Yet, to pretend
ignorance of her death, appeared, in some degree, to be sharing its
criminality, and, indeed, this event was the only ground, on which
Emily could rest her petition for leaving Udolpho. While her thoughts thus wavered, a message was brought, importing, that
Montoni could not see her, till the next day; and her spirits were then
relieved, for a moment, from an almost intolerable weight of
apprehension. Annette said, she fancied the Chevaliers were going out
to the wars again, for the courtyard was filled with horses, and she
heard, that the rest of the party, who went out before, were expected
at the castle. “And I heard one of the soldiers, too,” added she, “say
to his comrade, that he would warrant they’d bring home a rare deal of
booty.—So, thinks I, if the Signor can, with a safe conscience, send
his people out a-robbing—why it is no business of mine. I only wish I
was once safe out of this castle; and, if it had not been for poor
Ludovico’s sake, I would have let Count Morano’s people run away with
us both, for it would have been serving you a good turn, ma’amselle, as
well as myself.”

Annette might have continued thus talking for hours for any
interruption she would have received from Emily, who was silent,
inattentive, absorbed in thought, and passed the whole of this day in a
kind of solemn tranquillity, such as is often the result of faculties
overstrained by suffering. When night returned, Emily recollected the mysterious strains of music,
that she had lately heard, in which she still felt some degree of
interest, and of which she hoped to hear again the soothing sweetness. The influence of superstition now gained on the weakness of her
long-harassed mind; she looked, with enthusiastic expectation, to the
guardian spirit of her father, and, having dismissed Annette for the
night, determined to watch alone for their return. It was not yet,
however, near the time when she had heard the music on a former night,
and anxious to call off her thoughts from distressing subjects, she sat
down with one of the few books, that she had brought from France; but
her mind, refusing control, became restless and agitated, and she went
often to the casement to listen for a sound. Once, she thought she
heard a voice, but then, everything without the casement remaining
still, she concluded, that her fancy had deceived her. Thus passed the time, till twelve o’clock, soon after which the distant
sounds, that murmured through the castle, ceased, and sleep seemed to
reign over all. Emily then seated herself at the casement, where she
was soon recalled from the reverie, into which she sunk, by very
unusual sounds, not of music, but like the low mourning of some person
in distress. As she listened, her heart faltered in terror, and she
became convinced, that the former sound was more than imaginary. Still,
at intervals, she heard a kind of feeble lamentation, and sought to
discover whence it came. There were several rooms underneath, adjoining
the rampart, which had been long shut up, and, as the sound probably
rose from one of these, she leaned from the casement to observe,
whether any light was visible there. The chambers, as far as she could
perceive, were quite dark, but, at a little distance, on the rampart
below, she thought she saw something moving. The faint twilight, which the stars shed, did not enable her to
distinguish what it was; but she judged it to be a sentinel, on watch,
and she removed her light to a remote part of the chamber, that she
might escape notice, during her further observation. The same object still appeared. Presently, it advanced along the
rampart, towards her window, and she then distinguished something like
a human form, but the silence, with which it moved, convinced her it
was no sentinel. As it drew near, she hesitated whether to retire; a
thrilling curiosity inclined her to stay, but a dread of she scarcely
knew what warned her to withdraw. While she paused, the figure came opposite to her casement, and was
stationary. Everything remained quiet; she had not heard even a
foot-fall; and the solemnity of this silence, with the mysterious form
she saw, subdued her spirits, so that she was moving from the casement,
when, on a sudden, she observed the figure start away, and glide down
the rampart, after which it was soon lost in the obscurity of night. Emily continued to gaze, for some time, on the way it had passed, and
then retired within her chamber, musing on this strange circumstance,
and scarcely doubting, that she had witnessed a supernatural
appearance. When her spirits recovered composure, she looked round for some other
explanation. Remembering what she had heard of the daring enterprises
of Montoni, it occurred to her, that she had just seen some unhappy
person, who, having been plundered by his banditti, was brought hither
a captive; and that the music she had formerly heard, came from him. Yet, if they had plundered him, it still appeared improbable, that they
should have brought him to the castle, and it was also more consistent
with the manners of banditti to murder those they rob, than to make
them prisoners. But what, more than any other circumstance,
contradicted the supposition, that it was a prisoner, was that it
wandered on the terrace, without a guard: a consideration, which made
her dismiss immediately her first surmise. Afterwards, she was inclined to believe, that Count Morano had obtained
admittance into the castle; but she soon recollected the difficulties
and dangers, that must have opposed such an enterprise, and that, if he
had so far succeeded, to come alone and in silence to her casement at
midnight was not the conduct he would have adopted, particularly since
the private staircase, communicating with her apartment, was known to
him; neither would he have uttered the dismal sounds she had heard. Another suggestion represented, that this might be some person, who had
designs upon the castle; but the mournful sounds destroyed, also, that
probability. Thus, enquiry only perplexed her. Who, or what, it could
be that haunted this lonely hour, complaining in such doleful accents
and in such sweet music (for she was still inclined to believe, that
the former strains and the late appearance were connected), she had no
means of ascertaining; and imagination again assumed her empire, and
roused the mysteries of superstition. She determined, however, to watch on the following night, when her
doubts might, perhaps, be cleared up; and she almost resolved to
address the figure, if it should appear again. CHAPTER III

Such are those thick and gloomy shadows damp,
Oft seen in charnel-vaults and sepulchres,
Lingering, and sitting, by a new-made grave. MILTON


On the following day, Montoni sent a second excuse to Emily, who was
surprised at the circumstance. “This is very strange!” said she to
herself.