Yet she was still unwilling to believe that man so great a villain, whom she had long believed so much her friend. It was not till she was convinced, that neither Edmund nor Emmeline were in the Castle; that she found herself totally alone with the wretch, whom she had despised as being too insignificant to be dangerous; and that an old woman, whom (in order to calm the first violence of her feelings) he had produced to her as his wife, was nothing more than a domestic; it was not till then, that she saw the whole business clearly, and the sight was one of such danger, that perhaps had she been a woman of a common mind, it would have thrown her into such a state of bodily insensibility, or of mental dejection, as might effectually have prevented all endeavours to effect an escape. But Amabel was a daughter of Helvetia! that is, she was a woman, whose powers both of body and mind existed in their fullest vigour; neither the first was weakened by luxurious indulgence, nor the second liable to be subdued by imaginary terrors. In spite of all that credulity and imprudence which had betrayed her into her present danger, her imagination was still both clear and acute enough to suggest a means for effecting her rescue, or at least for gaining time. She appeared reserved and shy, and sat down in silence to the voluptuous entertainment, which was now served up by Wolfenrad’s confidante; the only person, whom he suffered to penetrate into that part of the Castle. Yet did Amabel contrive to give her silence the appearance of being preserved much against her will; she refused not at Wolfenrad’s request to lay aside the large hat, which overshadowed her face, and which (as he complained) concealed from him numberless beauties; nor did she draw away very hastily or with a look of extreme displeasure her soft white hand, when he prest it passionately between his own. —“May I flatter myself,” said the deceived deceiver, “that Amabel does not absolutely hate me?”— —“My religion forbids my hating any one.”— —“And you are not very much offended at my having employed a little artifice to procure myself the happiness of this evening?”— “—Artifice?—Nay; the effect of accident, and ... and, I am afraid, my own inclination was so much on your side, that....”— —“My charming Amabel! then I may hope, that Wolfenrad is not entirely indifferent to you!”— —“Indifferent? Oh! that you are not _indeed_!—And as to hoping ... why, nobody can prevent your doing that, you know.”— And with this kind of doubtful and flattering discourse did she long entertain the betrayer, and forgot not to fill the silver bowls from time to time; though the effects of his frequent draughts prevented him from observing, that while she poured wine into his goblet, nothing but water entered into her own.