Mysteries of Udolpho — Vol 03, Ch. 02

Annette presently came, and, as usual, was full of alarm; to her lady’s eager enquiries of what she had heard among the servants, she replied: “Ah, madam!

nobody knows what it is all about, but old Carlo; he knows well enough, I dare say, but he is as close as his master.

Some say the Signor is going out to frighten the enemy, as they call it: but where is the enemy?

Then others say, he is going to take away somebody’s castle: but I am sure he has room enough in his own, without taking other people’s; and I am sure I should like it a great deal better, if there were more people to fill it.

” “Ah!

you will soon have your wish, I fear,” replied Madame Montoni.

“No, madam, but such ill-looking fellows are not worth having.

I mean such gallant, smart, merry fellows as Ludovico, who is always telling droll stories, to make one laugh.

It was but yesterday, he told me such a _humoursome_ tale!

I can’t help laughing at it now.

—Says he—” “Well, we can dispense with the story,” said her lady.

“Ah!

” continued Annette, “he sees a great way further than other people!

Now he sees into all the Signor’s meaning, without knowing a word about the matter!

” “How is that?

” said Madame Montoni.

“Why he says—but he made me promise not to tell, and I would not disoblige him for the world.

” “What is it he made you promise not to tell?

” said her lady, sternly.

“I insist upon knowing immediately—what is it he made you promise?

” “O madam,” cried Annette, “I would not tell for the universe!

” “I insist upon your telling this instant,” said Madame Montoni.

“O dear madam!

I would not tell for a hundred sequins!

You would not have me forswear myself madam!

” exclaimed Annette.

“I will not wait another moment,” said Madame Montoni.

Annette was silent.

“The Signor shall be informed of this directly,” rejoined her mistress;

“he will make you discover all.

” “It is Ludovico, who has discovered,” said Annette: “but for mercy’s sake, madam, don’t tell the Signor, and you shall know all directly.

” Madame Montoni said, that she would not.

“Well then, madam, Ludovico says, that the Signor, my master, is—is—that is, he only thinks so, and anybody, you know, madam, is free to think—that the Signor, my master, is—is—” “Is what?

” said her lady, impatiently.

“That the Signor, my master, is going to be—a great robber—that is—he is going to rob on his own account;—to be, (but I am sure I don’t understand what he means) to be a—captain of—robbers.

” “Art thou in thy senses, Annette?

” said Madame Montoni; “or is this a trick to deceive me?

Tell me, this instant, what Ludovico _did_ say to thee;—no equivocation;—this instant.

” “Nay, madam,” cried Annette, “if this is all I am to get for having told the secret—” Her mistress thus continued to insist, and Annette to protest, till Montoni, himself, appeared, who bade the latter leave the room, and she withdrew, trembling for the fate of her story.

Emily also was retiring, but her aunt desired she would stay; and Montoni had so often made her a witness of their contention, that he no longer had scruples on that account.

“I insist upon knowing this instant, Signor, what all this means:” said his wife—“what are all these armed men, whom they tell me of, gone out about?

” Montoni answered her only with a look of scorn; and Emily whispered something to her.

“It does not signify,” said her aunt: “I will know; and I will know, too, what the castle has been fortified for.

” “Come, come,” said Montoni, “other business brought me here.

I must be trifled with no longer.

I have immediate occasion for what I demand—those estates must be given up, without further contention; or I may find a way—” “They never shall be given up,” interrupted Madame Montoni: “they never shall enable you to carry on your wild schemes;—but what are these?

I

will know.

Do you expect the castle to be attacked?

Do you expect enemies?

Am I to be shut up here, to be killed in a siege?

” “Sign the writings,” said Montoni, “and you shall know more.

” “What enemy can be coming?

” continued his wife.

“Have you entered into the service of the state?

Am I to be blocked up here to die?

” “That may possibly happen,” said Montoni, “unless you yield to my demand: for, come what may, you shall not quit the castle till then.

” Madame Montoni burst into loud lamentation, which she as suddenly checked, considering, that her husband’s assertions might be only artifices, employed to extort her consent.

She hinted this suspicion, and, in the next moment, told him also, that his designs were not so honourable as to serve the state, and that she believed he had only commenced a captain of banditti, to join the enemies of Venice, in plundering and laying waste the surrounding country.

Montoni looked at her for a moment with a steady and stern countenance;

while Emily trembled, and his wife, for once, thought she had said too much.

“You shall be removed, this night,” said he, “to the east turret: there, perhaps, you may understand the danger of offending a man, who has an unlimited power over you.

