These reflections made
her tremble at the hints, which Morano had just given, which she no
longer hesitated to believe; and, while she shrunk from the new scenes
of misery and oppression, that might await her in the castle of
Udolpho, she was compelled to observe, that almost her only means of
escaping them was by submitting herself to the protection of this man,
with whom evils more certain and not less terrible appeared,—evils,
upon which she could not endure to pause for an instant. Her silence, though it was that of agony, encouraged the hopes of
Morano, who watched her countenance with impatience, took again the
resisting hand she had withdrawn, and, as he pressed it to his heart,
again conjured her to determine immediately. “Every moment we lose,
will make our departure more dangerous,” said he: “these few moments
lost may enable Montoni to overtake us.”

“I beseech you, sir, be silent,” said Emily faintly: “I am indeed very
wretched, and wretched I must remain. Leave me—I command you, leave me
to my fate.”

“Never!” cried the Count vehemently: “let me perish first! But forgive
my violence! the thought of losing you is madness. You cannot be
ignorant of Montoni’s character, you may be ignorant of his
schemes—nay, you must be so, or you would not hesitate between my love
and his power.”

“Nor do I hesitate,” said Emily. “Let us go, then,” said Morano, eagerly kissing her hand, and rising,
“my carriage waits, below the castle walls.”

“You mistake me, sir,” said Emily. “Allow me to thank you for the
interest you express in my welfare, and to decide by my own choice. I
shall remain under the protection of Signor Montoni.”

“Under his protection!” exclaimed Morano, proudly, “his _protection!_
Emily, why will you suffer yourself to be thus deluded? I have already
told you what you have to expect from his _protection_.”

“And pardon me, sir, if, in this instance, I doubt mere assertion, and,
to be convinced, require something approaching to proof.”

“I have now neither the time, nor the means of adducing proof,” replied
the Count. “Nor have I, sir, the inclination to listen to it, if you had.”

“But you trifle with my patience and my distress,” continued Morano. “Is a marriage with a man, who adores you, so very terrible in your
eyes, that you would prefer to it all the misery, to which Montoni may
condemn you in this remote prison? Some wretch must have stolen those
affections, which ought to be mine, or you would not thus obstinately
persist in refusing an offer, that would place you beyond the reach of
oppression.” Morano walked about the room, with quick steps, and a
disturbed air. “This discourse, Count Morano, sufficiently proves, that my affections
ought not to be yours,” said Emily, mildly, “and this conduct, that I
should not be placed beyond the reach of oppression, so long as I
remained in your power. If you wish me to believe otherwise, cease to
oppress me any longer by your presence. If you refuse this, you will
compel me to expose you to the resentment of Signor Montoni.”

“Yes, let him come,” cried Morano furiously, “and brave _my_
resentment! Let him dare to face once more the man he has so
courageously injured; danger shall teach him morality, and vengeance
justice—let him come, and receive my sword in his heart!”

The vehemence, with which this was uttered, gave Emily new cause of
alarm, who arose from her chair, but her trembling frame refused to
support her, and she resumed her seat;—the words died on her lips, and,
when she looked wistfully towards the door of the corridor, which was
locked, she considered it was impossible for her to leave the
apartment, before Morano would be apprised of, and able to counteract,
her intention. Without observing her agitation, he continued to pace the room in the
utmost perturbation of spirits. His darkened countenance expressed all
the rage of jealousy and revenge; and a person, who had seen his
features under the smile of ineffable tenderness, which he so lately
assumed, would now scarcely have believed them to be the same. “Count Morano,” said Emily, at length recovering her voice, “calm, I
entreat you, these transports, and listen to reason, if you will not to
pity. You have equally misplaced your love, and your hatred.—I never
could have returned the affection, with which you honour me, and
certainly have never encouraged it; neither has Signor Montoni injured
you, for you must have known, that he had no right to dispose of my
hand, had he even possessed the power to do so. Leave, then, leave the
castle, while you may with safety. Spare yourself the dreadful
consequences of an unjust revenge, and the remorse of having prolonged
to me these moments of suffering.”

“Is it for mine, or for Montoni’s safety, that you are thus alarmed?”
said Morano, coldly, and turning towards her with a look of acrimony. “For both,” replied Emily, in a trembling voice. “Unjust revenge!” cried the Count, resuming the abrupt tones of
passion. “Who, that looks upon that face, can imagine a punishment
adequate to the injury he would have done me? Yes, I will leave the
castle; but it shall not be alone. I have trifled too long. Since my
prayers and my sufferings cannot prevail, force shall. I have people in
waiting, who shall convey you to my carriage. Your voice will bring no
succour; it cannot be heard from this remote part of the castle;
submit, therefore, in silence, to go with me.”

This was an unnecessary injunction, at present; for Emily was too
certain, that her call would avail her nothing; and terror had so
entirely disordered her thoughts, that she knew not how to plead to
Morano, but sat, mute and trembling, in her chair, till he advanced to
lift her from it, when she suddenly raised herself, and, with a
repulsive gesture, and a countenance of forced serenity, said, “Count
Morano! I am now in your power; but you will observe, that this is not
the conduct which can win the esteem you appear so solicitous to
obtain, and that you are preparing for yourself a load of remorse, in
the miseries of a friendless orphan, which can never leave you. Do you
believe your heart to be, indeed, so hardened, that you can look
without emotion on the suffering, to which you would condemn me?—”

Emily was interrupted by the growling of the dog, who now came again
from the bed, and Morano looked towards the door of the staircase,
where no person appearing, he called aloud, “Cesario!”

“Emily,” said the Count, “why will you reduce me to adopt this conduct? How much more willingly would I persuade, than compel you to become my
wife! but, by Heaven! I will not leave you to be sold by Montoni. Yet a
thought glances across my mind, that brings madness with it. I know not
how to name it. It is preposterous—it cannot be.—Yet you tremble—you
grow pale! It is! it is so;—you—you—love Montoni!” cried Morano,
grasping Emily’s wrist, and stamping his foot on the floor. An involuntary air of surprise appeared on her countenance.