It was interrupted in its turn.
Julia burst suddenly into the room, pale and violently excited, clasping her hands and crying, “He is there. His voice is like a child's. Oh, Help me! He is hurt. He is dying.”
CHAPTER XLVI
JULIA, as I have said, went to her own room, wounded unintentionally by a chance speech: she sat down sick at heart; and presently opened her window and looked out upon the starry night, and wondered where Alfred was now; that Alfred for whom nobody else had a Human heart, it seemed. “Alfred! my poor Alfred!” she sighed, and half-expected to hear him reply. Then she said to herself, “They all called you false but me; yet I was right: and now they all call you mad; but not I: I believe nothing against you. You are my own Alfred still. Where have the wretches driven you to?” At this her feelings carried her away, and she cried aloud on him despairingly, and leaned upon the window-sill, and the tears ran fast for him.
Presently out of the silence of the night seemed to struggle a faint but clear voice:
“Julia.”
She started, and a muffled scream came from her. Then she listened, all trembling. Again the voice sighed, faintly but clear, “Julia!”
“Alfred?” said she, quavering.
“Yes. Pray be cautious; give no alarm. The house is watched; bring Edward.”