Chapter: CHAPTER IX



 The image of a wicked, heinous fault
 Lives in his eye; that close aspect of his
 Does shew the mood of a much-troubled breast.
     KING JOHN

Leaving the gay scenes of Paris, we return to those of the gloomy
Apennine, where Emily's thoughts were still faithful to Valancourt.
Looking to him as to her only hope, she recollected, with jealous
exactness, every assurance and every proof she had witnessed of his
affection; read again and again the letters she had received from him;
weighed, with intense anxiety, the force of every word, that spoke of
his attachment; and dried her tears, as she trusted in his truth.

Montoni, meanwhile, had made strict enquiry concerning the strange
circumstance of his alarm, without obtaining information; and was, at
length, obliged to account for it by the reasonable supposition, that
it was a mischievous trick played off by one of his domestics. His
disagreements with Madame Montoni, on the subject of her settlements,
were now more frequent than ever; he even confined her entirely to her
own apartment, and did not scruple to threaten her with much greater
severity, should she persevere in a refusal.

Reason, had she consulted it, would now have perplexed her in the choice
of a conduct to be adopted. It would have pointed out the danger of
irritating by further opposition a man, such as Montoni had proved
himself to be, and to whose power she had so entirely committed herself;
and it would also have told her, of what extreme importance to her
future comfort it was, to reserve for herself those possessions, which
would enable her to live independently of Montoni, should she ever
escape from his immediate controul. But she was directed by a more
decisive guide than reason--the spirit of revenge, which urged her to
oppose violence to violence, and obstinacy to obstinacy.

Wholly confined to the solitude of her apartment, she was now reduced
to solicit the society she had lately rejected; for Emily was the only
person, except Annette, with whom she was permitted to converse.

Generously anxious for her peace, Emily, therefore, tried to persuade,
when she could not convince, and sought by every gentle means to induce
her to forbear that asperity of reply, which so greatly irritated
Montoni. The pride of her aunt did sometimes soften to the soothing
voice of Emily, and there even were moments, when she regarded her
affectionate attentions with goodwill.

The scenes of terrible contention, to which Emily was frequently
compelled to be witness, exhausted her spirits more than any
circumstances, that had occurred since her departure from Tholouse. The
gentleness and goodness of her parents, together with the scenes of her
early happiness, often stole on her mind, like the visions of a higher
world; while the characters and circumstances, now passing beneath her
eye, excited both terror and surprise. She could scarcely have
imagined, that passions so fierce and so various, as those which Montoni
exhibited, could have been concentrated in one individual; yet what
more surprised her, was, that, on great occasions, he could bend these
passions, wild as they were, to the cause of his interest, and generally
could disguise in his countenance their operation on his mind; but she
had seen him too often, when he had thought it unnecessary to conceal
his nature, to be deceived on such occasions.

Her present life appeared like the dream of a distempered imagination,
or like one of those frightful fictions, in which the wild genius of
the poets sometimes delighted. Reflection brought only regret, and
anticipation terror. How often did she wish to 'steal the lark's wing,
and mount the swiftest gale,' that Languedoc and repose might once more
be hers!

Of Count Morano's health she made frequent enquiry; but Annette heard
only vague reports of his danger, and that his surgeon had said he would
never leave the cottage alive; while Emily could not but be shocked to
think, that she, however innocently, might be the means of his death;
and Annette, who did not fail to observe her emotion, interpreted it in
her own way.

But a circumstance soon occurred, which entirely withdrew Annette's
attention from this subject, and awakened the surprise and curiosity so
natural to her. Coming one day to Emily's apartment, with a countenance
full of importance, 'What can all this mean, ma'amselle?' said she.
'Would I was once safe in Languedoc again, they should never catch me
going on my travels any more! I must think it a fine thing, truly, to
come abroad, and see foreign parts! I little thought I was coming to be
catched up in a old castle, among such dreary mountains, with the chance
of being murdered, or, what is as good, having my throat cut!'

'What can all this mean, indeed, Annette?' said Emily, in astonishment.

'Aye, ma'amselle, you may look surprised; but you won't believe it,
perhaps, till they have murdered you, too. You would not believe about
the ghost I told you of, though I shewed you the very place, where it
used to appear!--You will believe nothing, ma'amselle.'

'Not till you speak more reasonably, Annette; for Heaven's sake, explain
your meaning. You spoke of murder!'

'Aye, ma'amselle, they are coming to murder us all, perhaps; but what
signifies explaining?--you will not believe.'

Emily again desired her to relate what she had seen, or heard.

