CHAPTER III
Such are those thick and gloomy shadows damp, Oft seen in charnel-vaults and sepulchres, Lingering, and sitting, by a new-made grave. MILTON
On the following day, Montoni sent a second excuse to Emily, who wassurprised at the circumstance. 'This is very strange!' said she toherself. 'His conscience tells him the purport of my visit, and hedefers it, to avoid an explanation.' She now almost resolved to throwherself in his way, but terror checked the intention, and this daypassed, as the preceding one, with Emily, except that a degree of awfulexpectation, concerning the approaching night, now somewhat disturbedthe dreadful calmness that had pervaded her mind.
Towards evening, the second part of the band, which had made the firstexcursion among the mountains, returned to the castle, where, as theyentered the courts, Emily, in her remote chamber, heard their loudshouts and strains of exultation, like the orgies of furies oversome horrid sacrifice. She even feared they were about to commit somebarbarous deed; a conjecture from which, however, Annette soon relievedher, by telling, that the people were only exulting over the plunderthey had brought with them. This circumstance still further confirmedher in the belief, that Montoni had really commenced to be a captain ofbanditti, and meant to retrieve his broken fortunes by the plunder oftravellers! Indeed, when she considered all the circumstances of hissituation--in an armed, and almost inaccessible castle, retired faramong the recesses of wild and solitary mountains, along whose distantskirts were scattered towns, and cities, whither wealthy travellers werecontinually passing--this appeared to be the situation of all othersmost suited for the success of schemes of rapine, and she yielded tothe strange thought, that Montoni was become a captain of robbers. Hischaracter also, unprincipled, dauntless, cruel and enterprising, seemedto fit him for the situation. Delighting in the tumult and in thestruggles of life, he was equally a stranger to pity and to fear; hisvery courage was a sort of animal ferocity; not the noble impulse ofa principle, such as inspirits the mind against the oppressor, in thecause of the oppressed; but a constitutional hardiness of nerve, thatcannot feel, and that, therefore, cannot fear.
Emily's supposition, however natural, was in part erroneous, for she wasa stranger to the state of this country and to the circumstances, underwhich its frequent wars were partly conducted. The revenues of the manystates of Italy being, at that time, insufficient to the support ofstanding armies, even during the short periods, which the turbulenthabits both of the governments and the people permitted to pass inpeace, an order of men arose not known in our age, and but faintlydescribed in the history of their own. Of the soldiers, disbanded atthe end of every war, few returned to the safe, but unprofitableoccupations, then usual in peace. Sometimes they passed into othercountries, and mingled with armies, which still kept the field.Sometimes they formed themselves into bands of robbers, and occupiedremote fortresses, where their desperate character, the weakness of thegovernments which they offended, and the certainty, that they couldbe recalled to the armies, when their presence should be again wanted,prevented them from being much pursued by the civil power; and,sometimes, they attached themselves to the fortunes of a popular chief,by whom they were led into the service of any state, which could settlewith him the price of their valour. From this latter practice arosetheir name--CONDOTTIERI; a term formidable all over Italy, for a period,which concluded in the earlier part of the seventeenth century, but ofwhich it is not so easy to ascertain the commencement.
Contests between the smaller states were then, for the most part,affairs of enterprize alone, and the probabilities of success wereestimated, not from the skill, but from the personal courage of thegeneral, and the soldiers. The ability, which was necessary to theconduct of tedious operations, was little valued. It was enough toknow how a party might be led towards their enemies, with the greatestsecrecy, or conducted from them in the compactest order. The officer wasto precipitate himself into a situation, where, but for his example,the soldiers might not have ventured; and, as the opposed parties knewlittle of each other's strength, the event of the day was frequentlydetermined by the boldness of the first movements. In such services thecondottieri were eminent, and in these, where plunder always followedsuccess, their characters acquired a mixture of intrepidity andprofligacy, which awed even those whom they served.
