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.

“I was not on guard that night, lady,” replied the man, “but I heard of

what happened. There are amongst us, who believe strange things.

Strange stories, too, have long been told of this castle, but it is no

business of mine to repeat them; and, for my part, I have no reason to

complain; our Chief does nobly by us.”

“I commend your prudence,” said Emily. “Good night, and accept this

from me,” she added, throwing him a small piece of coin, and then

closing the casement to put an end to the discourse.

When he was gone, she opened it again, listened with a gloomy pleasure

to the distant thunder, that began to murmur among the mountains, and

watched the arrowy lightnings, which broke over the remoter scene. The

pealing thunder rolled onward, and then, reverbed by the mountains,

other thunder seemed to answer from the opposite horizon; while the

accumulating clouds, entirely concealing the moon, assumed a red

sulphureous tinge, that foretold a violent storm.

Emily remained at her casement, till the vivid lightning, that now,

every instant, revealed the wide horizon and the landscape below, made

it no longer safe to do so, and she went to her couch; but, unable to

compose her mind to sleep, still listened in silent awe to the

tremendous sounds, that seemed to shake the castle to its foundation.

She had continued thus for a considerable time, when, amidst the uproar

of the storm, she thought she heard a voice, and, raising herself to

listen, saw the chamber door open, and Annette enter with a countenance

of wild affright.

“She is dying, ma’amselle, my lady is dying!” said she.

Emily started up, and ran to Madame Montoni’s room. When she entered,

her aunt appeared to have fainted, for she was quite still, and

insensible; and Emily with a strength of mind, that refused to yield to

grief, while any duty required her activity, applied every means that

seemed likely to restore her. But the last struggle was over—she was

gone for ever.

When Emily perceived, that all her efforts were ineffectual, she

interrogated the terrified Annette, and learned, that Madame Montoni

had fallen into a doze soon after Emily’s departure, in which she had

continued, until a few minutes before her death.

“I wondered, ma’amselle,” said Annette, “what was the reason my lady

did not seem frightened at the thunder, when I was so terrified, and I

went often to the bed to speak to her, but she appeared to be asleep;

till presently I heard a strange noise, and, on going to her, saw she

was dying.”

Emily, at this recital, shed tears. She had no doubt but that the

violent change in the air, which the tempest produced, had effected

this fatal one, on the exhausted frame of Madame Montoni.

After some deliberation, she determined that Montoni should not be

informed of this event till the morning, for she considered, that he

might, perhaps, utter some inhuman expressions, such as in the present

temper of her spirits she could not bear. With Annette alone,

therefore, whom she encouraged by her own example, she performed some

of the last solemn offices for the dead, and compelled herself to watch

during the night, by the body of her deceased aunt. During this solemn

period, rendered more awful by the tremendous storm that shook the air,

she frequently addressed herself to Heaven for support and protection,

and her pious prayers, we may believe, were accepted of the God, that

giveth comfort.