'O, I have seen enough, ma'am, and heard too much, as Ludovico can
prove. Poor soul! they will murder him, too! I little thought, when
he sung those sweet verses under my lattice, at Venice!'--Emily looked
impatient and displeased. 'Well, ma'amselle, as I was saying, these
preparations about the castle, and these strange-looking people, that
are calling here every day, and the Signor's cruel usage of my lady, and
his odd goings-on--all these, as I told Ludovico, can bode no good. And
he bid me hold my tongue. So, says I, the Signor's strangely altered,
Ludovico, in this gloomy castle, to what he was in France; there, all so
gay! Nobody so gallant to my lady, then; and he could smile, too, upon
a poor servant, sometimes, and jeer her, too, good-naturedly enough.
I remember once, when he said to me, as I was going out of my lady's
dressing-room--Annette, says he--'

'Never mind what the Signor said,' interrupted Emily; 'but tell me, at
once, the circumstance, which has thus alarmed you.'

'Aye, ma'amselle,' rejoined Annette, 'that is just what Ludovico said:
says he, Never mind what the Signor says to you. So I told him what I
thought about the Signor. He is so strangely altered, said I: for now he
is so haughty, and so commanding, and so sharp with my lady; and, if he
meets one, he'll scarcely look at one, unless it be to frown. So much
the better, says Ludovico, so much the better. And to tell you the
truth, ma'amselle, I thought this was a very ill-natured speech of
Ludovico: but I went on. And then, says I, he is always knitting his
brows; and if one speaks to him, he does not hear; and then he sits up
counselling so, of a night, with the other Signors--there they are, till
long past midnight, discoursing together! Aye, but says Ludovico,
you don't know what they are counselling about. No, said I, but I
can guess--it is about my young lady. Upon that, Ludovico burst out
a-laughing, quite loud; so he put me in a huff, for I did not like that
either I or you, ma'amselle, should be laughed at; and I turned away
quick, but he stopped me. "Don't be affronted, Annette," said he, "but I
cannot help laughing;" and with that he laughed again. "What!" says he,
"do you think the Signors sit up, night after night, only to counsel
about thy young lady! No, no, there is something more in the wind than
that. And these repairs about the castle, and these preparations about
the ramparts--they are not making about young ladies." Why, surely, said
I, the Signor, my master, is not going to make war? "Make war!" said
Ludovico, "what, upon the mountains and the woods? for here is no living
soul to make war upon that I see."

'What are these preparations for, then? said I; why surely nobody
is coming to take away my master's castle! "Then there are so many
ill-looking fellows coming to the castle every day," says Ludovico,
without answering my question, "and the Signor sees them all, and talks
with them all, and they all stay in the neighbourhood! By holy St.
Marco! some of them are the most cut-throat-looking dogs I ever set my
eyes upon."

'I asked Ludovico again, if he thought they were coming to take away my
master's castle; and he said, No, he did not think they were, but he did
not know for certain. "Then yesterday," said he, but you must not tell
this, ma'amselle, "yesterday, a party of these men came, and left all
their horses in the castle stables, where, it seems, they are to
stay, for the Signor ordered them all to be entertained with the
best provender in the manger; but the men are, most of them, in the
neighbouring cottages."

'So, ma'amselle, I came to tell you all this, for I never heard any
thing so strange in my life. But what can these ill-looking men be come
about, if it is not to murder us? And the Signor knows this, or why
should he be so civil to them? And why should he fortify the castle, and
counsel so much with the other Signors, and be so thoughtful?'

'Is this all you have to tell, Annette?' said Emily. 'Have you heard
nothing else, that alarms you?'

'Nothing else, ma'amselle!' said Annette; 'why, is not this enough?'
'Quite enough for my patience, Annette, but not quite enough to convince
me we are all to be murdered, though I acknowledge here is sufficient
food for curiosity.' She forbore to speak her apprehensions, because
she would not encourage Annette's wild terrors; but the present
circumstances of the castle both surprised, and alarmed her. Annette,
having told her tale, left the chamber, on the wing for new wonders.

In the evening, Emily had passed some melancholy hours with Madame
Montoni, and was retiring to rest, when she was alarmed by a strange and
loud knocking at her chamber door, and then a heavy weight fell against
it, that almost burst it open. She called to know who was there, and
receiving no answer, repeated the call; but a chilling silence followed.
It occurred to her--for, at this moment, she could not reason on the
probability of circumstances--that some one of the strangers, lately
arrived at the castle, had discovered her apartment, and was come with
such intent, as their looks rendered too possible--to rob, perhaps to
murder, her. The moment she admitted this possibility, terror supplied
the place of conviction, and a kind of instinctive remembrance of her
remote situation from the family heightened it to a degree, that almost
overcame her senses. She looked at the door, which led to the staircase,
expecting to see it open, and listening, in fearful silence, for a
return of the noise, till she began to think it had proceeded from this
door, and a wish of escaping through the opposite one rushed upon her
mind. She went to the gallery door, and then, fearing to open it, lest
some person might be silently lurking for her without, she stopped,
but with her eyes fixed in expectation upon the opposite door of the
stair-case. As thus she stood, she heard a faint breathing near her, and
became convinced, that some person was on the other side of the door,
which was already locked. She sought for other fastening, but there was
none.