” Emily now fell at his feet, and, with tears of terror, supplicated for her aunt, who sat, trembling with fear, and indignation; now ready to pour forth execrations, and now to join the intercessions of Emily.

Montoni, however, soon interrupted these entreaties with a horrible oath; and, as he burst from Emily, leaving his cloak, in her hand, she fell to the floor, with a force, that occasioned her a severe blow on the forehead.

But he quitted the room, without attempting to raise her, whose attention was called from herself, by a deep groan from Madame Montoni, who continued otherwise unmoved in her chair, and had not fainted.

Emily, hastening to her assistance, saw her eyes rolling, and her features convulsed.

Having spoken to her, without receiving an answer, she brought water, and supported her head, while she held it to her lips; but the increasing convulsions soon compelled Emily to call for assistance.

On her way through the hall, in search of Annette, she met Montoni, whom she told what had happened, and conjured to return and comfort her aunt; but he turned silently away, with a look of indifference, and went out upon the ramparts.

At length she found old Carlo and Annette, and they hastened to the dressing-room, where Madame Montoni had fallen on the floor, and was lying in strong convulsions.

Having lifted her into the adjoining room, and laid her on the bed, the force of her disorder still made all their strength necessary to hold her, while Annette trembled and sobbed, and old Carlo looked silently and piteously on, as his feeble hands grasped those of his mistress, till, turning his eyes upon Emily, he exclaimed, “Good God!

Signora, what is the matter?

” Emily looked calmly at him, and saw his enquiring eyes fixed on her: and Annette, looking up, screamed loudly; for Emily’s face was stained with blood, which continued to fall slowly from her forehead: but her attention had been so entirely occupied by the scene before her, that she had felt no pain from the wound.

She now held a handkerchief to her face, and, notwithstanding her faintness, continued to watch Madame Montoni, the violence of whose convulsions was abating, till at length they ceased, and left her in a kind of stupor.

“My aunt must remain quiet,” said Emily.

“Go, good Carlo; if we should want your assistance, I will send for you.

In the mean time, if you have an opportunity, speak kindly of your mistress to your master.

” “Alas!

” said Carlo, “I have seen too much!

I have little influence with the Signor.

But do, dear young lady, take some care of yourself; that is an ugly wound, and you look sadly.

” “Thank you, my friend, for your consideration,” said Emily, smiling kindly: “the wound is trifling, it came by a fall.

” Carlo shook his head, and left the room; and Emily, with Annette, continued to watch by her aunt.

“Did my lady tell the Signor what Ludovico said, ma’amselle?

” asked Annette in a whisper; but Emily quieted her fears on the subject.

“I thought what this quarrelling would come to,” continued Annette: “I suppose the Signor has been beating my lady.

” “No, no, Annette, you are totally mistaken, nothing extraordinary has happened.

” “Why, extraordinary things happen here so often, ma’amselle, that there is nothing in them.

Here is another legion of those ill-looking fellows, come to the castle, this morning.

” “Hush!

Annette, you will disturb my aunt; we will talk of that by and bye.

” They continued watching silently, till Madame Montoni uttered a low sigh, when Emily took her hand, and spoke soothingly to her; but the former gazed with unconscious eyes, and it was long before she knew her niece.

Her first words then enquired for Montoni; to which Emily replied by an entreaty, that she would compose her spirits, and consent to be kept quiet, adding, that, if she wished any message to be conveyed to him, she would herself deliver it.

“No,” said her aunt faintly, “no—I have nothing new to tell him.

Does he persist in saying I shall be removed from my chamber?

” Emily replied that he had not spoken on the subject since Madame Montoni heard him; and then she tried to divert her attention to some other topic; but her aunt seemed to be inattentive to what she said, and lost in secret thoughts.

Emily, having brought her some refreshment, now left her to the care of Annette, and went in search of Montoni, whom she found on a remote part of the rampart, conversing among a group of the men described by Annette.

They stood round him with fierce, yet subjugated, looks, while he, speaking earnestly, and pointing to the walls, did not perceive Emily, who remained at some distance, waiting till he should be at leisure, and observing involuntarily the appearance of one man, more savage than his fellows, who stood resting on his pike, and looking, over the shoulders of a comrade, at Montoni, to whom he listened with uncommon earnestness.

This man was apparently of low condition; yet his looks appeared not to acknowledge the superiority of Montoni, as did those of his companions;

and sometimes they even assumed an air of authority, which the decisive manner of the Signor could not repress.

Some few words of Montoni then passed in the wind; and, as the men were separating, she heard him say, “This evening, then, begin the watch at sunset.

