She was thus to be kept in that dreadful place--for dreadful it now
seemed to her--till his return at midnight.
She could not guess the hour, but she might have to wait long--very
long! Moments seemed ages now. Her terror was insupportable.
Just then she heard the castle clock, and counted the strokes.
Eleven! Another agonising hour had to be borne!--another hour!--when
five minutes had been intolerable!
Rendered desperate by terror, she went back to the altar, and kneeling
down once more, prayed for deliverance.
Becoming somewhat calmer, she felt ashamed of her weakness, and tried
to persuade herself that the tapers might have gone out by accident. The
notion gave her momentary courage.
But her fears returned with greater force than before as she heard a
deep sigh, seemingly proceeding from some one close beside her, and she
fancied she discerned a dusky figure.
“Who is there?” she cried. “Is it you holy father?”
No answer was returned, but a slight sound was heard, and the figure
seemed to retreat.
She heard and saw no more.
Uttering a cry, she fell senseless at the foot of the altar, where she
was found shortly afterwards by Father Norham and her mother.
The former having brought the lantern with him, her situation was
perceived at once, and the prompt application of a smelling-bottle by
Lady Webb quickly restored her to consciousness. She was able to walk
back to the mansion, but begged not to be questioned as to the cause of
her fright till the morrow, when she should have quite recovered from
its effects.