Matilda had assured him that the effects of the opiate would be speedy. He listened with fear, yet with eagerness, expecting to hear some disturbance in the adjoining chamber. All was still silent. He concluded that the drops had not begun to operate. Great was the stake, for which he now played: a moment would suffice to decide upon his misery or happiness. Matilda had taught him the means of ascertaining that life was not extinct forever: upon this assay depended all his hopes. With every instant his impatience redoubled; his terrors grew more lively, his anxiety more awake. Unable to bear this state of incertitude, he endeavoured to divert it by substituting the thoughts of others to his own. The books, as was before mentioned, were ranged upon shelves near the table: this stood exactly opposite to the bed, which was placed in an alcove near the closet door. Ambrosio took down a volume, and seated himself by the table: but his attention wandered from the pages before him. Antonia’s image and that of the murdered Elvira persisted to force themselves before his imagination. Still he continued to read, though his eyes ran over the characters without his mind being conscious of their import. Such was his occupation, when he fancied that he heard a footstep.