The towers were united by a curtain, pierced
and embattled also, below which appeared the pointed arch of a huge
portcullis, surmounting the gates: from these, the walls of the
ramparts extended to other towers, overlooking the precipice, whose
shattered outline, appearing on a gleam, that lingered in the west,
told of the ravages of war.—Beyond these all was lost in the obscurity
of evening. While Emily gazed with awe upon the scene, footsteps were heard within
the gates, and the undrawing of bolts; after which an ancient servant
of the castle appeared, forcing back the huge folds of the portal, to
admit his lord. As the carriage-wheels rolled heavily under the
portcullis, Emily’s heart sunk, and she seemed, as if she was going
into her prison; the gloomy court, into which she passed, served to
confirm the idea, and her imagination, ever awake to circumstance,
suggested even more terrors, than her reason could justify. Another gate delivered them into the second court, grass-grown, and
more wild than the first, where, as she surveyed through the twilight
its desolation—its lofty walls, overtopped with briony, moss and
nightshade, and the embattled towers that rose above,—long-suffering
and murder came to her thoughts. One of those instantaneous and
unaccountable convictions, which sometimes conquer even strong minds,
impressed her with its horror. The sentiment was not diminished, when
she entered an extensive gothic hall, obscured by the gloom of evening,
which a light, glimmering at a distance through a long perspective of
arches, only rendered more striking. As a servant brought the lamp
nearer partial gleams fell upon the pillars and the pointed arches,
forming a strong contrast with their shadows, that stretched along the
pavement and the walls. The sudden journey of Montoni had prevented his people from making any
other preparations for his reception, than could be had in the short
interval, since the arrival of the servant, who had been sent forward
from Venice; and this, in some measure, may account for the air of
extreme desolation, that everywhere appeared. The servant, who came to light Montoni, bowed in silence, and the
muscles of his countenance relaxed with no symptom of joy.—Montoni
noticed the salutation by a slight motion of his hand, and passed on,
while his lady, following, and looking round with a degree of surprise
and discontent, which she seemed fearful of expressing, and Emily,
surveying the extent and grandeur of the hall in timid wonder,
approached a marble staircase. The arches here opened to a lofty vault,
from the centre of which hung a tripod lamp, which a servant was
hastily lighting; and the rich fret-work of the roof, a corridor,
leading into several upper apartments, and a painted window, stretching
nearly from the pavement to the ceiling of the hall, became gradually
visible. Having crossed the foot of the staircase, and passed through an
ante-room, they entered a spacious apartment, whose walls, wainscoted
with black larch-wood, the growth of the neighbouring mountains, were
scarcely distinguishable from darkness itself. “Bring more light,” said
Montoni, as he entered. The servant, setting down his lamp, was
withdrawing to obey him, when Madame Montoni observing, that the
evening air of this mountainous region was cold, and that she should
like a fire, Montoni ordered that wood might be brought. While he paced the room with thoughtful steps, and Madame Montoni sat
silently on a couch, at the upper end of it, waiting till the servant
returned, Emily was observing the singular solemnity and desolation of
the apartment, viewed, as it now was, by the glimmer of the single
lamp, placed near a large Venetian mirror, that duskily reflected the
scene, with the tall figure of Montoni passing slowly along, his arms
folded, and his countenance shaded by the plume, that waved in his hat. From the contemplation of this scene, Emily’s mind proceeded to the
apprehension of what she might suffer in it, till the remembrance of
Valancourt, far, far distant! came to her heart, and softened it into
sorrow. A heavy sigh escaped her: but, trying to conceal her tears, she
walked away to one of the high windows, that opened upon the ramparts,
below which, spread the woods she had passed in her approach to the
castle. But the night-shade sat deeply on the mountains beyond, and
their indented outline alone could be faintly traced on the horizon,
where a red streak yet glimmered in the west. The valley between was
sunk in darkness. The scene within, upon which Emily turned on the opening of the door,
was scarcely less gloomy. The old servant, who had received them at the
gates, now entered, bending under a load of pine-branches, while two of
Montoni’s Venetian servants followed with lights. “Your _Excellenza_ is welcome to the castle,” said the old man, as he
raised himself from the hearth, where he had laid the wood: “it has
been a lonely place a long while; but you will excuse it, Signor,
knowing we had but short notice. It is near two years, come next feast
of St. Mark, since your _Excellenza_ was within these walls.”

“You have a good memory, old Carlo,” said Montoni: “it is thereabout;
and how hast thou contrived to live so long?”

“A-well-a-day, sir, with much ado; the cold winds, that blow through
the castle in winter, are almost too much for me; and I thought
sometimes of asking your _Excellenza_ to let me leave the mountains,
and go down into the lowlands. But I don’t know how it is—I am loth to
quit these old walls I have lived in so long.”

“Well, how have you gone on in the castle, since I left it?” said
Montoni. “Why much as usual, Signor, only it wants a good deal of repairing. There is the north tower—some of the battlements have tumbled down, and
had liked one day to have knocked my poor wife (God rest her soul!) on
the head. Your _Excellenza_ must know—”

“Well, but the repairs,” interrupted Montoni. “Aye, the repairs,” said Carlo: “a part of the roof of the great hall
has fallen in, and all the winds from the mountains rushed through it
last winter, and whistled through the whole castle so, that there was
no keeping one’s self warm, be where one would. There, my wife and I
used to sit shivering over a great fire in one corner of the little
hall, ready to die with cold, and—”

“But there are no more repairs wanted,” said Montoni, impatiently. “O Lord!