” “At sunset, Signor,” replied one or two of them, and walked away; while Emily approached Montoni, who appeared desirous of avoiding her: but, though she observed this, she had courage to proceed.

She endeavoured to intercede once more for her aunt, represented to him her sufferings, and urged the danger of exposing her to a cold apartment in her present state.

“She suffers by her own folly,” said Montoni, “and is not to be pitied;—she knows how she may avoid these sufferings in future—if she is removed to the turret, it will be her own fault.

Let her be obedient, and sign the writings you heard of, and I will think no more of it.

” When Emily ventured still to plead, he sternly silenced and rebuked her for interfering in his domestic affairs, but, at length, dismissed her with this concession—That he would not remove Madame Montoni, on the ensuing night, but allow her till the next to consider, whether she would resign her settlements, or be imprisoned in the east turret of the castle, “where she shall find,” he added, “a punishment she may not expect.

” Emily then hastened to inform her aunt of this short respite and of the alternative, that awaited her, to which the latter made no reply, but appeared thoughtful, while Emily, in consideration of her extreme languor, wished to sooth her mind by leading it to less interesting topics: and, though these efforts were unsuccessful, and Madame Montoni became peevish, her resolution, on the contended point, seemed somewhat to relax, and Emily recommended, as her only means of safety, that she should submit to Montoni’s demand.

“You know not what you advise,” said her aunt.

“Do you understand, that these estates will descend to you at my death, if I persist in a refusal?

” “I was ignorant of that circumstance, madam,” replied Emily, “but the knowledge of it cannot withhold me from advising you to adopt the conduct, which not only your peace, but, I fear, your safety requires, and I entreat, that you will not suffer a consideration comparatively so trifling, to make you hesitate a moment in resigning them.

” “Are you sincere, niece?

” “Is it possible you can doubt it, madam?

” Her aunt appeared to be affected.

“You are not unworthy of these estates, niece,” said she: “I would wish to keep them for your sake—you show a virtue I did not expect.

” “How have I deserved this reproof, madam?

” said Emily sorrowfully.

“Reproof!

” replied Madame Montoni: “I meant to praise your virtue.

” “Alas!

here is no exertion of virtue,” rejoined Emily, “for here is no temptation to be overcome.

” “Yet Monsieur Valancourt—” said her aunt.

“O, madam!

” interrupted Emily, anticipating what she would have said, “do not let me glance on that subject: do not let my mind be stained with a wish so shockingly self-interested.

” She immediately changed the topic, and continued with Madame Montoni, till she withdrew to her apartment for the night.

At that hour, the castle was perfectly still, and every inhabitant of it, except herself, seemed to have retired to rest.

As she passed along the wide and lonely galleries, dusky and silent, she felt forlorn and apprehensive of—she scarcely knew what; but when, entering the corridor, she recollected the incident of the preceding night, a dread seized her, lest a subject of alarm, similar to that, which had befallen Annette, should occur to her, and which, whether real, or ideal, would, she felt, have an almost equal effect upon her weakened spirits.

The chamber, to which Annette had alluded, she did not exactly know, but understood it to be one of those she must pass in the way to her own; and, sending a fearful look forward into the gloom, she stepped lightly and cautiously along, till, coming to a door, from whence issued a low sound, she hesitated and paused; and, during the delay of that moment, her fears so much increased, that she had no power to move from the spot.

Believing, that she heard a human voice within, she was somewhat revived; but, in the next moment, the door was opened, and a person, whom she conceived to be Montoni, appeared, who instantly started back, and closed it, though not before she had seen, by the light that burned in the chamber, another person, sitting in a melancholy attitude by the fire.

Her terror vanished, but her astonishment only began, which was now roused by the mysterious secrecy of Montoni’s manner, and by the discovery of a person, whom he thus visited at midnight, in an apartment, which had long been shut up, and of which such extraordinary reports were circulated.

While she thus continued hesitating, strongly prompted to watch Montoni’s motions, yet fearing to irritate him by appearing to notice them, the door was again opened cautiously, and as instantly closed as before.

She then stepped softly to her chamber, which was the next but one to this, but, having put down her lamp, returned to an obscure corner of the corridor, to observe the proceedings of this half-seen person, and to ascertain, whether it was indeed Montoni.

Having waited in silent expectation for a few minutes, with her eyes fixed on the door, it was again opened, and the same person appeared, whom she now knew to be Montoni.

He looked cautiously round, without perceiving her, then, stepping forward, closed the door, and left the corridor.

Soon after, Emily heard the door fastened on the inside, and she withdrew to her chamber, wondering at what she had witnessed.

It was now twelve o’clock.

