Emily's mind had not yet sufficiently recovered from its late shock,
to endure the loneliness of her chamber, and she remained upon the
ramparts; for Madame Montoni had not invited her to her dressing-room,
whither she had gone evidently in low spirits, and Emily, from her
late experience, had lost all wish to explore the gloomy and mysterious
recesses of the castle. The ramparts, therefore, were almost her only
retreat, and here she lingered, till the gray haze of evening was again
spread over the scene.
The cavaliers supped by themselves, and Madame Montoni remained in her
apartment, whither Emily went, before she retired to her own. She found
her aunt weeping, and in much agitation. The tenderness of Emily was
naturally so soothing, that it seldom failed to give comfort to the
drooping heart: but Madame Montoni's was torn, and the softest accents
of Emily's voice were lost upon it. With her usual delicacy, she did
not appear to observe her aunt's distress, but it gave an involuntary
gentleness to her manners, and an air of solicitude to her countenance,
which Madame Montoni was vexed to perceive, who seemed to feel the pity
of her niece to be an insult to her pride, and dismissed her as soon
as she properly could. Emily did not venture to mention again the
reluctance she felt to her gloomy chamber, but she requested that
Annette might be permitted to remain with her till she retired to rest;
and the request was somewhat reluctantly granted. Annette, however, was
now with the servants, and Emily withdrew alone.
With light and hasty steps she passed through the long galleries, while
the feeble glimmer of the lamp she carried only shewed the gloom
around her, and the passing air threatened to extinguish it. The lonely
silence, that reigned in this part of the castle, awed her; now and
then, indeed, she heard a faint peal of laughter rise from a remote part
of the edifice, where the servants were assembled, but it was soon lost,
and a kind of breathless stillness remained. As she passed the suite of
rooms which she had visited in the morning, her eyes glanced fearfully
on the door, and she almost fancied she heard murmuring sounds within,
but she paused not a moment to enquire.
Having reached her own apartment, where no blazing wood on the
hearth dissipated the gloom, she sat down with a book, to enliven her
attention, till Annette should come, and a fire could be kindled. She
continued to read till her light was nearly expired, but Annette did not
appear, and the solitude and obscurity of her chamber again affected her
spirits, the more, because of its nearness to the scene of horror, that
she had witnessed in the morning. Gloomy and fantastic images came to
her mind.