The castle of Mazzini was still the scene of dissension and misery.
The impatience and astonishment of the marquis being daily increased
by the lengthened absence of the duke, he dispatched servants to the
forest of Marentino, to enquire the occasion of this circumstance.
They returned with intelligence that neither Julia, the duke, nor any
of his people were there. He therefore concluded that his daughter had
fled the cottage upon information of the approach of the duke, who, he
believed, was still engaged in the pursuit. With respect to
Ferdinand, who yet pined in sorrow and anxiety in his dungeon, the
rigour of the marquis's conduct was unabated. He apprehended that his
son, if liberated, would quickly discover the retreat of Julia, and by
his advice and assistance confirm her in disobedience.

Ferdinand, in the stillness and solitude of his dungeon, brooded over
the late calamity in gloomy ineffectual lamentation. The idea of
Hippolitus--of Hippolitus murdered--arose to his imagination in busy
intrusion, and subdued the strongest efforts of his fortitude. Julia
too, his beloved sister--unprotected--unfriended--might, even at the
moment he lamented her, be sinking under sufferings dreadful to
humanity. The airy schemes he once formed of future felicity,
resulting from the union of two persons so justly dear to him--with
the gay visions of past happiness--floated upon his fancy, and the
lustre they reflected served only to heighten, by contrast, the
obscurity and gloom of his present views. He had, however, a new
subject of astonishment, which often withdrew his thoughts from their
accustomed object, and substituted a sensation less painful, though
scarcely less powerful. One night as he lay ruminating on the past, in
melancholy dejection, the stillness of the place was suddenly
interrupted by a low and dismal sound. It returned at intervals in
hollow sighings, and seemed to come from some person in deep distress.