As she closed her casement, she heard footsteps on the terrace below, and saw imperfectly, through the gloom, several persons advancing, who passed under the casement.

She then heard the clink of arms, and, in the next moment, the watch-word; when, recollecting the command she had overheard from Montoni, and the hour of the night, she understood, that these men were, for the first time, relieving guard in the castle.

Having listened till all was again still, she retired to sleep.

CHAPTER X

And shall no lay of death With pleasing murmur sooth Her parted soul?

Shall no tear wet her grave?

SAYERS

On the following morning, Emily went early to the apartment of Madame Montoni, who had slept well, and was much recovered.

Her spirits had also returned with her health, and her resolution to oppose Montoni’s demands revived, though it yet struggled with her fears, which Emily, who trembled for the consequence of further opposition, endeavoured to confirm.

Her aunt, as has been already shown, had a disposition, which delighted in contradiction, and which taught her, when unpleasant circumstances were offered to her understanding, not to enquire into their truth, but to seek for arguments, by which she might make them appear false.

Long habit had so entirely confirmed this natural propensity, that she was not conscious of possessing it.

Emily’s remonstrances and representations, therefore, roused her pride, instead of alarming, or convincing her judgment, and she still relied upon the discovery of some means, by which she might yet avoid submitting to the demand of her husband.

Considering, that, if she could once escape from his castle, she might defy his power, and, obtaining a decisive separation, live in comfort on the estates, that yet remained for her, she mentioned this to her niece, who accorded with her in the wish, but differed from her, as to the probability of its completion.

She represented the impossibility of passing the gates, secured and guarded as they were, and the extreme danger of committing her design to the discretion of a servant, who might either purposely betray, or accidentally disclose it.

—Montoni’s vengeance would also disdain restraint, if her intention was detected: and, though Emily wished, as fervently as she could do, to regain her freedom, and return to France, she consulted only Madame Montoni’s safety, and persevered in advising her to relinquish her settlement, without braving further outrage.

The struggle of contrary emotions, however, continued to rage in her aunt’s bosom, and she still brooded over the chance of effecting an escape.

While she thus sat, Montoni entered the room, and, without noticing his wife’s indisposition, said, that he came to remind her of the impolicy of trifling with him, and that he gave her only till the evening to determine, whether she would consent to his demand, or compel him, by a refusal, to remove her to the east turret.

He added, that a party of cavaliers would dine with him, that day, and that he expected that she would sit at the head of the table, where Emily, also, must be present.

Madame Montoni was now on the point of uttering an absolute refusal, but, suddenly considering, that her liberty, during this entertainment, though circumscribed, might favour her further plans, she acquiesced, with seeming reluctance, and Montoni, soon after, left the apartment.

His command struck Emily with surprise and apprehension, who shrank from the thought of being exposed to the gaze of strangers, such as her fancy represented these to be, and the words of Count Morano, now again recollected, did not sooth her fears.

When she withdrew to prepare for dinner, she dressed herself with even more simplicity than usual, that she might escape observation—a policy, which did not avail her, for, as she repassed to her aunt’s apartment, she was met by Montoni, who censured what he called her prudish appearance, and insisted, that she should wear the most splendid dress she had, even that, which had been prepared for her intended nuptials with Count Morano, and which, it now appeared, her aunt had carefully brought with her from Venice.

This was made, not in the Venetian, but, in the Neapolitan fashion, so as to set off the shape and figure, to the utmost advantage.

In it, her beautiful chestnut tresses were negligently bound up in pearls, and suffered to fall back again on her neck.

The simplicity of a better taste, than Madame Montoni’s, was conspicuous in this dress, splendid as it was, and Emily’s unaffected beauty never had appeared more captivatingly.

She had now only to hope, that Montoni’s order was prompted, not by any extraordinary design, but by an ostentation of displaying his family, richly attired, to the eyes of strangers; yet nothing less than his absolute command could have prevailed with her to wear a dress, that had been designed for such an offensive purpose, much less to have worn it on this occasion.

As she descended to dinner, the emotion of her mind threw a faint blush over her countenance, and heightened its interesting expression; for timidity had made her linger in her apartment, till the utmost moment, and, when she entered the hall, in which a kind of state dinner was spread, Montoni and his guests were already seated at the table.

She was then going to place herself by her aunt; but Montoni waved his hand, and two of the cavaliers rose, and seated her between them.

The eldest of these was a tall man, with strong Italian features, an aquiline nose, and dark penetrating eyes, that flashed with fire, when his mind was agitated, and, even in its state of rest, retained somewhat of the wildness of the passions.

His visage was long and narrow, and his complexion of a sickly yellow.