While she yet listened, the breathing was distinctly heard, and her
terror was not soothed, when, looking round her wide and lonely chamber,
she again considered her remote situation. As she stood hesitating
whether to call for assistance, the continuance of the stillness
surprised her; and her spirits would have revived, had she not continued
to hear the faint breathing, that convinced her, the person, whoever it
was, had not quitted the door.

At length, worn out with anxiety, she determined to call loudly for
assistance from her casement, and was advancing to it, when, whether the
terror of her mind gave her ideal sounds, or that real ones did come,
she thought footsteps were ascending the private stair-case; and,
expecting to see its door unclose, she forgot all other cause of alarm,
and retreated towards the corridor. Here she endeavoured to make her
escape, but, on opening the door, was very near falling over a person,
who lay on the floor without. She screamed, and would have passed, but
her trembling frame refused to support her; and the moment, in which she
leaned against the wall of the gallery, allowed her leisure to observe
the figure before her, and to recognise the features of Annette. Fear
instantly yielded to surprise. She spoke in vain to the poor girl, who
remained senseless on the floor, and then, losing all consciousness of
her own weakness, hurried to her assistance.

When Annette recovered, she was helped by Emily into the chamber, but
was still unable to speak, and looked round her, as if her eyes followed
some person in the room. Emily tried to sooth her disturbed spirits, and
forbore, at present, to ask her any questions; but the faculty of speech
was never long with-held from Annette, and she explained, in broken
sentences, and in her tedious way, the occasion of her disorder. She
affirmed, and with a solemnity of conviction, that almost staggered
the incredulity of Emily, that she had seen an apparition, as she was
passing to her bedroom, through the corridor.

'I had heard strange stories of that chamber before,' said Annette:
'but as it was so near yours, ma'amselle, I would not tell them to you,
because they would frighten you. The servants had told me, often and
often, that it was haunted, and that was the reason why it was shut up:
nay, for that matter, why the whole string of these rooms, here, are
shut up. I quaked whenever I went by, and I must say, I did sometimes
think I heard odd noises within it. But, as I said, as I was passing
along the corridor, and not thinking a word about the matter, or even
of the strange voice that the Signors heard the other night, all of a
sudden comes a great light, and, looking behind me, there was a tall
figure, (I saw it as plainly, ma'amselle, as I see you at this moment),
a tall figure gliding along (Oh! I cannot describe how!) into the room,
that is always shut up, and nobody has the key of it but the Signor, and
the door shut directly.'

'Then it doubtless was the Signor,' said Emily.

'O no, ma'amselle, it could not be him, for I left him busy
a-quarrelling in my lady's dressing-room!'

'You bring me strange tales, Annette,' said Emily: 'it was but this
morning, that you would have terrified me with the apprehension of
murder; and now you would persuade me, you have seen a ghost! These
wonderful stories come too quickly.'

'Nay, ma'amselle, I will say no more, only, if I had not been
frightened, I should not have fainted dead away, so. I ran as fast as I
could, to get to your door; but, what was worst of all, I could not call
out; then I thought something must be strangely the matter with me, and
directly I dropt down.'

'Was it the chamber where the black veil hangs?' said Emily. 'O! no,
ma'amselle, it was one nearer to this. What shall I do, to get to my
room? I would not go out into the corridor again, for the whole world!'
Emily, whose spirits had been severely shocked, and who, therefore,
did not like the thought of passing the night alone, told her she might
sleep where she was. 'O, no, ma'amselle,' replied Annette, 'I would not
sleep in the room, now, for a thousand sequins!'

Wearied and disappointed, Emily first ridiculed, though she shared, her
fears, and then tried to sooth them; but neither attempt succeeded, and
the girl persisted in believing and affirming, that what she had seen
was nothing human. It was not till some time after Emily had recovered
her composure, that she recollected the steps she had heard on the
stair-case--a remembrance, however, which made her insist that Annette
should pass the night with her, and, with much difficulty, she, at
length, prevailed, assisted by that part of the girl's fear, which
concerned the corridor.

