Verezzi could just
discern the way she had taken, and this he pursued; but the sound of
her steps soon sunk in distance, while he, less acquainted with the
passage, was obliged to proceed through the dark, with caution, lest he
should fall down a flight of steps, such as in this extensive old
castle frequently terminated an avenue. This passage at length brought
Emily to the corridor, into which her own chamber opened, and, not
hearing any footstep, she paused to take breath, and consider what was
the safest design to be adopted. She had followed this passage, merely
because it was the first that appeared, and now that she had reached
the end of it, was as perplexed as before. Whither to go, or how
further to find her way in the dark, she knew not; she was aware only
that she must not seek her apartment, for there she would certainly be
sought, and her danger increased every instant, while she remained near
it. Her spirits and her breath, however, were so much exhausted, that
she was compelled to rest, for a few minutes, at the end of the
passage, and still she heard no steps approaching. As thus she stood,
light glimmered under an opposite door of the gallery, and, from its
situation, she knew, that it was the door of that mysterious chamber,
where she had made a discovery so shocking, that she never remembered
it but with the utmost horror. That there should be light in this
chamber, and at this hour, excited her strong surprise, and she felt a
momentary terror concerning it, which did not permit her to look again,
for her spirits were now in such a state of weakness, that she almost
expected to see the door slowly open, and some horrible object appear
at it. Still she listened for a step along the passage, and looked up
it, where, not a ray of light appearing, she concluded, that Verezzi
had gone back for the lamp; and, believing that he would shortly be
there, she again considered which way she should go, or rather which
way she could find in the dark. A faint ray still glimmered under the opposite door, but so great, and,
perhaps, so just was her horror of that chamber, that she would not
again have tempted its secrets, though she had been certain of
obtaining the light so important to her safety. She was still breathing
with difficulty, and resting at the end of the passage, when she heard
a rustling sound, and then a low voice, so very near her, that it
seemed close to her ear; but she had presence of mind to check her
emotions, and to remain quite still; in the next moment, she perceived
it to be the voice of Verezzi, who did not appear to know, that she was
there, but to have spoken to himself. “The air is fresher here,” said
he: “this should be the corridor.” Perhaps, he was one of those heroes,
whose courage can defy an enemy better than darkness, and he tried to
rally his spirits with the sound of his own voice. However this might
be, he turned to the right, and proceeded, with the same stealing
steps, towards Emily’s apartment, apparently forgetting, that, in
darkness, she could easily elude his search, even in her chamber; and,
like an intoxicated person, he followed pertinaciously the one idea,
that had possessed his imagination. The moment she heard his steps steal away, she left her station and
moved softly to the other end of the corridor, determined to trust
again to chance, and to quit it by the first avenue she could find;
but, before she could effect this, light broke upon the walls of the
gallery, and, looking back, she saw Verezzi crossing it towards her
chamber. She now glided into a passage, that opened on the left,
without, as she thought, being perceived; but, in the next instant,
another light, glimmering at the further end of this passage, threw her
into new terror. While she stopped and hesitated which way to go, the
pause allowed her to perceive, that it was Annette, who advanced, and
she hurried to meet her: but her imprudence again alarmed Emily, on
perceiving whom, she burst into a scream of joy, and it was some
minutes, before she could be prevailed with to be silent, or to release
her mistress from the ardent clasp, in which she held her. When, at
length, Emily made Annette comprehend her danger, they hurried towards
Annette’s room, which was in a distant part of the castle. No
apprehensions, however, could yet silence the latter. “Oh dear
ma’amselle,” said she, as they passed along, “what a terrified time
have I had of it! Oh! I thought I should have died a hundred times! I
never thought I should live to see you again! and I never was so glad
to see anybody in my whole life, as I am to see you now.” “Hark!” cried
Emily, “we are pursued; that was the echo of steps!” “No, ma’amselle,”
said Annette, “it was only the echo of a door shutting; sound runs
along these vaulted passages so, that one is continually deceived by
it; if one does but speak, or cough, it makes a noise as loud as a
cannon.” “Then there is the greater necessity for us to be silent,”
said Emily: “pr’ythee say no more, till we reach your chamber.” Here,
at length, they arrived, without interruption, and, Annette having
fastened the door, Emily sat down on her little bed, to recover breath
and composure. To her enquiry, whether Valancourt was among the
prisoners in the castle, Annette replied, that she had not been able to
hear, but that she knew there were several persons confined. She then
proceeded, in her tedious way, to give an account of the siege, or
rather a detail of her terrors and various sufferings, during the
attack. “But,” added she, “when I heard the shouts of victory from the
ramparts, I thought we were all taken, and gave myself up for lost,
instead of which, _we_ had driven the enemy away. I went then to the
north gallery, and saw a great many of them scampering away among the
mountains; but the rampart walls were all in ruins, as one may say, and
there was a dismal sight to see down among the woods below, where the
poor fellows were lying in heaps, but were carried off presently by
their comrades. While the siege was going on, the Signor was here, and
there, and everywhere, at the same time, as Ludovico told me, for he
would not let me see anything hardly, and locked me up, as he has often
done before, in a room in the middle of the castle, and used to bring
me food, and come and talk with me as often as he could; and I must
say, if it had not been for Ludovico, I should have died outright.”

“Well, Annette,” said Emily, “and how have affairs gone on, since the
siege?”

“O! sad hurly-burly doings, ma’amselle,” replied Annette; “the Signors
have done nothing but sit and drink and game, ever since. They sit up,
all night, and play among themselves, for all those riches and fine
things, they brought in, some time since, when they used to go out
a-robbing, or as good, for days together; and then they have dreadful
quarrels about who loses, and who wins.