The other, who appeared to be about forty, had features of a different cast, yet Italian, and his look was slow, subtle and penetrating; his eyes, of a dark grey, were small, and hollow; his complexion was a sun-burnt brown, and the contour of his face, though inclined to oval, was irregular and ill-formed.

Eight other guests sat round the table, who were all dressed in a uniform, and had all an expression, more or less, of wild fierceness, of subtle design, or of licentious passions.

As Emily timidly surveyed them, she remembered the scene of the preceding morning, and again almost fancied herself surrounded by banditti; then, looking back to the tranquillity of her early life, she felt scarcely less astonishment, than grief, at her present situation.

The scene, in which they sat, assisted the illusion; it was an ancient hall, gloomy from the style of its architecture, from its great extent, and because almost the only light it received was from one large gothic window, and from a pair of folding doors, which, being open, admitted likewise a view of the west rampart, with the wild mountains of the Apennine beyond.

The middle compartment of this hall rose into a vaulted roof, enriched with fretwork, and supported, on three sides, by pillars of marble;

beyond these, long colonnades retired in gloomy grandeur, till their extent was lost in twilight.

The lightest footsteps of the servants, as they advanced through these, were returned in whispering echoes, and their figures, seen at a distance imperfectly through the dusk, frequently awakened Emily’s imagination.

She looked alternately at Montoni, at his guests and on the surrounding scene; and then, remembering her dear native province, her pleasant home and the simplicity and goodness of the friends, whom she had lost, grief and surprise again occupied her mind.

When her thoughts could return from these considerations, she fancied she observed an air of authority towards his guests, such as she had never before seen him assume, though he had always been distinguished by a haughty carriage; there was something also in the manners of the strangers, that seemed perfectly, though not servilely, to acknowledge his superiority.

During dinner, the conversation was chiefly on war and politics.

They talked with energy of the state of Venice, its dangers, the character of the reigning Doge and of the chief senators; and then spoke of the state of Rome.

When the repast was over, they rose, and, each filling his goblet with wine from the gilded ewer, that stood beside him, drank “Success to our exploits!

” Montoni was lifting his goblet to his lips to drink this toast, when suddenly the wine hissed, rose to the brim, and, as he held the glass from him, it burst into a thousand pieces.

To him, who constantly used that sort of Venice glass, which had the quality of breaking, upon receiving poisoned liquor, a suspicion, that some of his guests had endeavoured to betray him, instantly occurred, and he ordered all the gates to be closed, drew his sword, and, looking round on them, who stood in silent amazement, exclaimed, “Here is a traitor among us; let those, that are innocent, assist in discovering the guilty.

” Indignation flashed from the eyes of the cavaliers, who all drew their swords; and Madame Montoni, terrified at what might ensue, was hastening from the hall, when her husband commanded her to stay; but his further words could not now be distinguished, for the voice of every person rose together.

His order, that all the servants should appear, was at length obeyed, and they declared their ignorance of any deceit—a protestation which could not be believed; for it was evident, that, as Montoni’s liquor, and his only, had been poisoned, a deliberate design had been formed against his life, which could not have been carried so far towards its accomplishment, without the connivance of the servant, who had the care of the wine ewers.

This man, with another, whose face betrayed either the consciousness of guilt, or the fear of punishment, Montoni ordered to be chained instantly, and confined in a strong room, which had formerly been used as a prison.

Thither, likewise, he would have sent all his guests, had he not foreseen the consequence of so bold and unjustifiable a proceeding.

As to those, therefore, he contented himself with swearing, that no man should pass the gates, till this extraordinary affair had been investigated, and then sternly bade his wife retire to her apartment, whither he suffered Emily to attend her.

In about half an hour, he followed to the dressing-room; and Emily observed, with horror, his dark countenance and quivering lip, and heard him denounce vengeance on her aunt.

“It will avail you nothing,” said he to his wife, “to deny the fact; I have proof of your guilt.

Your only chance of mercy rests on a full confession;—there is nothing to hope from sullenness, or falsehood;

your accomplice has confessed all.

” Emily’s fainting spirits were roused by astonishment, as she heard her aunt accused of a crime so atrocious, and she could not, for a moment, admit the possibility of her guilt.

Meanwhile Madame Montoni’s agitation did not permit her to reply; alternately her complexion varied from livid paleness to a crimson flush; and she trembled,—but, whether with fear, or with indignation, it were difficult to decide.

“Spare your words,” said Montoni, seeing her about to speak, “your countenance makes full confession of your crime.

—You shall be instantly removed to the east turret.

