The Mysteries of Udolpho

'But was you not afraid of being discovered?' said Emily.

'I was not,' replied Du Pont; 'for I knew, that, if Montoni had been

acquainted with the secret of this passage, he would not have confined

me in the apartment, to which it led. I knew also, from better

authority, that he was ignorant of it. The party, for some time,

appeared inattentive to my voice; but, at length, were so much alarmed,

that they quitted the apartment; and, having heard Montoni order his

servants to search it, I returned to my prison, which was very distant

from this part of the passage.' 'I remember perfectly to have heard of

the conversation you mention,' said Emily; 'it spread a general alarm

among Montoni's people, and I will own I was weak enough to partake of

it.'

Monsieur Du Pont and Emily thus continued to converse of Montoni, and

then of France, and of the plan of their voyage; when Emily told him,

that it was her intention to retire to a convent in Languedoc, where she

had been formerly treated with much kindness, and from thence to write

to her relation Monsieur Quesnel, and inform him of her conduct. There,

she designed to wait, till La Vallee should again be her own, whither

she hoped her income would some time permit her to return; for Du

Pont now taught her to expect, that the estate, of which Montoni had

attempted to defraud her, was not irrecoverably lost, and he again

congratulated her on her escape from Montoni, who, he had not a doubt,

meant to have detained her for life. The possibility of recovering her

aunt's estates for Valancourt and herself lighted up a joy in Emily's

heart, such as she had not known for many months; but she endeavoured to

conceal this from Monsieur Du Pont, lest it should lead him to a painful

remembrance of his rival.

They continued to converse, till the sun was declining in the west, when

Du Pont awoke Ludovico, and they set forward on their journey. Gradually

descending the lower slopes of the valley, they reached the Arno, and

wound along its pastoral margin, for many miles, delighted with the

scenery around them, and with the remembrances, which its classic waves

revived. At a distance, they heard the gay song of the peasants among

the vineyards, and observed the setting sun tint the waves with yellow

lustre, and twilight draw a dusky purple over the mountains, which, at

length, deepened into night. Then the LUCCIOLA, the fire-fly of Tuscany,

was seen to flash its sudden sparks among the foliage, while the

cicala, with its shrill note, became more clamorous than even during the

noon-day heat, loving best the hour when the English beetle, with less