“Have you heard
nothing else, that alarms you?”

“Nothing else, ma’amselle!” said Annette; “why, is not this enough?”
“Quite enough for my patience, Annette, but not quite enough to
convince me we are all to be murdered, though I acknowledge here is
sufficient food for curiosity.” She forbore to speak her apprehensions,
because she would not encourage Annette’s wild terrors; but the present
circumstances of the castle both surprised, and alarmed her. Annette,
having told her tale, left the chamber, on the wing for new wonders. In the evening, Emily had passed some melancholy hours with Madame
Montoni, and was retiring to rest, when she was alarmed by a strange
and loud knocking at her chamber door, and then a heavy weight fell
against it, that almost burst it open. She called to know who was
there, and receiving no answer, repeated the call; but a chilling
silence followed. It occurred to her—for, at this moment, she could not
reason on the probability of circumstances—that some one of the
strangers, lately arrived at the castle, had discovered her apartment,
and was come with such intent, as their looks rendered too possible—to
rob, perhaps to murder, her. The moment she admitted this possibility,
terror supplied the place of conviction, and a kind of instinctive
remembrance of her remote situation from the family heightened it to a
degree, that almost overcame her senses. She looked at the door, which
led to the staircase, expecting to see it open, and listening, in
fearful silence, for a return of the noise, till she began to think it
had proceeded from this door, and a wish of escaping through the
opposite one rushed upon her mind. She went to the gallery door, and
then, fearing to open it, lest some person might be silently lurking
for her without, she stopped, but with her eyes fixed in expectation
upon the opposite door of the staircase. As thus she stood, she heard a
faint breathing near her, and became convinced, that some person was on
the other side of the door, which was already locked. She sought for
other fastening, but there was none. While she yet listened, the breathing was distinctly heard, and her
terror was not soothed, when, looking round her wide and lonely
chamber, she again considered her remote situation. As she stood
hesitating whether to call for assistance, the continuance of the
stillness surprised her; and her spirits would have revived, had she
not continued to hear the faint breathing, that convinced her, the
person, whoever it was, had not quitted the door. At length, worn out with anxiety, she determined to call loudly for
assistance from her casement, and was advancing to it, when, whether
the terror of her mind gave her ideal sounds, or that real ones did
come, she thought footsteps were ascending the private staircase; and,
expecting to see its door unclose, she forgot all other cause of alarm,
and retreated towards the corridor. Here she endeavoured to make her
escape, but, on opening the door, was very near falling over a person,
who lay on the floor without. She screamed, and would have passed, but
her trembling frame refused to support her; and the moment, in which
she leaned against the wall of the gallery, allowed her leisure to
observe the figure before her, and to recognise the features of
Annette. Fear instantly yielded to surprise. She spoke in vain to the
poor girl, who remained senseless on the floor, and then, losing all
consciousness of her own weakness, hurried to her assistance. When Annette recovered, she was helped by Emily into the chamber, but
was still unable to speak, and looked round her, as if her eyes
followed some person in the room. Emily tried to sooth her disturbed
spirits, and forbore, at present, to ask her any questions; but the
faculty of speech was never long withheld from Annette, and she
explained, in broken sentences, and in her tedious way, the occasion of
her disorder. She affirmed, and with a solemnity of conviction, that
almost staggered the incredulity of Emily, that she had seen an
apparition, as she was passing to her bedroom, through the corridor. “I had heard strange stories of that chamber before,” said Annette:
“but as it was so near yours, ma’amselle, I would not tell them to you,
because they would frighten you. The servants had told me, often and
often, that it was haunted, and that was the reason why it was shut up:
nay, for that matter, why the whole string of these rooms, here, are
shut up. I quaked whenever I went by, and I must say, I did sometimes
think I heard odd noises within it. But, as I said, as I was passing
along the corridor, and not thinking a word about the matter, or even
of the strange voice that the Signors heard the other night, all of a
sudden comes a great light, and, looking behind me, there was a tall
figure, (I saw it as plainly, ma’amselle, as I see you at this moment),
a tall figure gliding along (Oh! I cannot describe how!) into the room,
that is always shut up, and nobody has the key of it but the Signor,
and the door shut directly.”

“Then it doubtless was the Signor,” said Emily. “O no, ma’amselle, it could not be him, for I left him busy
a-quarrelling in my lady’s dressing-room!”

“You bring me strange tales, Annette,” said Emily: “it was but this
morning, that you would have terrified me with the apprehension of
murder; and now you would persuade me, you have seen a ghost! These
wonderful stories come too quickly.”

“Nay, ma’amselle, I will say no more, only, if I had not been
frightened, I should not have fainted dead away so. I ran as fast as I
could, to get to your door; but, what was worst of all, I could not
call out; then I thought something must be strangely the matter with
me, and directly I dropt down.”

“Was it the chamber where the black veil hangs?” said Emily. “O! no,
ma’amselle, it was one nearer to this. What shall I do, to get to my
room? I would not go out into the corridor again, for the whole world!”
Emily, whose spirits had been severely shocked, and who, therefore, did
not like the thought of passing the night alone, told her she might
sleep where she was. “O, no, ma’amselle,” replied Annette, “I would not
sleep in the room now for a thousand sequins!”

Wearied and disappointed, Emily first ridiculed, though she shared, her
fears, and then tried to sooth them; but neither attempt succeeded, and
the girl persisted in believing and affirming, that what she had seen
was nothing human. It was not till some time after Emily had recovered
her composure, that she recollected the steps she had heard on the
staircase—a remembrance, however, which made her insist that Annette
should pass the night with her, and, with much difficulty, she, at
length, prevailed, assisted by that part of the girl’s fear, which
concerned the corridor. Early on the following morning, as Emily crossed the hall to the
ramparts, she heard a noisy bustle in the courtyard, and the clatter of
horses’ hoofs.