” “This accusation,” said Madame Montoni, speaking with difficulty, “is used only as an excuse for your cruelty; I disdain to reply to it.

You do not believe me guilty.

” “Signor!

” said Emily solemnly, “this dreadful charge, I would answer with my life, is false.

Nay, Signor,” she added, observing the severity of his countenance, “this is no moment for restraint, on my part; I do not scruple to tell you, that you are deceived—most wickedly deceived, by the suggestion of some person, who aims at the ruin of my aunt:—it is impossible, that you could yourself have imagined a crime so hideous.

” Montoni, his lips trembling more than before, replied only, “If you value your own safety,” addressing Emily, “you will be silent.

I shall know how to interpret your remonstrances, should you persevere in them.

” Emily raised her eyes calmly to heaven.

“Here is, indeed, then, nothing to hope!

” said she.

“Peace!

” cried Montoni, “or you shall find there is something to fear.

” He turned to his wife, who had now recovered her spirits, and who vehemently and wildly remonstrated upon this mysterious suspicion: but Montoni’s rage heightened with her indignation, and Emily, dreading the event of it, threw herself between them, and clasped his knees in silence, looking up in his face with an expression, that might have softened the heart of a fiend.

Whether his was hardened by a conviction of Madame Montoni’s guilt, or that a bare suspicion of it made him eager to exercise vengeance, he was totally and alike insensible to the distress of his wife, and to the pleading looks of Emily, whom he made no attempt to raise, but was vehemently menacing both, when he was called out of the room by some person at the door.

As he shut the door, Emily heard him turn the lock and take out the key; so that Madame Montoni and herself were now prisoners; and she saw that his designs became more and more terrible.

Her endeavours to explain his motives for this circumstance were almost as ineffectual as those to sooth the distress of her aunt, whose innocence she could not doubt; but she, at length, accounted for Montoni’s readiness to suspect his wife by his own consciousness of cruelty towards her, and for the sudden violence of his present conduct against both, before even his suspicions could be completely formed, by his general eagerness to effect suddenly whatever he was led to desire and his carelessness of justice, or humanity, in accomplishing it.

Madame Montoni, after some time, again looked round, in search of a possibility of escape from the castle, and conversed with Emily on the subject, who was now willing to encounter any hazard, though she forbore to encourage a hope in her aunt, which she herself did not admit.

How strongly the edifice was secured, and how vigilantly guarded, she knew too well; and trembled to commit their safety to the caprice of the servant, whose assistance they must solicit.

Old Carlo was compassionate, but he seemed to be too much in his master’s interest to be trusted by them; Annette could of herself do little, and Emily knew Ludovico only from her report.

At present, however, these considerations were useless, Madame Montoni and her niece being shut up from all intercourse, even with the persons, whom there might be these reasons to reject.

In the hall, confusion and tumult still reigned.

Emily, as she listened anxiously to the murmur, that sounded along the gallery, sometimes fancied she heard the clashing of swords, and, when she considered the nature of the provocation, given by Montoni, and his impetuosity, it appeared probable, that nothing less than arms would terminate the contention.

Madame Montoni, having exhausted all her expressions of indignation, and Emily, hers of comfort, they remained silent, in that kind of breathless stillness, which, in nature, often succeeds to the uproar of conflicting elements; a stillness, like the morning, that dawns upon the ruins of an earthquake.

An uncertain kind of terror pervaded Emily’s mind; the circumstances of the past hour still came dimly and confusedly to her memory; and her thoughts were various and rapid, though without tumult.

From this state of waking visions she was recalled by a knocking at the chamber-door, and, enquiring who was there, heard the whispering voice of Annette.

“Dear madam, let me come in, I have a great deal to say,” said the poor girl.

“The door is locked,” answered the lady.

“Yes, ma’am, but do pray open it.

” “The Signor has the key,” said Madame Montoni.

“O blessed Virgin!

what will become of us?

” exclaimed Annette.

“Assist us to escape,” said her mistress.

“Where is Ludovico?

” “Below in the hall, ma’am, amongst them all, fighting with the best of them!

” “Fighting!

Who are fighting?

” cried Madame Montoni.

“Why the Signor, ma’am, and all the Signors, and a great many more.

” “Is any person much hurt?

” said Emily, in a tremulous voice.

“Hurt!

Yes, ma’amselle,—there they lie bleeding, and the swords are clashing, and—O holy saints!

Do let me in, ma’am, they are coming this way—I shall be murdered!

” “Fly!

” cried Emily, “fly!

we cannot open the door.

” Annette repeated, that they were coming, and in the same moment fled.

“Be calm, madam,” said Emily, turning to her aunt, “I entreat you to be calm, I am not frightened—not frightened in the least, do not you be alarmed.

