I now remind you, for the last time, that you are a stranger, in
a foreign country, and that it is your interest to make me your friend;
you know the means; if you compel me to become your enemy—I will
venture to tell you, that the punishment shall exceed your expectation. You may know _I_ am not to be trifled with.”

Emily continued, for some time after Montoni had left her, in a state
of despair, or rather stupefaction; a consciousness of misery was all
that remained in her mind. In this situation Madame Montoni found her,
at the sound of whose voice Emily looked up, and her aunt, somewhat
softened by the expression of despair, that fixed her countenance,
spoke in a manner more kind than she had ever yet done. Emily’s heart
was touched; she shed tears, and, after weeping for some time,
recovered sufficient composure to speak on the subject of her distress,
and to endeavour to interest Madame Montoni in her behalf. But, though
the compassion of her aunt had been surprised, her ambition was not to
be overcome, and her present object was to be the aunt of a Countess. Emily’s efforts, therefore, were as unsuccessful as they had been with
Montoni, and she withdrew to her apartment to think and weep alone. How
often did she remember the parting scene with Valancourt, and wish,
that the Italian had mentioned Montoni’s character with less reserve! When her mind, however, had recovered from the first shock of this
behaviour, she considered, that it would be impossible for him to
compel her alliance with Morano, if she persisted in refusing to repeat
any part of the marriage ceremony; and she persevered in her resolution
to await Montoni’s threatened vengeance rather than give herself for
life to a man, whom she must have despised for his present conduct, had
she never even loved Valancourt; yet she trembled at the revenge she
thus resolved to brave. An affair, however, soon after occurred, which somewhat called off
Montoni’s attention from Emily. The mysterious visits of Orsino were
renewed with more frequency since the return of the former to Venice. There were others, also, besides Orsino, admitted to these midnight
councils, and among them Cavigni and Verezzi. Montoni became more
reserved and austere in his manner than ever; and Emily, if her own
interests had not made her regardless of his, might have perceived,
that something extraordinary was working in his mind. One night, on which a council was not held, Orsino came in great
agitation of spirits, and dispatched his confidential servant to
Montoni, who was at a Casino, desiring that he would return home
immediately; but charging the servant not to mention his name. Montoni
obeyed the summons, and, on meeting Orsino, was informed of the
circumstances, that occasioned his visit and his visible alarm, with a
part of which he was already acquainted. A Venetian nobleman, who had, on some late occasion, provoked the
hatred of Orsino, had been way-laid and poniarded by hired assassins:
and, as the murdered person was of the first connections, the Senate
had taken up the affair. One of the assassins was now apprehended, who
had confessed, that Orsino was his employer in the atrocious deed; and
the latter, informed of his danger, had now come to Montoni to consult
on the measures necessary to favour his escape. He knew, that, at this
time, the officers of the police were upon the watch for him, all over
the city; to leave it, at present, therefore, was impracticable, and
Montoni consented to secrete him for a few days till the vigilance of
justice should relax, and then to assist him in quitting Venice. He
knew the danger he himself incurred by permitting Orsino to remain in
his house, but such was the nature of his obligations to this man, that
he did not think it prudent to refuse him an asylum. Such was the person whom Montoni had admitted to his confidence, and
for whom he felt as much friendship as was compatible with his
character. While Orsino remained concealed in his house, Montoni was unwilling to
attract public observation by the nuptials of Count Morano; but this
obstacle was, in a few days, overcome by the departure of his criminal
visitor, and he then informed Emily, that her marriage was to be
celebrated on the following morning. To her repeated assurances, that
it should not take place, he replied only by a malignant smile; and,
telling her that the Count and a priest would be at his house, early in
the morning, he advised her no further to dare his resentment, by
opposition to his will and to her own interest. “I am now going out for
the evening,” said he, “remember, that I shall give your hand to Count
Morano in the morning.” Emily, having, ever since his late threats,
expected, that her trials would at length arrive to this crisis, was
less shocked by the declaration, that she otherwise would have been,
and she endeavoured to support herself by the belief, that the marriage
could not be valid, so long as she refused before the priest to repeat
any part of the ceremony. Yet, as the moment of trial approached, her
long-harassed spirits shrunk almost equally from the encounter of his
vengeance, and from the hand of Count Morano. She was not even
perfectly certain of the consequence of her steady refusal at the
altar, and she trembled, more than ever, at the power of Montoni, which
seemed unlimited as his will, for she saw, that he would not scruple to
transgress any law, if, by so doing, he could accomplish his project. While her mind was thus suffering and in a state little short of
distraction, she was informed that Morano asked permission to see her,
and the servant had scarcely departed with an excuse, before she
repented that she had sent one. In the next moment, reverting to her
former design, and determining to try, whether expostulation and
entreaty would not succeed, where a refusal and a just disdain had
failed, she recalled the servant, and, sending a different message,
prepared to go down to the Count. The dignity and assumed composure with which she met him, and the kind
of pensive resignation, that softened her countenance, were
circumstances not likely to induce him to relinquish her, serving, as
they did, to heighten a passion, which had already intoxicated his
judgment. He listened to all she said with an appearance of complacency
and of a wish to oblige her; but his resolution remained invariably the
same, and he endeavoured to win her admiration by every insinuating art
he so well knew how to practise. Being, at length, assured, that she
had nothing to hope from his justice, she repeated, in a solemn and
impressive manner, her absolute rejection of his suit, and quitted him
with an assurance, that her refusal would be effectually maintained
against every circumstance, that could be imagined for subduing it. A
just pride had restrained her tears in his presence, but now they
flowed from the fulness of her heart.