Chapter: CHAPTER IV



     There is one within,
 Besides the things, that we have heard and seen,
 Recounts most horrid sights, seen by the watch.
     JULIUS CAESAR

In the morning, Emily found Madame Montoni nearly in the same condition,
as on the preceding night; she had slept little, and that little had
not refreshed her; she smiled on her niece, and seemed cheered by her
presence, but spoke only a few words, and never named Montoni, who,
however, soon after, entered the room. His wife, when she understood
that he was there, appeared much agitated, but was entirely silent, till
Emily rose from a chair at the bed-side, when she begged, in a feeble
voice, that she would not leave her.

The visit of Montoni was not to sooth his wife, whom he knew to be
dying, or to console, or to ask her forgiveness, but to make a last
effort to procure that signature, which would transfer her estates in
Languedoc, after her death, to him rather than to Emily. This was a
scene, that exhibited, on his part, his usual inhumanity, and, on that
of Madame Montoni, a persevering spirit, contending with a feeble frame;
while Emily repeatedly declared to him her willingness to resign all
claim to those estates, rather than that the last hours of her aunt
should be disturbed by contention. Montoni, however, did not leave the
room, till his wife, exhausted by the obstinate dispute, had fainted,
and she lay so long insensible, that Emily began to fear that the spark
of life was extinguished. At length, she revived, and, looking feebly
up at her niece, whose tears were falling over her, made an effort to
speak, but her words were unintelligible, and Emily again apprehended
she was dying. Afterwards, however, she recovered her speech, and, being
somewhat restored by a cordial, conversed for a considerable time, on
the subject of her estates in France, with clearness and precision. She
directed her niece where to find some papers relative to them, which she
had hitherto concealed from the search of Montoni, and earnestly charged
her never to suffer these papers to escape her.

Soon after this conversation, Madame Montoni sunk into a dose, and
continued slumbering, till evening, when she seemed better than she
had been since her removal from the turret. Emily never left her, for a
moment, till long after midnight, and even then would not have quitted
the room, had not her aunt entreated, that she would retire to rest. She
then obeyed, the more willingly, because her patient appeared somewhat
recruited by sleep; and, giving Annette the same injunction, as on the
preceding night, she withdrew to her own apartment. But her spirits
were wakeful and agitated, and, finding it impossible to sleep, she
determined to watch, once more, for the mysterious appearance, that had
so much interested and alarmed her.

It was now the second watch of the night, and about the time when
the figure had before appeared. Emily heard the passing steps of the
sentinels, on the rampart, as they changed guard; and, when all was
again silent, she took her station at the casement, leaving her lamp in
a remote part of the chamber, that she might escape notice from without.
The moon gave a faint and uncertain light, for heavy vapours surrounded
it, and, often rolling over the disk, left the scene below in total
darkness. It was in one of these moments of obscurity, that she observed
a small and lambent flame, moving at some distance on the terrace. While
she gazed, it disappeared, and, the moon again emerging from the lurid
and heavy thunder clouds, she turned her attention to the heavens, where
the vivid lightnings darted from cloud to cloud, and flashed silently on
the woods below. She loved to catch, in the momentary gleam, the gloomy
landscape. Sometimes, a cloud opened its light upon a distant mountain,
and, while the sudden splendour illumined all its recesses of rock and
wood, the rest of the scene remained in deep shadow; at others, partial
features of the castle were revealed by the glimpse--the antient arch
leading to the east rampart, the turret above, or the fortifications
beyond; and then, perhaps, the whole edifice with all its towers, its
dark massy walls and pointed casements would appear, and vanish in an
instant.

Emily, looking again upon the rampart, perceived the flame she had
seen before; it moved onward; and, soon after, she thought she heard a
footstep. The light appeared and disappeared frequently, while, as she
watched, it glided under her casements, and, at the same instant, she
was certain, that a footstep passed, but the darkness did not permit her
to distinguish any object except the flame. It moved away, and then, by
a gleam of lightning, she perceived some person on the terrace. All the
anxieties of the preceding night returned. This person advanced, and the
playing flame alternately appeared and vanished. Emily wished to speak,
to end her doubts, whether this figure were human or supernatural; but
her courage failed as often as she attempted utterance, till the light
moved again under the casement, and she faintly demanded, who passed.

'A friend,' replied a voice.

'What friend?' said Emily, somewhat encouraged 'who are you, and what is
that light you carry?'

'I am Anthonio, one of the Signor's soldiers,' replied the voice.

'And what is that tapering light you bear?' said Emily, 'see how it
darts upwards,--and now it vanishes!'

