On reaching the great gallery, she heard voices seemingly in dispute,
and, her spirits now apt to take alarm, she paused, but soon
distinguished some words of Cavigni and Verezzi, and went towards them,
in the hope of conciliating their difference. They were alone. Verezzi’s face was still flushed with rage; and, as the first object of
it was now removed from him, he appeared willing to transfer his
resentment to Cavigni, who seemed to be expostulating, rather than
disputing, with him. Verezzi was protesting, that he would instantly inform Montoni of the
insult, which Morano had thrown out against him, and above all, that,
wherein he had accused him of murder. “There is no answering,” said Cavigni, “for the words of a man in a
passion; little serious regard ought to be paid to them. If you persist
in your resolution, the consequences may be fatal to both. We have now
more serious interests to pursue, than those of a petty revenge.”

Emily joined her entreaties to Cavigni’s arguments, and they, at
length, prevailed so far, as that Verezzi consented to retire, without
seeing Montoni. On calling at her aunt’s apartment, she found it fastened. In a few
minutes, however, it was opened by Madame Montoni herself. It may be remembered, that it was by a door leading into the bedroom
from a back passage, that Emily had secretly entered a few hours
preceding. She now conjectured, by the calmness of Madame Montoni’s
air, that she was not apprised of the accident, which had befallen her
husband, and was beginning to inform her of it, in the tenderest manner
she could, when her aunt interrupted her, by saying, she was acquainted
with the whole affair. Emily knew indeed, that she had little reason to love Montoni, but
could scarcely have believed her capable of such perfect apathy, as she
now discovered towards him; having obtained permission, however, for
Annette to sleep in her chamber, she went thither immediately. A track of blood appeared along the corridor, leading to it; and on the
spot, where the Count and Montoni had fought, the whole floor was
stained. Emily shuddered, and leaned on Annette, as she passed. When
she reached her apartment, she instantly determined, since the door of
the staircase had been left open, and that Annette was now with her, to
explore whither it led,—a circumstance now materially connected with
her own safety. Annette accordingly, half curious and half afraid,
proposed to descend the stairs; but, on approaching the door, they
perceived, that it was already fastened without, and their care was
then directed to the securing it on the inside also, by placing against
it as much of the heavy furniture of the room, as they could lift. Emily then retired to bed, and Annette continued on a chair by the
hearth, where some feeble embers remained. CHAPTER VII

Of aery tongues, that syllable men’s names
On sands and shores and desert wildernesses. MILTON


It is now necessary to mention some circumstances, which could not be
related amidst the events of Emily’s hasty departure from Venice, or
together with those, which so rapidly succeeded to her arrival in the
castle. On the morning of her journey, Count Morano had gone at the appointed
hour to the mansion of Montoni, to demand his bride. When he reached
it, he was somewhat surprised by the silence and solitary air of the
portico, where Montoni’s lacqueys usually loitered; but surprise was
soon changed to astonishment, and astonishment to the rage of
disappointment, when the door was opened by an old woman, who told his
servants, that her master and his family had left Venice, early in the
morning, for _Terra-firma_. Scarcely believing what his servants told,
he left his gondola, and rushed into the hall to enquire further. The
old woman, who was the only person left in care of the mansion,
persisted in her story, which the silent and deserted apartments soon
convinced him was no fiction. He then seized her with a menacing air,
as if he meant to wreak all his vengeance upon her, at the same time
asking her twenty questions in a breath, and all these with a
gesticulation so furious, that she was deprived of the power of
answering them; then suddenly letting her go, he stamped about the
hall, like a madman, cursing Montoni and his own folly. When the good woman was at liberty, and had somewhat recovered from her
fright, she told him all she knew of the affair, which was, indeed,
very little, but enough to enable Morano to discover, that Montoni was
gone to his castle on the Apennine. Thither he followed, as soon as his
servants could complete the necessary preparation for the journey,
accompanied by a friend, and attended by a number of his people,
determined to obtain Emily, or a full revenge on Montoni. When his mind
had recovered from the first effervescence of rage, and his thoughts
became less obscured, his conscience hinted to him certain
circumstances, which, in some measure, explained the conduct of
Montoni: but how the latter could have been led to suspect an
intention, which, he had believed, was known only to himself, he could
not even guess. On this occasion, however, he had been partly betrayed
by that sympathetic intelligence, which may be said to exist between
bad minds, and which teaches one man to judge what another will do in
the same circumstances. Thus it was with Montoni, who had now received
indisputable proof of a truth, which he had some time suspected—that
Morano’s circumstances, instead of being affluent, as he had been
bidden to believe, were greatly involved. Montoni had been interested
in his suit, by motives entirely selfish, those of avarice and pride;
the last of which would have been gratified by an alliance with a
Venetian nobleman, the former by Emily’s estate in Gascony, which he
had stipulated, as the price of his favour, should be delivered up to
him from the day of her marriage. In the meantime, he had been led to
suspect the consequence of the Count’s boundless extravagance; but it
was not till the evening, preceding the intended nuptials, that he
obtained certain information of his distressed circumstances. He did
not hesitate then to infer, that Morano designed to defraud him of
Emily’s estate; and in this supposition he was confirmed, and with
apparent reason, by the subsequent conduct of the Count, who, after
having appointed to meet him on that night, for the purpose of signing
the instrument, which was to secure to him his reward, failed in his
engagement. Such a circumstance, indeed, in a man of Morano’s gay and
thoughtless character, and at a time when his mind was engaged by the
bustle of preparation for his nuptials, might have been attributed to a
cause less decisive, than design; but Montoni did not hesitate an
instant to interpret it his own way, and, after vainly waiting the
Count’s arrival, for several hours, he gave orders for his people to be
in readiness to set off at a moment’s notice.