“Ay, ay, he shall be looked to, I’ll warrant thee,” rejoined the gaoler, with a grin. “That be good, i’faith—very good!”
Inez, who was not disposed to talk, made no reply to his observations, but proceeded in silence to the door. The gaoler followed her, and, drawing open the door, they passed into the passage beyond. Having effected their egress, the gaoler, lingering behind, drew to and secured the door; and Hildebrand was again the sole inmate of the dungeon.
Want of rest had rendered his mind less obedient to its helm than usual; but, for all this, it had derived great solace, and even strength, from the visit of Inez. It may seem a strange anomaly, but observation will prove it to be true, that, after we have been writhing under the pressure of despair, we are most disposed, by the constitution of our nature, to give free room to the least inspiration of hope. This singular fact was exemplified in Hildebrand. He was still unhappy, but, though his prospects had undergone no sensible amelioration, he was no longer hopeless. If his interview with Inez should result in no personal benefit, it at least afforded him an assurance that his situation would be communicated to his friends, and, whatever might be the issue, some effort would be made, he was certain, to set him at liberty.
Revolving these reflections in his mind, the misery of his situation became considerably alleviated; and though, every now and then, as he remembered the nature of his connexion with Inez, and how tenderly she had shown herself to be attached to him, his breast would be visited by an involuntary pang, his fortitude was now fixed on a solid and stable foundation. He was not free, it is true, from the depressing effect of a want of repose; but his thoughts being no longer swayed by distraction, he was better able to seek repose, and more open to its approaches.
Sleep stole upon him insensibly. It was late in the night ere he awoke, and, though not at ease, he felt considerably refreshed. Rising to stretch his limbs, his foot struck against something on the floor; and, with more curiosity than the circumstance seemed to warrant, or his position to admit of, he stooped to ascertain what it was. It was a large flagon, filled with water; and on passing his hand round the outside, he found a small loaf also; and he remembered it was the meal which the gaoler had left him in the morning.
The provision was far from being unwelcome, and Hildebrand, not without a good appetite, proceeded to discuss it. Having finished his meal, and warmed himself by a little exercise, he lay down again, and with some degree of patience waited the coming of day.
Conformably to his expectations, he was visited in the morning by the gaoler, who, as on the preceding morning, brought him his day’s provision. From this time, he was in momentary expectation, through the whole of the day, of hearing from Inez; but every succeeding moment brought him only disappointment. The evening came on, and night; and he was still without intelligence of his anxiously expected visiter.
His suspense sank into depression as the night advanced, and, from the unlooked-for delay, he began to fear that Inez had been unable, by her own unaided efforts, to bring the design which they had concerted into effect. While, however, he was yet pondering on his not unreasonable fear, he thought that he heard footsteps approaching. The matter was not long doubtful; for, before he could well be said to be listening, he heard the massy bolts of the dungeon-door shot back; and by the time he had sprung to his feet (which he did almost instantaneously), the door was thrown open.
Two persons entered, one of whom, from the light which he carried in his hand, Hildebrand perceived to be the gaoler; and he supposed the other to be his expected ally. His supposition was shortly confirmed; for the cavalier, having taken the lamp from the gaoler, came more into the light, and, on near inspection, was seen to wear the guise and appointments of a gentleman.
He was, as Inez had described him, a mere stripling, and seemed to have scarcely seen his sixteenth year. But it was more by his face that his youth was apparent, in his present attire, than by his form. So far as the latter could be seen, through the fall of his deep-brown cloak, it was round and full, and almost matured. At the waist, it is true, it was slender in the extreme; but the broad volume of his chest, and the full and graceful outline of his shoulders, which could be traced on the outside of his cloak, showed that he was well proportioned, and, at a little distance, might be thought to be verging on manhood. His face was almost too beautiful for a man’s; and its resemblance to that of Inez, especially about the nose and eyes, was so striking, that Hildebrand discerned it directly. He wore a light moustache above his mouth, and under his nether lip, where it fell into the chin, a subordinate imperial. But it was his movements, more than anything else, that fixed attention; for his step was like light, and, in its carriage of his person, displayed a grace and dignity surpassing man’s.