The Mysteries of Udolpho

'No, Annette, I am well enough, but I have no desire to see this

picture; return into the hall.' 'What! ma'am, not to see the lady of this castle?' said the girl--'the

lady, who disappeared to strangely? Well! now, I would have run to the

furthest mountain we can see, yonder, to have got a sight of such a

picture; and, to speak my mind, that strange story is all, that makes

me care about this old castle, though it makes me thrill all over, as it

were, whenever I think of it.'

'Yes, Annette, you love the wonderful; but do you know, that, unless you

guard against this inclination, it will lead you into all the misery of

superstition?' Annette might have smiled in her turn, at this sage observation of

Emily, who could tremble with ideal terrors, as much as herself, and

listen almost as eagerly to the recital of a mysterious story. Annette

urged her request. 'Are you sure it is a picture?' said Emily, 'Have you seen it?--Is it

veiled?' 'Holy Maria! ma'amselle, yes, no, yes. I am sure it is a picture--I have

seen it, and it is not veiled!'

The tone and look of surprise, with which this was uttered, recalled

Emily's prudence; who concealed her emotion under a smile, and bade

Annette lead her to the picture. It was in an obscure chamber, adjoining

that part of the castle, allotted to the servants. Several other

portraits hung on the walls, covered, like this, with dust and cobweb.

'That is it, ma'amselle,' said Annette, in a low voice, and pointing.

Emily advanced, and surveyed the picture. It represented a lady in the

flower of youth and beauty; her features were handsome and noble, full

of strong expression, but had little of the captivating sweetness, that

Emily had looked for, and still less of the pensive mildness she loved.

It was a countenance, which spoke the language of passion, rather than

that of sentiment; a haughty impatience of misfortune--not the placid

melancholy of a spirit injured, yet resigned. 'How many years have passed, since this lady disappeared, Annette?' said

Emily. 'Twenty years, ma'amselle, or thereabout, as they tell me; I know it is

a long while ago.' Emily continued to gaze upon the portrait.

'I think,' resumed Annette, 'the Signor would do well to hang it in a

better place, than this old chamber. Now, in my mind, he ought to place

the picture of a lady, who gave him all these riches, in the handsomest

room in the castle. But he may have good reasons for what he does:

and some people do say that he has lost his riches, as well as his

gratitude. But hush, ma'am, not a word!' added Annette, laying her

finger on her lips. Emily was too much absorbed in thought, to hear what

she said. ''Tis a handsome lady, I am sure,' continued Annette: 'the Signor need

not be ashamed to put her in the great apartment, where the veiled

picture hangs.' Emily turned round. 'But for that matter, she would be

as little seen there, as here, for the door is always locked, I find.'