'This light, lady,' said the soldier, 'has appeared to-night as you see
it, on the point of my lance, ever since I have been on watch; but what
it means I cannot tell.'

'This is very strange!' said Emily.

'My fellow-guard,' continued the man, 'has the same flame on his arms;
he says he has sometimes seen it before. I never did; I am but lately
come to the castle, for I have not been long a soldier.'

'How does your comrade account for it?' said Emily.

'He says it is an omen, lady, and bodes no good.'

'And what harm can it bode?' rejoined Emily.

'He knows not so much as that, lady.'

Whether Emily was alarmed by this omen, or not, she certainly was
relieved from much terror by discovering this man to be only a soldier
on duty, and it immediately occurred to her, that it might be he,
who had occasioned so much alarm on the preceding night. There were,
however, some circumstances, that still required explanation. As far
as she could judge by the faint moon-light, that had assisted her
observation, the figure she had seen did not resemble this man either
in shape or size; besides, she was certain it had carried no arms. The
silence of its steps, if steps it had, the moaning sounds, too, which
it had uttered, and its strange disappearance, were circumstances of
mysterious import, that did not apply, with probability, to a soldier
engaged in the duty of his guard.

She now enquired of the sentinel, whether he had seen any person besides
his fellow watch, walking on the terrace, about midnight; and then
briefly related what she had herself observed.

'I was not on guard that night, lady,' replied the man, 'but I heard of
what happened. There are amongst us, who believe strange things. Strange
stories, too, have long been told of this castle, but it is no business
of mine to repeat them; and, for my part, I have no reason to complain;
our Chief does nobly by us.'

'I commend your prudence,' said Emily. 'Good night, and accept this from
me,' she added, throwing him a small piece of coin, and then closing the
casement to put an end to the discourse.

When he was gone, she opened it again, listened with a gloomy pleasure
to the distant thunder, that began to murmur among the mountains, and
watched the arrowy lightnings, which broke over the remoter scene. The
pealing thunder rolled onward, and then, reverbed by the mountains,
other thunder seemed to answer from the opposite horizon; while the
accumulating clouds, entirely concealing the moon, assumed a red
sulphureous tinge, that foretold a violent storm.

Emily remained at her casement, till the vivid lightning, that now,
every instant, revealed the wide horizon and the landscape below, made
it no longer safe to do so, and she went to her couch; but, unable
to compose her mind to sleep, still listened in silent awe to the
tremendous sounds, that seemed to shake the castle to its foundation.

She had continued thus for a considerable time, when, amidst the uproar
of the storm, she thought she heard a voice, and, raising herself to
listen, saw the chamber door open, and Annette enter with a countenance
of wild affright.

'She is dying, ma'amselle, my lady is dying!' said she.

Emily started up, and ran to Madame Montoni's room. When she entered,
her aunt appeared to have fainted, for she was quite still, and
insensible; and Emily with a strength of mind, that refused to yield to
grief, while any duty required her activity, applied every means that
seemed likely to restore her. But the last struggle was over--she was
gone for ever.

When Emily perceived, that all her efforts were ineffectual, she
interrogated the terrified Annette, and learned, that Madame Montoni
had fallen into a doze soon after Emily's departure, in which she had
continued, until a few minutes before her death.

'I wondered, ma'amselle,' said Annette, 'what was the reason my lady did
not seem frightened at the thunder, when I was so terrified, and I went
often to the bed to speak to her, but she appeared to be asleep; till
presently I heard a strange noise, and, on going to her, saw she was
dying.'

Emily, at this recital, shed tears. She had no doubt but that the
violent change in the air, which the tempest produced, had effected this
fatal one, on the exhausted frame of Madame Montoni.

After some deliberation, she determined that Montoni should not be
informed of this event till the morning, for she considered, that he
might, perhaps, utter some inhuman expressions, such as in the present
temper of her spirits she could not bear. With Annette alone, therefore,
whom she encouraged by her own example, she performed some of the last
solemn offices for the dead, and compelled herself to watch during the
night, by the body of her deceased aunt. During this solemn period,
rendered more awful by the tremendous storm that shook the air, she
frequently addressed herself to Heaven for support and protection, and
her pious prayers, we may believe, were accepted of the God, that giveth
comfort.

 Montoni makes a last-ditch effort to get a signature from Madame M. before she dies, but it's no use. Once Montoni's out of the way, Madame M. directs Em to some papers she concealed from her rotten husband. Remember, all the lands go straight to Em when her auntie dies. Em watches again for the strange figure and thinks she hears a voice. She demands to know who goes there. Eh, it's just Anthonio, one Montoni's soldiers. Madame M. finally passes away, leaving Em in one big mess with her step-uncle, Montoni.

