The Count of Monte Cristo

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room, which marked the seconds. She began counting them, remarking that
they were much slower than the beatings of her heart; and still she
doubted,--the inoffensive Valentine could not imagine that any one
should desire her death. Why should they? To what end? What had she
done to excite the malice of an enemy? There was no fear of her falling
asleep. One terrible idea pressed upon her mind,--that some one existed
in the world who had attempted to assassinate her, and who was about
to endeavor to do so again. Supposing this person, wearied at the
inefficacy of the poison, should, as Monte Cristo intimated, have
recourse to steel!--What if the count should have no time to run to her
rescue!--What if her last moments were approaching, and she should never
again see Morrel! When this terrible chain of ideas presented itself,
Valentine was nearly persuaded to ring the bell, and call for help. But
through the door she fancied she saw the luminous eye of the count--that
eye which lived in her memory, and the recollection overwhelmed her with
so much shame that she asked herself whether any amount of gratitude
could ever repay his adventurous and devoted friendship.