The Mysteries of Udolpho

Her anxiety for her aunt and for herself increased with reflection.

Several assertions of Morano, which, on the preceding night, she

had believed were prompted either by interest, or by resentment, now

returned to her mind with the strength of truth. She could not doubt,

that Montoni had formerly agreed to give her to the Count, for a

pecuniary reward;--his character, and his distressed circumstances

justified the belief; these, also, seemed to confirm Morano's assertion,

that he now designed to dispose of her, more advantageously for himself,

to a richer suitor.

Amidst the reproaches, which Morano had thrown out against Montoni,

he had said--he would not quit the castle HE DARED TO CALL HIS, nor

willingly leave ANOTHER murder on his conscience--hints, which might

have no other origin than the passion of the moment: but Emily was now

inclined to account for them more seriously, and she shuddered to think,

that she was in the hands of a man, to whom it was even possible they

could apply. At length, considering, that reflection could neither

release her from her melancholy situation, or enable her to bear it with

greater fortitude, she tried to divert her anxiety, and took down from

her little library a volume of her favourite Ariosto; but his wild

imagery and rich invention could not long enchant her attention; his

spells did not reach her heart, and over her sleeping fancy they played,

without awakening it.

She now put aside the book, and took her lute, for it was seldom that

her sufferings refused to yield to the magic of sweet sounds; when they

did so, she was oppressed by sorrow, that came from excess of tenderness

and regret; and there were times, when music had increased such sorrow

to a degree, that was scarcely endurable; when, if it had not suddenly

ceased, she might have lost her reason. Such was the time, when she

mourned for her father, and heard the midnight strains, that floated by

her window near the convent in Languedoc, on the night that followed his

death. She continued to play, till Annette brought dinner into her chamber,

at which Emily was surprised, and enquired whose order she obeyed. 'My

lady's, ma'amselle,' replied Annette: 'the Signor ordered her dinner to

be carried to her own apartment, and so she has sent you yours. There

have been sad doings between them, worse than ever, I think.'

Emily, not appearing to notice what she said, sat down to the little

table, that was spread for her. But Annette was not to be silenced thus

easily. While she waited, she told of the arrival of the men, whom

Emily had observed on the ramparts, and expressed much surprise at their

strange appearance, as well as at the manner, in which they had been

attended by Montoni's order. 'Do they dine with the Signor, then?' said

Emily. 'No, ma'amselle, they dined long ago, in an apartment at the north end

of the castle, but I know not when they are to go, for the Signor told

old Carlo to see them provided with every thing necessary. They have

been walking all about the castle, and asking questions of the workmen

on the ramparts. I never saw such strange-looking men in my life; I am

frightened whenever I see them.'