behind. If Manfred knew where she was, he must have followed her.
She was still in one of the cloisters, and the steps she had heard
were too distinct to proceed from the way she had come. Cheered
with this reflection, and hoping to find a friend in whoever was
not the Prince, she was going to advance, when a door that stood
ajar, at some distance to the left, was opened gently: but ere her
lamp, which she held up, could discover who opened it, the person
retreated precipitately on seeing the light.

Isabella, whom every incident was sufficient to dismay, hesitated
whether she should proceed. Her dread of Manfred soon outweighed
every other terror. The very circumstance of the person avoiding
her gave her a sort of courage. It could only be, she thought,
some domestic belonging to the castle. Her gentleness had never
raised her an enemy, and conscious innocence made her hope that,
unless sent by the Prince's order to seek her, his servants would
rather assist than prevent her flight. Fortifying herself with
these reflections, and believing by what she could observe that she
was near the mouth of the subterraneous cavern, she approached the
door that had been opened; but a sudden gust of wind that met her
at the door extinguished her lamp, and left her in total darkness.

Words cannot paint the horror of the Princess's situation. Alone
in so dismal a place, her mind imprinted with all the terrible
events of the day, hopeless of escaping, expecting every moment the
arrival of Manfred, and far from tranquil on knowing she was within
reach of somebody, she knew not whom, who for some cause seemed
concealed thereabouts; all these thoughts crowded on her distracted
mind, and she was ready to sink under her apprehensions. She
addressed herself to every saint in heaven, and inwardly implored