She closed the door, and paused to listen. The voices grew louder, and
more distinct, and at last approached so near, that she distinguished
what was said. Above the rest she heard the voice of the duke. 'It is
impossible she can have quitted the cavern,' said he, 'and I will not
leave it till I have found her. Seek to the left of that rock, while I
examine beyond this point.'
These words were sufficient for Julia; she fled from the door across
the cavern before her, and having ran a considerable way, without
coming to a termination, stopped to breathe. All was now still, and as
she looked around, the gloomy obscurity of the place struck upon her
fancy all its horrors. She imperfectly surveyed the vastness of the
cavern in wild amazement, and feared that she had precipitated herself
again into the power of banditti, for whom along this place appeared a
fit receptacle. Having listened a long time without hearing a return
of voices, she thought to find the door by which she had entered, but
the gloom, and vast extent of the cavern, made the endeavour hopeless,
and the attempt unsuccessful. Having wandered a considerable time
through the void, she gave up the effort, endeavoured to resign
herself to her fate, and to compose her distracted thoughts. The
remembrance of her former wonderful escape inspired her with
confidence in the mercy of God. But Hippolitus and Ferdinand were now
both lost to her--lost, perhaps, for ever--and the uncertainty of
their fate gave force to fancy, and poignancy to sorrow.
Towards morning grief yielded to nature, and Julia sunk to repose. She
was awakened by the sun, whose rays darting obliquely through the
opening in the rock, threw a partial light across the cavern. Her
senses were yet bewildered by sleep, and she started in affright on
beholding her situation; as recollection gradually stole upon her
mind, her sorrows returned, and she sickened at the fatal retrospect.
She arose, and renewed her search for an outlet. The light, imperfect
as it was, now assisted her, and she found a door, which she perceived
was not the one by which she had entered. It was firmly fastened; she
discovered, however, the bolts and the lock that held it, and at
length unclosed the door. It opened upon a dark passage, which she
entered. She groped along the winding walls for some time, when she perceived
the way was obstructed. She now discovered that another door
interrupted her progress, and sought for the bolts which might fasten
it. These she found; and strengthened by desparation forced them back.
The door opened, and she beheld in a small room, which received its
feeble light from a window above, the pale and emaciated figure of a
woman, seated, with half-closed eyes, in a kind of elbow-chair. On
perceiving Julia, she started from her seat, and her countenance
expressed a wild surprise. Her features, which were worn by sorrow,
still retained the traces of beauty, and in her air was a mild dignity
that excited in Julia an involuntary veneration.