A week elapsed, before Ludovico again visited the prison; for the
sentinels, during that period, were men, in whom he could not confide,
and he feared to awaken curiosity, by asking to see their prisoner. In
this interval, he communicated to Emily terrific reports of what was
passing in the castle; of riots, quarrels, and of carousals more
alarming than either; while from some circumstances, which he
mentioned, she not only doubted, whether Montoni meant ever to release
her, but greatly feared, that he had designs, concerning her,—such as
she had formerly dreaded. Her name was frequently mentioned in the
conversations, which Bertolini and Verezzi held together, and, at those
times, they were frequently in contention. Montoni had lost large sums
to Verezzi, so that there was a dreadful possibility of his designing
her to be a substitute for the debt; but, as she was ignorant, that he
had formerly encouraged the hopes of Bertolini also, concerning
herself, after the latter had done him some signal service, she knew
not how to account for these contentions between Bertolini and Verezzi. The cause of them, however, appeared to be of little consequence, for
she thought she saw destruction approaching in many forms, and her
entreaties to Ludovico to contrive an escape and to see the prisoner
again, were more urgent than ever. At length, he informed her, that he had again visited the Chevalier,
who had directed him to confide in the guard of the prison, from whom
he had already received some instances of kindness, and who had
promised to permit his going into the castle for half an hour, on the
ensuing night, when Montoni and his companions should be engaged at
their carousals. “This was kind, to be sure,” added Ludovico: “but
Sebastian knows he runs no risk in letting the Chevalier out, for, if
he can get beyond the bars and iron doors of the castle, he must be
cunning indeed. But the Chevalier desired me, Signora, to go to you
immediately, and to beg you would allow him to visit you, this night,
if it was only for a moment, for that he could no longer live under the
same roof, without seeing you; the hour, he said, he could not mention,
for it must depend on circumstances (just as you said, Signora); and
the place he desired you would appoint, as knowing which was best for
your own safety.”

Emily was now so much agitated by the near prospect of meeting
Valancourt, that it was some time, before she could give any answer to
Ludovico, or consider of the place of meeting; when she did, she saw
none, that promised so much security, as the corridor, near her own
apartment, which she was checked from leaving, by the apprehension of
meeting any of Montoni’s guests, on their way to their rooms; and she
dismissed the scruples, which delicacy opposed, now that a serious
danger was to be avoided by encountering them. It was settled,
therefore, that the Chevalier should meet her in the corridor, at that
hour of the night, which Ludovico, who was to be upon the watch, should
judge safest: and Emily, as may be imagined, passed this interval in a
tumult of hope and joy, anxiety and impatience. Never, since her
residence in the castle, had she watched, with so much pleasure, the
sun set behind the mountains, and twilight shade, and darkness veil the
scene, as on this evening. She counted the notes of the great clock,
and listened to the steps of the sentinels, as they changed the watch,
only to rejoice, that another hour was gone. “O, Valancourt!” said she,
“after all I have suffered; after our long, long separation, when I
thought I should never—never see you more—we are still to meet again! O! I have endured grief, and anxiety, and terror, and let me, then, not
sink beneath this joy!” These were moments, when it was impossible for
her to feel emotions of regret, or melancholy, for any ordinary
interests;—even the reflection, that she had resigned the estates,
which would have been a provision for herself and Valancourt for life,
threw only a light and transient shade upon her spirits. The idea of
Valancourt, and that she should see him so soon, alone occupied her
heart. At length the clock struck twelve; she opened the door to listen, if
any noise was in the castle, and heard only distant shouts of riot and
laughter, echoed feebly along the gallery. She guessed, that the Signor
and his guests were at the banquet. “They are now engaged for the
night,” said she; “and Valancourt will soon be here.” Having softly
closed the door, she paced the room with impatient steps, and often
went to the casement to listen for the lute; but all was silent, and,
her agitation every moment increasing, she was at length unable to
support herself, and sat down by the window. Annette, whom she
detained, was, in the meantime, as loquacious as usual; but Emily heard
scarcely anything she said, and having at length risen to the casement,
she distinguished the chords of the lute, struck with an expressive
hand, and then the voice, she had formerly listened to, accompanied it. Now rising love they fann’d, now pleasing dole
They breath’d in tender musings through the heart;
And now a graver, sacred strain they stole,
As when seraphic hands a hymn impart! Emily wept in doubtful joy and tenderness; and, when the strain ceased,
she considered it as a signal, that Valancourt was about to leave the
prison. Soon after, she heard steps in the corridor;—they were the
light, quick steps of hope; she could scarcely support herself, as they
approached, but opening the door of the apartment, she advanced to meet
Valancourt, and, in the next moment, sunk in the arms of a stranger. His voice—his countenance instantly convinced her, and she fainted
away. On reviving, she found herself supported by the stranger, who was
watching over her recovery, with a countenance of ineffable tenderness
and anxiety. She had no spirits for reply, or enquiry; she asked no
questions, but burst into tears, and disengaged herself from his arms;
when the expression of his countenance changed to surprise and
disappointment, and he turned to Ludovico, for an explanation; Annette
soon gave the information, which Ludovico could not. “O, sir!” said
she, in a voice, interrupted with sobs; “O, sir! you are not the other
Chevalier. We expected Monsieur Valancourt, but you are not he! O
Ludovico! how could you deceive us so? my poor lady will never recover
it—never!” The stranger, who now appeared much agitated, attempted to
speak, but his words faltered; and then striking his hand against his
forehead, as if in sudden despair, he walked abruptly to the other end
of the corridor. Suddenly, Annette dried her tears, and spoke to Ludovico. “But,
perhaps,” said she, “after all, the other Chevalier is not this:
perhaps the Chevalier Valancourt is still below.” Emily raised her
head.