But, notwithstanding the amelioration of his distress, he remained pensive and restless the whole night. The day--for even in the gloom of his dungeon, to which perfect light was unknown, there was a slight distinction in the seasons, and he could tell the day from the night--found him still awake, and still rapt in anxious reflections. The morning was somewhat advanced before he received a visit from the gaoler; and though, as his remorseful mood was unshaken, the immediate features of his situation continued to press themselves on his mind, this circumstance did not escape him. It had hardly incurred his notice, however, when, not without feeling some interest in the issue, he heard the fastenings withdrawn from the dungeon-door; and the door being thereupon pushed open, the gaoler entered. The grim functionary was not alone. He was followed, a few paces in his rear, by a short, broad-built friar, who, from his hesitating step, appeared to enter the cell with anything but complacency. The friar, for whatever reason, had his cowl drawn close, so that his face was invisible; but, through the small eyelets of the cowl, one could see a spark of gentleness in his eyes, that at once recommended him to favour. He carried a lighted lamp in his hand, and, on passing through the doorway, he held it out before him, and glanced rapidly round the limits of the dungeon. Meantime, the gaoler, whom familiarity with dungeons rendered less curious, advanced to the unhappy prisoner, and, without a word of greeting, placed before him a repast of bread and water. Leaving him to regale himself therewith, he turned towards the door again; and the friar, who had by this time finished his survey of the dungeon, and fixed his eye so as to meet his, waved him forth. “Well, have thy will,” said the gaoler, in reply, “but ’tis only till thou canst take his confession, mind! I will wait thee without.” Thus sulkily complying, the gaoler passed out of the dungeon, and drew-to the door behind him. The friar, as though he looked on his movements with suspicion, followed him with his eye; and, when he had passed out, held up the light, with a fixed and steady hand, to see if he had closed the door. Apparently satisfied on this point, he turned away from the door, and stepped hastily towards Hildebrand. Hildebrand was in the further corner of the dungeon, seated on the floor, with his arms, to protect them from the cold, folded close over his bosom, and his back resting against the wall. The movements of the friar, though he watched them earnestly, did not induce him to alter his position, and he waited his approach in the same posture. The friar stood right before him. Coming to a halt, he leaned his head a little forward; and with the hand which he had at liberty--for he carried the light in his left hand--threw back his cowl, and disclosed the features of Inez. Hildebrand, uttering an exclamation of surprise, sprang to his feet, and caught her by both her hands.