” “You can scarcely support yourself,” replied her aunt; “Merciful God!

what is it they mean to do with us?

” “They come, perhaps, to liberate us,” said Emily, “Signor Montoni perhaps is—is conquered.

” The belief of his death gave her spirits a sudden shock, and she grew faint as she saw him in imagination, expiring at her feet.

“They are coming!

” cried Madame Montoni—“I hear their steps—they are at the door!

” Emily turned her languid eyes to the door, but terror deprived her of utterance.

The key sounded in the lock; the door opened, and Montoni appeared, followed by three ruffian-like men.

“Execute your orders,” said he, turning to them, and pointing to his wife, who shrieked, but was immediately carried from the room; while Emily sunk, senseless, on a couch, by which she had endeavoured to support herself.

When she recovered, she was alone, and recollected only, that Madame Montoni had been there, together with some unconnected particulars of the preceding transaction, which were, however, sufficient to renew all her terror.

She looked wildly round the apartment, as if in search of some means of intelligence, concerning her aunt, while neither her own danger, nor an idea of escaping from the room, immediately occurred.

When her recollection was more complete, she raised herself and went, but with only a faint hope, to examine whether the door was unfastened.

It was so, and she then stepped timidly out into the gallery, but paused there, uncertain which way she should proceed.

Her first wish was to gather some information, as to her aunt, and she, at length, turned her steps to go to the lesser hall, where Annette and the other servants usually waited.

Everywhere, as she passed, she heard, from a distance, the uproar of contention, and the figures and faces, which she met, hurrying along the passages, struck her mind with dismay.

Emily might now have appeared, like an angel of light, encompassed by fiends.

At length, she reached the lesser hall, which was silent and deserted, but, panting for breath, she sat down to recover herself.

The total stillness of this place was as awful as the tumult, from which she had escaped: but she had now time to recall her scattered thoughts, to remember her personal danger, and to consider of some means of safety.

She perceived, that it was useless to seek Madame Montoni, through the wide extent and intricacies of the castle, now, too, when every avenue seemed to be beset by ruffians; in this hall she could not resolve to stay, for she knew not how soon it might become their place of rendezvous; and, though she wished to go to her chamber, she dreaded again to encounter them on the way.

Thus she sat, trembling and hesitating, when a distant murmur broke on the silence, and grew louder and louder, till she distinguished voices and steps approaching.

She then rose to go, but the sounds came along the only passage, by which she could depart, and she was compelled to await in the hall, the arrival of the persons, whose steps she heard.

As these advanced, she distinguished groans, and then saw a man borne slowly along by four others.

Her spirits faltered at the sight, and she leaned against the wall for support.

The bearers, meanwhile, entered the hall, and, being too busily occupied to detain, or even notice Emily, she attempted to leave it, but her strength failed, and she again sat down on the bench.

A damp chillness came over her; her sight became confused; she knew not what had passed, or where she was, yet the groans of the wounded person still vibrated on her heart.

In a few moments, the tide of life seemed again to flow; she began to breathe more freely, and her senses revived.

She had not fainted, nor had ever totally lost her consciousness, but had contrived to support herself on the bench; still without courage to turn her eyes upon the unfortunate object, which remained near her, and about whom the men were yet too much engaged to attend to her.

When her strength returned, she rose, and was suffered to leave the hall, though her anxiety, having produced some vain enquiries, concerning Madame Montoni, had thus made a discovery of herself.

Towards her chamber she now hastened, as fast as her steps would bear her, for she still perceived, upon her passage, the sounds of confusion at a distance, and she endeavoured, by taking her way through some obscure rooms, to avoid encountering the persons, whose looks had terrified her before, as well as those parts of the castle, where the tumult might still rage.

At length, she reached her chamber, and, having secured the door of the corridor, felt herself, for a moment, in safety.

A profound stillness reigned in this remote apartment, which not even the faint murmur of the most distant sounds now reached.

She sat down, near one of the casements, and, as she gazed on the mountain-view beyond, the deep repose of its beauty struck her with all the force of contrast, and she could scarcely believe herself so near a scene of savage discord.

The contending elements seemed to have retired from their natural spheres, and to have collected themselves into the minds of men, for there alone the tempest now reigned.

Emily tried to tranquillize her spirits, but anxiety made her constantly listen for some sound, and often look out upon the ramparts, where all, however, was lonely and still.

As a sense of her own immediate danger had decreased, her apprehension concerning Madame Montoni heightened, who, she remembered, had been fiercely threatened with confinement in the east turret, and it was possible, that her husband had satisfied his present vengeance with this punishment.

