'I heard it, last night, ma'amselle, but I forgot to tell it.'
Emily asked some further questions, and then, desiring Annette would
observe and inform her, when Montoni was alone, the girl went to deliver
her message to Barnardine.
Montoni was, however, so much engaged, during the whole day, that Emily
had no opportunity of seeking a release from her terrible suspense,
concerning her aunt. Annette was employed in watching his steps, and in
attending upon Ludovico, whom she, assisted by Caterina, nursed with
the utmost care; and Emily was, of course, left much alone. Her
thoughts dwelt often on the message of the porter, and were employed
in conjecturing the subject, that occasioned it, which she sometimes
imagined concerned the fate of Madame Montoni; at others, that it
related to some personal danger, which threatened herself. The cautious
secrecy which Barnardine observed in his conduct, inclined her to
believe the latter. As the hour of appointment drew near, her impatience increased. At
length, the sun set; she heard the passing steps of the sentinels going
to their posts; and waited only for Annette to accompany her to the
terrace, who, soon after, came, and they descended together. When Emily
expressed apprehensions of meeting Montoni, or some of his guests, 'O,
there is no fear of that, ma'amselle,' said Annette, 'they are all set
in to feasting yet, and that Barnardine knows.'
They reached the first terrace, where the sentinels demanded who passed;
and Emily, having answered, walked on to the east rampart, at the
entrance of which they were again stopped; and, having again replied,
were permitted to proceed. But Emily did not like to expose herself to
the discretion of these men, at such an hour; and, impatient to withdraw
from the situation, she stepped hastily on in search of Barnardine. He
was not yet come. She leaned pensively on the wall of the rampart,
and waited for him. The gloom of twilight sat deep on the surrounding
objects, blending in soft confusion the valley, the mountains, and the
woods, whose tall heads, stirred by the evening breeze, gave the only
sounds, that stole on silence, except a faint, faint chorus of distant
voices, that arose from within the castle. 'What voices are those?' said Emily, as she fearfully listened. 'It is only the Signor and his guests, carousing,' replied Annette. 'Good God!' thought Emily, 'can this man's heart be so gay, when he has
made another being so wretched; if, indeed, my aunt is yet suffered to
feel her wretchedness? O! whatever are my own sufferings, may my heart
never, never be hardened against those of others!'