Early on the following morning, as Emily crossed the hall to the
ramparts, she heard a noisy bustle in the court-yard, and the clatter of
horses' hoofs. Such unusual sounds excited her curiosity; and, instead
of going to the ramparts, she went to an upper casement, from whence
she saw, in the court below, a large party of horsemen, dressed in a
singular, but uniform, habit, and completely, though variously, armed.
They wore a kind of short jacket, composed of black and scarlet, and
several of them had a cloak, of plain black, which, covering the person
entirely, hung down to the stirrups. As one of these cloaks glanced
aside, she saw, beneath, daggers, apparently of different sizes, tucked
into the horseman's belt. She further observed, that these were carried,
in the same manner, by many of the horsemen without cloaks, most of whom
bore also pikes, or javelins. On their heads, were the small Italian
caps, some of which were distinguished by black feathers. Whether these
caps gave a fierce air to the countenance, or that the countenances
they surmounted had naturally such an appearance, Emily thought she had
never, till then, seen an assemblage of faces so savage and terrific.
While she gazed, she almost fancied herself surrounded by banditti; and
a vague thought glanced athwart her fancy--that Montoni was the captain
of the group before her, and that this castle was to be the place of
rendezvous. The strange and horrible supposition was but momentary,
though her reason could supply none more probable, and though she
discovered, among the band, the strangers she had formerly noticed with
so much alarm, who were now distinguished by the black plume.

While she continued gazing, Cavigni, Verezzi, and Bertolini came forth
from the hall, habited like the rest, except that they wore hats, with
a mixed plume of black and scarlet, and that their arms differed from
those of the rest of the party. As they mounted their horses, Emily was
struck with the exulting joy, expressed on the visage of Verezzi, while
Cavigni was gay, yet with a shade of thought on his countenance; and, as
he managed his horse with dexterity, his graceful and commanding figure,
which exhibited the majesty of a hero, had never appeared to more
advantage. Emily, as she observed him, thought he somewhat resembled
Valancourt, in the spirit and dignity of his person; but she looked in
vain for the noble, benevolent countenance--the soul's intelligence,
which overspread the features of the latter.

As she was hoping, she scarcely knew why, that Montoni would accompany
the party, he appeared at the hall door, but un-accoutred. Having
carefully observed the horsemen, conversed awhile with the cavaliers,
and bidden them farewel, the band wheeled round the court, and, led by
Verezzi, issued forth under the portcullis; Montoni following to the
portal, and gazing after them for some time. Emily then retired from
the casement, and, now certain of being unmolested, went to walk on the
ramparts, from whence she soon after saw the party winding among the
mountains to the west, appearing and disappearing between the woods,
till distance confused their figures, consolidated their numbers, and
only a dingy mass appeared moving along the heights.

Emily observed, that no workmen were on the ramparts, and that the
repairs of the fortifications seemed to be completed. While she
sauntered thoughtfully on, she heard distant footsteps, and, raising her
eyes, saw several men lurking under the castle walls, who were evidently
not workmen, but looked as if they would have accorded well with the
party, which was gone. Wondering where Annette had hid herself so
long, who might have explained some of the late circumstances, and then
considering that Madame Montoni was probably risen, she went to her
dressing-room, where she mentioned what had occurred; but Madame Montoni
either would not, or could not, give any explanation of the event. The
Signor's reserve to his wife, on this subject, was probably nothing
more than usual; yet, to Emily, it gave an air of mystery to the whole
affair, that seemed to hint, there was danger, if not villany, in his
schemes.

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 some body'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 any body, 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 an 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 an 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 extra-ordinary 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 sun-set.'

'At sun-set, 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 with-hold 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 shew 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.

 Back to Em at Udolpho, who is still totally hung up on Valancourt. At least Em is getting her fill of gossip from Annette. Annette tells her that Montoni may be preparing the castle for battle. All sorts of soldiers are showing up out of the blue. Em's in her chamber one night when someone starts violently knocking on the door. Being a smart girl, she doesn't hurry to open it. But after thinking she hears footsteps in the secret passage outside the other door, she opens it out of fright. Annette is passed out on the ground. Once Annette comes to, she tells Em about seeing a tall figure gliding into a locked room. This is beginning to sound like an episode of Are You Afraid of the Dark? The next day, Em gets a little more info about the preparations for battle from Annette. The rumor mill has it that Montoni is either going to take someone's castle or frighten away an enemy, but Annette doesn't know which one is true. Meanwhile, Madame Montoni still refuses to sign away her estates to her husband. Montoni orders her locked up in the east turret of the castle until she consents. Not cool, guy. Madame Montoni instantly falls into convulsions, leaving her in a kind of stupor. Being a good niece, Em tries to intervene on behalf of her aunt. But Montoni is one mean, unforgiving guy. He says Madame Montoni can have one more night before she gets shut away in the east turret, but no more. Madame Montoni fills her niece in on a little secret: if she dies, the estates that Montoni so desperately wants will pass directly to Em.

