In a nature strange to fear, the fear for another wrought a fearful revolution.

Her anger against herself was as terrible as her fear for him she loved was paralysing.

The instinct to act, the terror lest it should be too late, the impossibility of acting at all so long as she was imprisoned in the room, all three came over her at once.
The mechanical effort of rocking her body from side to side brought no rest; the blow she struck upon her breast in her frenzy she felt no more than the oaken door had felt those she had dealt it with the club.

She could not find even the soothing antidote of bodily pain for her intense moral suffering.

Again the time passed without her knowing or guessing of its passage.
Driven to desperation she sprang at last from her seat and cried aloud.
"I would give my soul to know that he is safe!" The words had not died away when a low groan passed, as it were, round the room.