Isabelle would have liked to question her attendant, and endeavour to elicit some information from her, but the girl was more like an automaton than anything else, and it was impossible to gain more than a monosyllable from her lips.

So Isabelle resigned herself with a sigh to her mute ministerings, not without a sort of vague terror.
After the maid had retired, dinner was served as before, and Isabelle made a hearty meal--feeling that she must keep up her strength, and also hopeful of hearing something in a few hours more from her faithful lover.

Her thoughts were all of him, and as she realized the dangers to which he would inevitably be exposed for her sake, her eyes filled with tears, and a sharp pang shot through her heart.

She was angry with herself for being the cause of so much trouble, and fain to curse her own beauty--the unhappy occasion of it all.

She was absorbed in these sad thoughts when a little noise as if a hail-stone had struck against the window pane, suddenly aroused her.