She, therefore, determined, when night should return, and the inhabitants of the castle should be asleep, to explore the way to the turret, which, as the direction it stood in was mentioned, appeared not very difficult to be done.

She knew, indeed, that although her aunt might be there, she could afford her no effectual assistance, but it might give her some comfort even to know, that she was discovered, and to hear the sound of her niece’s voice; for herself, any certainty, concerning Madame Montoni’s fate, appeared more tolerable, than this exhausting suspense.

Meanwhile, Annette did not appear, and Emily was surprised, and somewhat alarmed for her, whom, in the confusion of the late scene, various accidents might have befallen, and it was improbable, that she would have failed to come to her apartment, unless something unfortunate had happened.

Thus the hours passed in solitude, in silence, and in anxious conjecturing.

Being not once disturbed by a message, or a sound, it appeared, that Montoni had wholly forgotten her, and it gave her some comfort to find, that she could be so unnoticed.

She endeavoured to withdraw her thoughts from the anxiety, that preyed upon them, but they refused control; she could neither read, nor draw, and the tones of her lute were so utterly discordant with the present state of her feelings, that she could not endure them for a moment.

The sun, at length, set behind the western mountains; his fiery beams faded from the clouds, and then a dun melancholy purple drew over them, and gradually involved the features of the country below.

Soon after, the sentinels passed on the rampart to commence the watch.

Twilight had now spread its gloom over every object; the dismal obscurity of her chamber recalled fearful thoughts, but she remembered, that to procure a light she must pass through a great extent of the castle, and, above all, through the halls, where she had already experienced so much horror.

Darkness, indeed, in the present state of her spirits, made silence and solitude terrible to her; it would also prevent the possibility of her finding her way to the turret, and condemn her to remain in suspense, concerning the fate of her aunt; yet she dared not to venture forth for a lamp.

Continuing at the casement, that she might catch the last lingering gleam of evening, a thousand vague images of fear floated on her fancy.

“What if some of these ruffians,” said she, “should find out the private staircase, and in the darkness of night steal into my chamber!

” Then, recollecting the mysterious inhabitant of the neighbouring apartment, her terror changed its object.

“He is not a prisoner,” said she, “though he remains in one chamber, for Montoni did not fasten the door, when he left it; the unknown person himself did this; it is certain, therefore, he can come out when he pleases.

” She paused, for, notwithstanding the terrors of darkness, she considered it to be very improbable, whoever he was, that he could have any interest in intruding upon her retirement; and again the subject of her emotion changed, when, remembering her nearness to the chamber, where the veil had formerly disclosed a dreadful spectacle, she doubted whether some passage might not communicate between it and the insecure door of the staircase.

It was now entirely dark, and she left the casement.

As she sat with her eyes fixed on the hearth, she thought she perceived there a spark of light; it twinkled and disappeared, and then again was visible.

At length, with much care, she fanned the embers of a wood fire, that had been lighted in the morning, into flame, and, having communicated it to a lamp, which always stood in her room, felt a satisfaction not to be conceived, without a review of her situation.

Her first care was to guard the door of the staircase, for which purpose she placed against it all the furniture she could move, and she was thus employed, for some time, at the end of which she had another instance how much more oppressive misfortune is to the idle, than to the busy; for, having then leisure to think over all the circumstances of her present afflictions, she imagined a thousand evils for futurity, and these real and ideal subjects of distress alike wounded her mind.

Thus heavily moved the hours till midnight, when she counted the sullen notes of the great clock, as they rolled along the rampart, unmingled with any sound, except the distant foot-fall of a sentinel, who came to relieve guard.

She now thought she might venture towards the turret, and, having gently opened the chamber door to examine the corridor, and to listen if any person was stirring in the castle, found all around in perfect stillness.

Yet no sooner had she left the room, than she perceived a light flash on the walls of the corridor, and, without waiting to see by whom it was carried, she shrunk back, and closed her door.

No one approaching, she conjectured, that it was Montoni going to pay his midnight visit to her unknown neighbour, and she determined to wait, till he should have retired to his own apartment.

When the chimes had tolled another half hour, she once more opened the door, and, perceiving that no person was in the corridor, hastily crossed into a passage, that led along the south side of the castle towards the staircase, whence she believed she could easily find her way to the turret.

Often pausing on her way, listening apprehensively to the murmurs of the wind, and looking fearfully onward into the gloom of the long passages, she, at length, reached the staircase; but there her perplexity began.

Two passages appeared, of which she knew not how to prefer one, and was compelled, at last, to decide by chance, rather than by circumstances.