

recognized, he would instantly have replied to. Presently, however, she

considered, that a motive of prudence, and not an accidental removal,

might occasion his silence; but the surmise, that led to this

reflection, suddenly changed her hope and joy to terror and grief; for,

if Valancourt were in the castle, it was too probable, that he was here

a prisoner, taken with some of his countrymen, many of whom were at that

time engaged in the wars of Italy, or intercepted in some attempt to

reach her.

Had he even recollected Emily's voice, he would have feared,

in these circumstances, to reply to it, in the presence of the men, who

guarded his prison. What so lately she had eagerly hoped she now believed she

dreaded;--dreaded to know, that Valancourt was near her; and, while she

was anxious to be relieved from her apprehension for his safety, she

still was unconscious, that a hope of soon seeing him, struggled with

the fear. She remained listening at the casement, till the air began to freshen,

and one high mountain in the east to glimmer with the morning; when,

wearied with anxiety, she retired to her couch, where she found

it utterly impossible to sleep, for joy, tenderness, doubt and

apprehension, distracted her during the whole night. Now she rose from

the couch, and opened the casement to listen; then she would pace the

room with impatient steps, and, at length, return with despondence to

her pillow. Never did hours appear to move so heavily, as those of this

anxious night; after which she hoped that Annette might appear, and

conclude her present state of torturing suspense.