Emily enquired who the cavalier was, that accompanied the Count, and how Montoni received them; but Annette could not inform her.
'Ludovico,' she added, 'had just been to call Signor Montoni's valet, that he might tell him they were arrived, when I met him.'
Emily sat musing, for some time, and then her anxiety was so much increased, that she desired Annette would go to the servants' hall, where it was possible she might hear something of the Count's intention, respecting his stay at the castle.
'Yes, ma'am,' said Annette with readiness; 'but how am I to find the way, if I leave the lamp with you?'
Emily said she would light her, and they immediately quitted the chamber.When they had reached the top of the great stair-case, Emily recollected, that she might be seen by the Count, and, to avoid the great hall, Annette conducted her through some private passages to a back stair-case, which led directly to that of the servants.
As she returned towards her chamber, Emily began to fear, that she might again lose herself in the intricacies of the castle, and again be shocked by some mysterious spectacle; and, though she was already perplexed by the numerous turnings, she feared to open one of the many doors that offered.While she stepped thoughtfully along, she fancied, that she heard a low moaning at no great distance, and, having paused a moment, she heard it again and distinctly.Several doors appeared on the right hand of the passage.She advanced, and listened.When she came to the second, she heard a voice, apparently in complaint, within, to which she continued to listen, afraid to open the door, and unwilling to leave it.Convulsive sobs followed, and then the piercing accents of an agonizing spirit burst forth.
Emily stood appalled, and looked through the gloom, that surrounded her, in fearful expectation.The lamentations continued.Pity now began to subdue terror; it was possible she might administer comfort to the sufferer, at least, by expressing sympathy, and she laid her hand on the door.While she hesitated she thought she knew this voice, disguised as it was by tones of grief.Having, therefore, set down the lamp in the passage, she gently opened the door, within which all was dark, except that from an inner apartment a partial light appeared; and she stepped softly on.Before she reached it, the appearance of Madame Montoni, leaning on her dressing-table, weeping, and with a handkerchief held to her eyes, struck her, and she paused.
Some person was seated in a chair by the fire, but who it was she could not distinguish.He spoke, now and then, in a low voice, that did not allow Emily to hear what was uttered, but she thought, that Madame Montoni, at those times, wept the more, who was too much occupied by her own distress, to observe Emily, while the latter, though anxious to know what occasioned this, and who was the person admitted at so late an hour to her aunt's dressing-room, forbore to add to her sufferings by surprising her, or to take advantage of her situation, by listening to a private discourse.She, therefore, stepped softly back, and, after some further difficulty, found the way to her own chamber, where nearer interests, at length, excluded the surprise and concern she had felt, respecting Madame Montoni.
Annette, however, returned without satisfactory intelligence, for the servants, among whom she had been, were either entirely ignorant, or affected to be so, concerning the Count's intended stay at the castle.They could talk only of the steep and broken road they had just passed, and of the numerous dangers they had escaped and express wonder how their lord could choose to encounter all these, in the darkness of night; for they scarcely allowed, that the torches had served for any other purpose but that of shewing the dreariness of the mountains.Annette, finding she could gain no information, left them, making noisy petitions, for more wood on the fire and more supper on the table.
'And now, ma'amselle,' added she, 'I am so sleepy!--I am sure, if you was so sleepy, you would not desire me to sit up with you.'
Emily, indeed, began to think it was cruel to wish it; she had also waited so long, without receiving a summons from Montoni, that it appeared he did not mean to disturb her, at this late hour, and she determined to dismiss Annette.But, when she again looked round her gloomy chamber, and recollected certain circumstances, fear seized her spirits, and she hesitated.
'And yet it were cruel of me to ask you to stay, till I am asleep, Annette,' said she, 'for I fear it will be very long before I forget myself in sleep.'
'I dare say it will be very long, ma'amselle,' said Annette.
'But, before you go,' rejoined Emily, 'let me ask you--Had Signor Montoni left Count Morano, when you quitted the hall?'
'O no, ma'am, they were alone together.'
'Have you been in my aunt's dressing-room, since you left me?'
'No, ma'amselle, I called at the door as I passed, but it was fastened; so I thought my lady was gone to bed.'
'Who, then, was with your lady just now?' said Emily, forgetting, in surprise, her usual prudence.
'Nobody, I believe, ma'am,' replied Annette, 'nobody has been with her, I believe, since I left you.'
