He felt supremely wretched, and endured an hour of almost insupportable agony. During this time he stared vacantly at the white flame which flickered from the gas-pipe, and calculated what he should do when he had made his escape.
When he heard a clock strike eleven he sprang from his seat, and grasping the hook with which he hoped to obtain his freedom firmly in his right hand, he again knelt before the door.
Not a sound broke the stillness of the night. He set to work vigorously, and struck the hook into the stone. A cloud of white dust flew from it, he raised his weapon again, when the noise of a footstep fell upon his ear.
He paused and listened. It was a slow, regular step, like that of a sentry on guard. He did not move, but waited patiently till the sound had passed, till it had grown faint, till it had become inaudible.
This was a most unfortunate circumstance. It required all his skill and address to baffle his janitors.
One false step and all his schemes were scattered like leaves before the autumn blast.
He felt sick at heart. There was a haze before his eyes, and horrible lights flickering, and strange noises murmuring.
Something seemed to be swinging to and fro inside his head like the pendulum of a clock; big drops of perspiration oozed from his temples.
He was now very well assured that the corridor was watched by both day and night, and it was therefore impossible to force the door without running the risk of discovery—it was impossible to enter the chapel without being seen.
He was baffled, and could have cried in the agony of his despair.