But I know not why I should
undertake to account for so trifling an occurrence.”

This explanation was by no means satisfactory to Emily, who had
observed, that the bolts were rusted, and consequently could not be
thus easily moved; but she forbore to say so, and repeated her request. “If you will not release yourself from the slavery of these fears,”
said Montoni, sternly, “at least forbear to torment others by the
mention of them. Conquer such whims, and endeavour to strengthen your
mind. No existence is more contemptible than that, which is embittered
by fear.” As he said this, his eye glanced upon Madame Montoni, who
coloured highly, but was still silent. Emily, wounded and disappointed,
thought her fears were, in this instance, too reasonable to deserve
ridicule; but, perceiving, that, however they might oppress her, she
must endure them, she tried to withdraw her attention from the subject. Carlo soon after entered with some fruit:

“Your _Excellenza_ is tired after your long ramble,” said he, as he set
the fruit upon the table; “but you have more to see after breakfast. There is a place in the vaulted passage leading to—”

Montoni frowned upon him, and waved his hand for him to leave the room. Carlo stopped, looked down, and then added, as he advanced to the
breakfast-table, and took up the basket of fruit, “I made bold, your
_Excellenza_, to bring some cherries, here, for my honoured lady and my
young mistress. Will your ladyship taste them, madam?” said Carlo,
presenting the basket, “they are very fine ones, though I gathered them
myself, and from an old tree, that catches all the south sun; they are
as big as plums, your ladyship.”

“Very well, old Carlo,” said Madame Montoni; “I am obliged to you.”

“And the young Signora, too, she may like some of them,” rejoined
Carlo, turning with the basket to Emily, “it will do me good to see her
eat some.”

“Thank you, Carlo,” said Emily, taking some cherries, and smiling
kindly. “Come, come,” said Montoni, impatiently, “enough of this. Leave the
room, but be in waiting. I shall want you presently.”

Carlo obeyed, and Montoni, soon after, went out to examine further into
the state of the castle; while Emily remained with her aunt, patiently
enduring her ill humour, and endeavouring, with much sweetness, to
soothe her affliction, instead of resenting its effect. When Madame Montoni retired to her dressing-room, Emily endeavoured to
amuse herself by a view of the castle. Through a folding door she
passed from the great hall to the ramparts, which extended along the
brow of the precipice, round three sides of the edifice; the fourth was
guarded by the high walls of the courts, and by the gateway, through
which she had passed, on the preceding evening. The grandeur of the
broad ramparts, and the changing scenery they overlooked, excited her
high admiration; for the extent of the terraces allowed the features of
the country to be seen in such various points of view, that they
appeared to form new landscapes. She often paused to examine the gothic
magnificence of Udolpho, its proud irregularity, its lofty towers and
battlements, its high-arched casements, and its slender watch-towers,
perched upon the corners of turrets. Then she would lean on the wall of
the terrace, and, shuddering, measure with her eye the precipice below,
till the dark summits of the woods arrested it. Wherever she turned,
appeared mountain-tops, forests of pine and narrow glens, opening among
the Apennines and retiring from the sight into inaccessible regions. While she thus leaned, Montoni, followed by two men, appeared,
ascending a winding path, cut in the rock below. He stopped upon a
cliff, and, pointing to the ramparts, turned to his followers, and
talked with much eagerness of gesticulation.—Emily perceived, that one
of these men was Carlo; the other was in the dress of a peasant, and he
alone seemed to be receiving the directions of Montoni. She withdrew from the walls, and pursued her walk, till she heard at a
distance the sound of carriage wheels, and then the loud bell of the
portal, when it instantly occurred to her, that Count Morano was
arrived. As she hastily passed the folding doors from the terrace,
towards her own apartment, several persons entered the hall by an
opposite door. She saw them at the extremities of the arcades, and
immediately retreated; but the agitation of her spirits, and the extent
and duskiness of the hall, had prevented her from distinguishing the
persons of the strangers. Her fears, however, had but one object, and
they had called up that object to her fancy:—she believed that she had
seen Count Morano. When she thought that they had passed the hall, she ventured again to
the door, and proceeded, unobserved, to her room, where she remained,
agitated with apprehensions, and listening to every distant sound. At
length, hearing voices on the rampart, she hastened to her window, and
observed Montoni, with Signor Cavigni, walking below, conversing
earnestly, and often stopping and turning towards each other, at which
time their discourse seemed to be uncommonly interesting. Of the several persons who had appeared in the hall, here was Cavigni
alone: but Emily’s alarm was soon after heightened by the steps of some
one in the corridor, who, she apprehended, brought a message from the
Count. In the next moment, Annette appeared. “Ah! ma’amselle,” said she, “here is the Signor Cavigni arrived! I am
sure I rejoiced to see a christian person in this place; and then he is
so good natured too, he always takes so much notice of me!—And here is
also Signor Verezzi, and who do you think besides, ma’amselle?”

“I cannot guess, Annette; tell me quickly.”

“Nay, ma’am, do guess once.”

“Well, then,” said Emily, with assumed composure, “it is—Count Morano,
I suppose.”

“Holy Virgin!” cried Annette, “are you ill, ma’amselle? you are going
to faint! let me get some water.”

Emily sunk into a chair. “Stay, Annette,” said she, feebly, “do not
leave me—I shall soon be better; open the casement.—The Count, you
say—he is come, then?”

“Who, I!—the Count! No, ma’amselle, I did not say so.”

“He is _not_ come then?” said Emily eagerly. “No, ma’amselle.”

“You are sure of it?”

“Lord bless me!” said Annette, “you recover very suddenly, ma’am! why,
I thought you were dying, just now.”

“But the Count—you are sure, is not come?”

“O yes, quite sure of that, ma’amselle. Why, I was looking out through
the grate in the north turret, when the carriages drove into the
courtyard, and I never expected to see such a goodly sight in this
dismal old castle! but here are masters and servants, too, enough to
make the place ring again. O! I was ready to leap through the rusty old
bars for joy!—O! who would ever have thought of seeing a christian face
in this huge dreary house? I could have kissed the very horses that
brought them.”

“Well, Annette, well, I am better now.”

“Yes, ma’amselle, I see you are. O!