“If you
have indeed believed so,” said she, “believe so still.”

“That look, those words confirm it,” exclaimed Morano, furiously. “No,
no, no, Montoni had a richer prize in view, than gold. But he shall not
live to triumph over me!—This very instant—”

He was interrupted by the loud barking of the dog. “Stay, Count Morano,” said Emily, terrified by his words, and by the
fury expressed in his eyes, “I will save you from this error.—Of all
men, Signor Montoni is not your rival; though, if I find all other
means of saving myself vain, I will try whether my voice may not arouse
his servants to my succour.”

“Assertion,” replied Morano, “at such a moment, is not to be depended
upon. How could I suffer myself to doubt, even for an instant, that he
could see you, and not love?—But my first care shall be to convey you
from the castle. Cesario! ho,—Cesario!”

A man now appeared at the door of the staircase, and other steps were
heard ascending. Emily uttered a loud shriek, as Morano hurried her
across the chamber, and, at the same moment, she heard a noise at the
door, that opened upon the corridor. The Count paused an instant, as if
his mind was suspended between love and the desire of vengeance; and,
in that instant, the door gave way, and Montoni, followed by the old
steward and several other persons, burst into the room. “Draw!” cried Montoni to the Count, who did not pause for a second
bidding, but, giving Emily into the hands of the people, that appeared
from the staircase, turned fiercely round. “This in thine heart,
villain!” said he, as he made a thrust at Montoni with his sword, who
parried the blow, and aimed another, while some of the persons, who had
followed him into the room, endeavoured to part the combatants, and
others rescued Emily from the hands of Morano’s servants. “Was it for this, Count Morano,” said Montoni, in a cool sarcastic tone
of voice, “that I received you under my roof, and permitted you, though
my declared enemy, to remain under it for the night? Was it, that you
might repay my hospitality with the treachery of a fiend, and rob me of
my niece?”

“Who talks of treachery?” said Morano, in a tone of unrestrained
vehemence. “Let him that does, show an unblushing face of innocence. Montoni, you are a villain! If there is treachery in this affair, look
to yourself as the author of it. _If_—do I say? _I_—whom you have
wronged with unexampled baseness, whom you have injured almost beyond
redress! But why do I use words?—Come on, coward, and receive justice
at my hands!”

“Coward!” cried Montoni, bursting from the people who held him, and
rushing on the Count, when they both retreated into the corridor, where
the fight continued so desperately, that none of the spectators dared
approach them, Montoni swearing, that the first who interfered, should
fall by his sword. Jealousy and revenge lent all their fury to Morano, while the superior
skill and the temperance of Montoni enabled him to wound his adversary,
whom his servants now attempted to seize, but he would not be
restrained, and, regardless of his wound, continued to fight. He seemed
to be insensible both of pain and loss of blood, and alive only to the
energy of his passions. Montoni, on the contrary, persevered in the
combat, with a fierce, yet wary, valour; he received the point of
Morano’s sword on his arm, but, almost in the same instant, severely
wounded and disarmed him. The Count then fell back into the arms of his
servant, while Montoni held his sword over him, and bade him ask his
life. Morano, sinking under the anguish of his wound, had scarcely
replied by a gesture, and by a few words, feebly articulated, that he
would not—when he fainted; and Montoni was then going to have plunged
the sword into his breast, as he lay senseless, but his arm was
arrested by Cavigni. To the interruption he yielded without much
difficulty, but his complexion changed almost to blackness, as he
looked upon his fallen adversary, and ordered, that he should be
carried instantly from the castle. In the mean time, Emily, who had been withheld from leaving the chamber
during the affray, now came forward into the corridor, and pleaded a
cause of common humanity, with the feelings of the warmest benevolence,
when she entreated Montoni to allow Morano the assistance in the
castle, which his situation required. But Montoni, who had seldom
listened to pity, now seemed rapacious of vengeance, and, with a
monster’s cruelty, again ordered his defeated enemy to be taken from
the castle, in his present state, though there were only the woods, or
a solitary neighbouring cottage, to shelter him from the night. The Count’s servants having declared, that they would not move him till
he revived, Montoni’s stood inactive, Cavigni remonstrating, and Emily,
superior to Montoni’s menaces, giving water to Morano, and directing
the attendants to bind up his wound. At length, Montoni had leisure to
feel pain from his own hurt, and he withdrew to examine it. The Count, meanwhile, having slowly recovered, the first object he saw,
on raising his eyes, was Emily, bending over him with a countenance
strongly expressive of solicitude. He surveyed her with a look of
anguish. “I have deserved this,” said he, “but not from Montoni. It is from you,
Emily, that I have deserved punishment, yet I receive only pity!” He
paused, for he had spoken with difficulty. After a moment, he
proceeded. “I must resign you, but not to Montoni. Forgive me the
sufferings I have already occasioned you! But for _that_ villain—his
infamy shall not go unpunished. Carry me from this place,” said he to
his servants. “I am in no condition to travel: you must, therefore,
take me to the nearest cottage, for I will not pass the night under his
roof, although I may expire on the way from it.”

Cesario proposed to go out, and enquire for a cottage, that might
receive his master, before he attempted to remove him: but Morano was
impatient to be gone; the anguish of his mind seemed to be even greater
than that of his wound, and he rejected, with disdain, the offer of
Cavigni to entreat Montoni, that he might be suffered to pass the night
in the castle. Cesario was now going to call up the carriage to the
great gate, but the Count forbade him. “I cannot bear the motion of a
carriage,” said he: “call some others of my people, that they may
assist in bearing me in their arms.”

At length, however, Morano submitted to reason, and consented, that
Cesario should first prepare some cottage to receive him. Emily, now
that he had recovered his senses, was about to withdraw from the
corridor, when a message from Montoni commanded her to do so, and also
that the Count, if he was not already gone, should quit the castle
immediately. Indignation flashed from Morano’s eyes, and flushed his
cheeks.