While Sosia, thus entrapped, was lamenting his fate, and revolving his
schemes to repossess himself of Nydia, the blind girl, with that
singular precision and dexterous rapidity of motion, which, we have
before observed, was peculiar to her, had passed lightly along the
peristyle, threaded the opposite passage that led into the garden, and,
with a beating heart, was about to proceed towards the gate, when she
suddenly heard the sound of approaching steps, and distinguished the
dreaded voice of Arbaces himself. She paused for a moment in doubt and
terror; then suddenly it flashed across her recollection that there was
another passage which was little used except for the admission of the
fair partakers of the Egyptian's secret revels, and which wound along
the basement of that massive fabric towards a door which also
communicated with the garden. By good fortune it might be open. At
that thought, she hastily retraced her steps, descended the narrow
stairs at the right, and was soon at the entrance of the passage. Alas!
the door at the entrance was closed and secured. While she was yet
assuring herself that it was indeed locked, she heard behind her the
voice of Calenus, and, a moment after, that of Arbaces in low reply.
She could not stay there; they were probably passing to that very door.
She sprang onward, and felt herself in unknown ground. The air grew
damp and chill; this reassured her. She thought she might be among the
cellars of the luxurious mansion, or, at least, in some rude spot not
likely to be visited by its haughty lord, when again her quick ear
caught steps and the sound of voices. On, on, she hurried, extending her
arms, which now frequently encountered pillars of thick and massive
form. With a tact, doubled in acuteness by her fear, she escaped these
perils, and continued her way, the air growing more and more damp as she
proceeded; yet, still, as she ever and anon paused for breath, she heard
the advancing steps and the indistinct murmur of voices. At length she
was abruptly stopped by a wall that seemed the limit of her path. Was
there no spot in which she could hide? No aperture? no cavity? There
was none! She stopped, and wrung her hands in despair; then again,
nerved as the voices neared upon her, she hurried on by the side of the
wall; and coming suddenly against one of the sharp buttresses that here
and there jutted boldly forth, she fell to the ground. Though much
bruised, her senses did not leave her; she uttered no cry; nay, she
hailed the accident that had led her to something like a screen; and
creeping close up to the angle formed by the buttress, so that on one
side at least she was sheltered from view, she gathered her slight and
small form into its smallest compass, and breathlessly awaited her fate.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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