The Midnight Bell/Volume I/Chapter IX

CHAPTER IX.

Lauretta, on waking, started from her chair, and cast her eyes wildly about, totally ignorant where she was; and, entirely forgetful of all that had passed the preceding evening. But busy recollection swiftly burst upon her with all its sorrows: she sighed, and raised her eyes to the high casements: the rays of the sun shone hot and full into her apartment; she conjectured it to be noon-day, and marvelled that she had slept so long and soundly; she moved towards the door; it was still fastened; and, from what she remembered of the disposition of the little furniture her prison contained, she saw not the smallest cause for suspecting that any one had visited it during the night. She examined the lamp; it was burnt out in the socket, and the cup of wine stood on the ground where she herself had placed it.

Towards evening, the creaking of the locks announced Kroonzer: he entered with a fresh supply of provisions; which, together with a flask of wine, and another of water, he placed upon the table; and, having trimmed the wick of the lamp, and replenished the wasted oil, he lighted it, and left the apartment, without uttering a single word.

The artificial light produced by the lamp tended swiftly to dispel the declining day; and, with the increasing gloom, the horrors of her situation were greatly accumulated in the imagination of the unhappy Lauretta.

Night had assumed her sablest form; when the fair prisoner, shivering from the inaction in which she had passed the solitary day, and still feeling a reluctance to commit herself to the oblivion of sleep, began slowly to perambulate her chamber:—languid and feeble she stopped, and, reclining her arm against the flinty wall, her head sunk insensibly upon her hand, and she stood wrapped in painful thought. Suddenly, the trampling of horses struck her ear—she started, and listened—a shrill tucket was shortly after sounded, and she indistinctly heard the sound of voices. Burning with the cheering hope of rescue, her heart beat high within her breast, and her respiration became suspended. "The kind baron," she exclaimed, "has lent his aid to my Alphonsus, and they now come to my relief!"

An interval of dead silence ensued:—she moved towards the door, and, trembling with expectation, doubted whether or not she already heard footsteps. But sad conviction proved her agitated senses had deceived her.

Another interval longer than the first passed away, but no sound met her attentive ear. Delusive hope, however, raised in her harassed brain the flattering possibility, that her friends might be searching for her in some distant part of the building, and would still arrive at her prison.

A confusion of footsteps and voices seemingly approaching towards her apartment, now raised in her panting bosom a tumult of passions, amongst which fear was predominant. Till this instant, the pleasing expectation of enlargement, and restoration to her beloved Alphonsus, had solely occupied her imagination: now the hated Theodore recurred to her, and every footstep seemed to increase the dreadful probability, that she might the next moment be destined to fall a victim to his unruly passion, or breathe her last beneath his injurious arm.

The noise increased, and the persons seemed still to advance. "This way, this way," exclaimed an unknown voice; "follow me, this way." Lauretta breathed with extreme difficulty. A blow against the door thrilled her heart, and the same voice cried out, "The key is not here; ask it of Kroonzer."

Lauretta stood motionless: several voices now spoke at the same time, but so confusedly, that she could not distinguish a word they uttered. Suddenly, all the persons seemed to recede from her prison as swiftly as they had advanced towards it; and the sounds dying gradually away, an awful silence again prevailed.

Trembling lest they should return, Lauretta still continued near the door: she knew not how to account for what she had heard; and the more she ruminated, the more she was bewildered in her conjectures.

A length of time having elapsed, and not the minutest sound met her ear, her alarm began to subside; and the power of reflection returning, she felt in its fullest force the mortifying disappointment she had sustained: at that moment every future prospect of liberty seemed to have vanished in the present; she burst into a flood of tears, and, sinking upon the bed, gave way to the strongest paroxysms of despair.

Oh hope! thou cheering shadow of each desired object! why does the blackening gloom of disappointment so often cloud the sunny path through which thou leadest us, glowing at every anxious step with warmer expectation? while fancy, strengthening with desire, seems the reality, and makes us in imagination blessed; until the dream-dispelling dawn of reason opens our eyes, and shows us the wished-for goal, as distant still, as when we first began the imaginary course!

The mind, harassed beyond its bearing, seeks insensibly the balm designed by nature for its restoration. Thus the fair prisoner, on again opening her eyes to her solitary room, found she had tasted its efficacious sweets, although she had not courted its powers.

During the greatest part of the day, she continued upon the bed, lost in weeping and meditation. The approach of evening again introduced Kroonzer into her apartment: he had brought with him more fruit and another flask of water. He expressed great surprise at her not having tasted what he had set before her the former evening, and asked her to partake of what he had now brought. She paid little attention to his invitation; but besought him to explain to her the occurrences of the preceding night. He did not answer her; but, having prepared the lamp, he lighted it, and left the chamber; repeating the entreaty he had before urged, for her to eat some of the fruit and bread.

Not in compliance with the request of Kroonzer, but the calls of Nature, Lauretta eat of the fruit and bread, and drank a large cup of water: the wine she determined not to taste, concluding, from the effect it had produced on her the first night of her imprisonment, that its nature was somniferous; and, although she wished for an oblivion of her cares, she had not sufficient resolution to act herself towards the production of it; apprehensive of what might befall her in a state of insensibility.

Thus passed on six melancholy days, in a course of sad reflection, perplexed by a variety of conjectures, and cheered only by the idea that Alphonsus was ignorant of her sufferings.

No human being entered her prison save Kroonzer, who never failed at the accustomed hour; but observed an impenetrable silence to every interrogatory made him by Lauretta, relative to her situation.

No sounds similar to those she had heard on the second night of her imprisonment returned: she concluded herself a prisoner for life, and despair began to subside into calm melancholy.

Towards midnight of the seventh day, she was awakened from the soundest sleep she had for some time enjoyed, by a violent crash of thunder, which shook the turret: she sprang from the bed, and stood a moment in wild alarm, scarcely recollecting where she was, or knowing what she had heard; when a flash of lightning struck that side of the turret against which she was leaning; the wall instantaneously fell, and carried along with it the shrieking Lauretta.