CHAPTER IV

There is one within,
Besides the things that we have heard and seen,
Recounts most horrid sights, seen by the watch. JULIUS CÆSAR


In the morning, Emily found Madame Montoni nearly in the same
condition, as on the preceding night; she had slept little, and that
little had not refreshed her; she smiled on her niece, and seemed
cheered by her presence, but spoke only a few words, and never named
Montoni, who, however, soon after, entered the room. His wife, when she
understood that he was there, appeared much agitated, but was entirely
silent, till Emily rose from a chair at the bedside, when she begged,
in a feeble voice, that she would not leave her. The visit of Montoni was not to sooth his wife, whom he knew to be
dying, or to console, or to ask her forgiveness, but to make a last
effort to procure that signature, which would transfer her estates in
Languedoc, after her death, to him rather than to Emily. This was a
scene, that exhibited, on his part, his usual inhumanity, and, on that
of Madame Montoni, a persevering spirit, contending with a feeble
frame; while Emily repeatedly declared to him her willingness to resign
all claim to those estates, rather than that the last hours of her aunt
should be disturbed by contention. Montoni, however, did not leave the
room, till his wife, exhausted by the obstinate dispute, had fainted,
and she lay so long insensible, that Emily began to fear that the spark
of life was extinguished. At length, she revived, and, looking feebly
up at her niece, whose tears were falling over her, made an effort to
speak, but her words were unintelligible, and Emily again apprehended
she was dying. Afterwards, however, she recovered her speech, and,
being somewhat restored by a cordial, conversed for a considerable
time, on the subject of her estates in France, with clearness and
precision. She directed her niece where to find some papers relative to
them, which she had hitherto concealed from the search of Montoni, and
earnestly charged her never to suffer these papers to escape her. Soon after this conversation, Madame Montoni sunk into a dose, and
continued slumbering, till evening, when she seemed better than she had
been since her removal from the turret. Emily never left her, for a
moment, till long after midnight, and even then would not have quitted
the room, had not her aunt entreated, that she would retire to rest. She then obeyed, the more willingly, because her patient appeared
somewhat recruited by sleep; and, giving Annette the same injunction,
as on the preceding night, she withdrew to her own apartment. But her
spirits were wakeful and agitated, and, finding it impossible to sleep,
she determined to watch, once more, for the mysterious appearance, that
had so much interested and alarmed her. It was now the second watch of the night, and about the time when the
figure had before appeared. Emily heard the passing steps of the
sentinels, on the rampart, as they changed guard; and, when all was
again silent, she took her station at the casement, leaving her lamp in
a remote part of the chamber, that she might escape notice from
without. The moon gave a faint and uncertain light, for heavy vapours
surrounded it, and, often rolling over the disk, left the scene below
in total darkness. It was in one of these moments of obscurity, that
she observed a small and lambent flame, moving at some distance on the
terrace. While she gazed, it disappeared, and, the moon again emerging
from the lurid and heavy thunder clouds, she turned her attention to
the heavens, where the vivid lightnings darted from cloud to cloud, and
flashed silently on the woods below. She loved to catch, in the
momentary gleam, the gloomy landscape. Sometimes, a cloud opened its
light upon a distant mountain, and, while the sudden splendour
illumined all its recesses of rock and wood, the rest of the scene
remained in deep shadow; at others, partial features of the castle were
revealed by the glimpse—the ancient arch leading to the east rampart,
the turret above, or the fortifications beyond; and then, perhaps, the
whole edifice with all its towers, its dark massy walls and pointed
casements would appear, and vanish in an instant. Emily, looking again upon the rampart, perceived the flame she had seen
before; it moved onward; and, soon after, she thought she heard a
footstep. The light appeared and disappeared frequently, while, as she
watched, it glided under her casements, and, at the same instant, she
was certain, that a footstep passed, but the darkness did not permit
her to distinguish any object except the flame. It moved away, and
then, by a gleam of lightning, she perceived some person on the
terrace. All the anxieties of the preceding night returned. This person
advanced, and the playing flame alternately appeared and vanished. Emily wished to speak, to end her doubts, whether this figure were
human or supernatural; but her courage failed as often as she attempted
utterance, till the light moved again under the casement, and she
faintly demanded, who passed. “A friend,” replied a voice. “What friend?” said Emily, somewhat encouraged “who are you, and what
is that light you carry?”

“I am Anthonio, one of the Signor’s soldiers,” replied the voice. “And what is that tapering light you bear?” said Emily, “see how it
darts upwards,—and now it vanishes!”

“This light, lady,” said the soldier, “has appeared tonight as you see
it, on the point of my lance, ever since I have been on watch; but what
it means I cannot tell.”

“This is very strange!” said Emily. “My fellow-guard,” continued the man, “has the same flame on his arms;
he says he has sometimes seen it before. I never did; I am but lately
come to the castle, for I have not been long a soldier.”

“How does your comrade account for it?” said Emily. “He says it is an omen, lady, and bodes no good.”

“And what harm can it bode?” rejoined Emily. “He knows not so much as that, lady.”

Whether Emily was alarmed by this omen, or not, she certainly was
relieved from much terror by discovering this man to be only a soldier
on duty, and it immediately occurred to her, that it might be he, who
had occasioned so much alarm on the preceding night. There were,
however, some circumstances, that still required explanation. As far as
she could judge by the faint moonlight, that had assisted her
observation, the figure she had seen did not resemble this man either
in shape or size; besides, she was certain it had carried no arms. The
silence of its steps, if steps it had, the moaning sounds, too, which
it had uttered, and its strange disappearance, were circumstances of
mysterious import, that did not apply, with probability, to a soldier
engaged in the duty of his guard. She now enquired of the sentinel, whether he had seen any person
besides his fellow watch, walking on the terrace, about midnight; and
then briefly related what she had herself observed.