She stood speechless, staring first at the disconsolate maiden, and then at the disorder of the room.

The prisoner was nowhere.

What her thoughts were, I must only imagine.

That she should stare and be bewildered, finding Dorothy where she had left Richard, was at least natural.
The moment Dorothy found herself face to face with her doom, her presence of mind returned.

The blood rushed from her heart to her brain.
She rose, and ere the astonished matron, who stood before her erect, high-nosed, and open-mouthed like Michael Angelo's Clotho, could find utterance, said, 'Mistress Watson, I swear to you by the soul of my mother, that although all seeming is against me, W--' 'Where is the young rebel ?' interrupted mistress Watson sternly.
'I know not,' answered Dorothy.