One moment, it seemed
impossible, that Montoni could take this measure merely for her
preservation; and so very strange was his sending her from the castle
at all, that she could attribute it only to the design of carrying into
execution the new scheme of vengeance, with which he had menaced her. In the next instant, it appeared so desirable to quit the castle, under
any circumstances, that she could not but rejoice in the prospect,
believing that change must be for the better, till she remembered the
probability of Valancourt being detained in it, when sorrow and regret
usurped her mind, and she wished, much more fervently than she had yet
done, that it might not be his voice which she had heard. Carlo having reminded her, that she had no time to lose, for that the
enemy were within sight of the castle, Emily entreated him to inform
her whither she was to go; and, after some hesitation, he said he had
received no orders to tell; but, on her repeating the question,
replied, that he believed she was to be carried into Tuscany. “To Tuscany!” exclaimed Emily—“and why thither?”

Carlo answered, that he knew nothing further, than that she was to be
lodged in a cottage on the borders of Tuscany, at the feet of the
Apennines—“Not a day’s journey distant,” said he. Emily now dismissed him; and, with trembling hands, prepared the small
package, that she meant to take with her; while she was employed about
which Annette returned. “O ma’amselle!” said she, “nothing can be done! Ludovico says the new
porter is more watchful even than Barnardine was, and we might as well
throw ourselves in the way of a dragon, as in his. Ludovico is almost
as broken-hearted as you are, ma’am, on my account, he says, and I am
sure I shall never live to hear the cannon fire twice!”

She now began to weep, but revived upon hearing of what had just
occurred, and entreated Emily to take her with her. “That I will do most willingly,” replied Emily, “if Signor Montoni
permits it;” to which Annette made no reply, but ran out of the room,
and immediately sought Montoni, who was on the terrace, surrounded by
his officers, where she began her petition. He sharply bade her go into
the castle, and absolutely refused her request. Annette, however, not
only pleaded for herself, but for Ludovico; and Montoni had ordered
some of his men to take her from his presence, before she would retire. In an agony of disappointment, she returned to Emily, who foreboded
little good towards herself, from this refusal to Annette, and who,
soon after, received a summons to repair to the great court, where the
mules, with her guides, were in waiting. Emily here tried in vain to
sooth the weeping Annette, who persisted in saying, that she should
never see her dear young lady again; a fear, which her mistress
secretly thought too well justified, but which she endeavoured to
restrain, while, with apparent composure, she bade this affectionate
servant farewell. Annette, however, followed to the courts, which were
now thronged with people, busy in preparation for the enemy; and,
having seen her mount her mule and depart, with her attendants, through
the portal, turned into the castle and wept again. Emily, meanwhile, as she looked back upon the gloomy courts of the
castle, no longer silent as when she had first entered them, but
resounding with the noise of preparation for their defence, as well as
crowded with soldiers and workmen, hurrying to and fro; and, when she
passed once more under the huge portcullis, which had formerly struck
her with terror and dismay, and, looking round, saw no walls to confine
her steps—felt, in spite of anticipation, the sudden joy of a prisoner,
who unexpectedly finds himself at liberty. This emotion would not
suffer her now to look impartially on the dangers that awaited her
without; on mountains infested by hostile parties, who seized every
opportunity for plunder; and on a journey commenced under the guidance
of men, whose countenances certainly did not speak favourably of their
dispositions. In the present moments, she could only rejoice, that she
was liberated from those walls, which she had entered with such dismal
forebodings; and, remembering the superstitious presentiment, which had
then seized her, she could now smile at the impression it had made upon
her mind. As she gazed, with these emotions, upon the turrets of the castle,
rising high over the woods, among which she wound, the stranger, whom
she believed to be confined there, returned to her remembrance, and
anxiety and apprehension, lest he should be Valancourt, again passed
like a cloud upon her joy. She recollected every circumstance,
concerning this unknown person, since the night, when she had first
heard him play the song of her native province;—circumstances, which
she had so often recollected, and compared before, without extracting
from them anything like conviction, and which still only prompted her
to believe, that Valancourt was a prisoner at Udolpho. It was possible,
however, that the men, who were her conductors, might afford her
information, on this subject; but, fearing to question them
immediately, lest they should be unwilling to discover any circumstance
to her in the presence of each other, she watched for an opportunity of
speaking with them separately. Soon after, a trumpet echoed faintly from a distance; the guides
stopped, and looked toward the quarter whence it came, but the thick
woods, which surrounded them, excluding all view of the country beyond,
one of the men rode on to the point of an eminence, that afforded a
more extensive prospect, to observe how near the enemy, whose trumpet
he guessed this to be, were advanced; the other, meanwhile, remained
with Emily, and to him she put some questions, concerning the stranger
at Udolpho. Ugo, for this was his name, said, that there were several
prisoners in the castle, but he neither recollected their persons, nor
the precise time of their arrival, and could therefore give her no
information. There was a surliness in his manner, as he spoke, that
made it probable he would not have satisfied her enquiries, even if he
could have done so. Having asked him what prisoners had been taken, about the time, as
nearly as she could remember, when she had first heard the music, “All
that week,” said Ugo, “I was out with a party, upon the mountains, and
knew nothing of what was doing at the castle. We had enough upon our
hands, we had warm work of it.”

Bertrand, the other man, being now returned, Emily enquired no further,
and, when he had related to his companion what he had seen, they
travelled on in deep silence; while Emily often caught, between the
opening woods, partial glimpses of the castle above—the west towers,
whose battlements were now crowded with archers, and the ramparts
below, where soldiers were seen hurrying along, or busy upon the walls,
preparing the cannon.