The Mysteries of Udolpho

She found her aunt in her dressing-room, preparing for dinner. Emily's

pale and affrighted countenance alarmed even Madame Montoni; but she had

sufficient strength of mind to be silent on the subject, that still made

her shudder, and which was ready to burst from her lips. In her aunt's

apartment she remained, till they both descended to dinner. There she

met the gentlemen lately arrived, who had a kind of busy seriousness in

their looks, which was somewhat unusual with them, while their thoughts

seemed too much occupied by some deep interest, to suffer them to bestow

much attention either on Emily, or Madame Montoni. They spoke little,

and Montoni less. Emily, as she now looked on him, shuddered. The horror

of the chamber rushed on her mind. Several times the colour faded from

her cheeks, and she feared, that illness would betray her emotions,

and compel her to leave the room; but the strength of her resolution

remedied the weakness of her frame; she obliged herself to converse, and

even tried to look cheerful.

Montoni evidently laboured under some vexation, such as would probably

have agitated a weaker mind, or a more susceptible heart, but which

appeared, from the sternness of his countenance, only to bend up his

faculties to energy and fortitude. It was a comfortless and silent meal.

The gloom of the castle seemed to

have spread its contagion even over the gay countenance of Cavigni, and

with this gloom was mingled a fierceness, such as she had seldom seen

him indicate. Count Morano was not named, and what conversation there

was, turned chiefly upon the wars, which at that time agitated the

Italian states, the strength of the Venetian armies, and the characters

of their generals. After dinner, when the servants had withdrawn, Emily learned, that the

cavalier, who had drawn upon himself the vengeance of Orsino, had since

died of his wounds, and that strict search was still making for his

murderer. The intelligence seemed to disturb Montoni, who mused, and

then enquired, where Orsino had concealed himself. His guests, who all,

except Cavigni, were ignorant, that Montoni had himself assisted him

to escape from Venice, replied, that he had fled in the night with such

precipitation and secrecy, that his most intimate companions knew not

whither. Montoni blamed himself for having asked the question, for a

second thought convinced him, that a man of Orsino's suspicious temper

was not likely to trust any of the persons present with the knowledge

of his asylum. He considered himself, however, as entitled to his utmost

confidence, and did not doubt, that he should soon hear of him.