When they were not thus engaged, their chief had usually his ownfortress, in which, or in its neighbourhood, they enjoyed an irksomerest; and, though their wants were, at one time, partly supplied fromthe property of the inhabitants, the lavish distribution of theirplunder at others, prevented them from being obnoxious; and the peasantsof such districts gradually shared the character of their warlikevisitors. The neighbouring governments sometimes professed, but seldomendeavoured, to suppress these military communities; both because it wasdifficult to do so, and because a disguised protection of them ensured,for the service of their wars, a body of men, who could not otherwisebe so cheaply maintained, or so perfectly qualified. The commanderssometimes even relied so far upon this policy of the several powers, asto frequent their capitals; and Montoni, having met them in the gamingparties of Venice and Padua, conceived a desire to emulate theircharacters, before his ruined fortunes tempted him to adopt theirpractices. It was for the arrangement of his present plan of life, thatthe midnight councils were held at his mansion in Venice, and at whichOrsino and some other members of the present community then assistedwith suggestions, which they had since executed with the wreck of theirfortunes.
On the return of night, Emily resumed her station at the casement. Therewas now a moon; and, as it rose over the tufted woods, its yellow lightserved to shew the lonely terrace and the surrounding objects, moredistinctly, than the twilight of the stars had done, and promised Emilyto assist her observations, should the mysterious form return. On thissubject, she again wavered in conjecture, and hesitated whether to speakto the figure, to which a strong and almost irresistible interest urgedher; but terror, at intervals, made her reluctant to do so.
'If this is a person who has designs upon the castle,' said she, 'mycuriosity may prove fatal to me; yet the mysterious music, and thelamentations I heard, must surely have proceeded from him: if so, hecannot be an enemy.'
She then thought of her unfortunate aunt, and, shuddering with griefand horror, the suggestions of imagination seized her mind with allthe force of truth, and she believed, that the form she had seen wassupernatural. She trembled, breathed with difficulty, an icy coldnesstouched her cheeks, and her fears for a while overcame her judgment.Her resolution now forsook her, and she determined, if the figure shouldappear, not to speak to it.
Thus the time passed, as she sat at her casement, awed by expectation,and by the gloom and stillness of midnight; for she saw obscurely inthe moon-light only the mountains and woods, a cluster of towers, thatformed the west angle of the castle, and the terrace below; and heardno sound, except, now and then, the lonely watch-word, passed by thecentinels on duty, and afterwards the steps of the men who came torelieve guard, and whom she knew at a distance on the rampart by theirpikes, that glittered in the moonbeam, and then, by the few short words,in which they hailed their fellows of the night. Emily retired withinher chamber, while they passed the casement. When she returned toit, all was again quiet. It was now very late, she was wearied withwatching, and began to doubt the reality of what she had seen on thepreceding night; but she still lingered at the window, for her mind wastoo perturbed to admit of sleep. The moon shone with a clear lustre,that afforded her a complete view of the terrace; but she saw only asolitary centinel, pacing at one end of it; and, at length, tired withexpectation, she withdrew to seek rest.
Such, however, was the impression, left on her mind by the music, andthe complaining she had formerly heard, as well as by the figure, whichshe fancied she had seen, that she determined to repeat the watch, onthe following night.
Montoni, on the next day, took no notice of Emily's appointed visit, butshe, more anxious than before to see him, sent Annett
e to enquire, atwhat hour he would admit her. He mentioned eleven o'clock, and Emilywas punctual to the moment; at which she called up all her fortitudeto support the shock of his presence and the dreadful recollections itenforced. He was with several of his officers, in the cedar room;on observing whom she paused; and her agitation increased, while hecontinued to converse with them, apparently not observing her, till someof his officers, turning round, saw Emily, and uttered an exclamation.She was hastily retiring, when Montoni's voice arrested her, and, in afaultering accent, she said,--'I would speak with you, Signor Montoni,if you are at leisure.'
'These are my friends,' he replied, 'whatever you would say, they mayhear.'
Emily, without replying, turned from the rude gaze of the chevaliers,and Montoni then followed her to the hall, whence he led her to a smallroom, of which he shut the door with violence. As she looked on his darkcountenance, she again thought she saw the murderer of her aunt; andher mind was so convulsed with horror, that she had not power to recallthought enough to explain the purport of her visit; and to trust herselfwith the mention of Madame Montoni was more than she dared.
Montoni at length impatiently enquired what she had to say? 'I have notime for trifling,' he added, 'my moments are important.'
Emily then told him, that she wished to return to France, and came tobeg, that he would permit her to do so.--But when he looked surprised,and enquired for the motive of the request, she hesitated, became palerthan before, trembled, and had nearly sunk at his feet. He observedher emotion, with apparent indifference, and interrupted the silenceby telling her, he must be gone. Emily, however, recalled her spiritssufficiently to enable her to repeat her request. And, when Montoniabsolutely refused it, her slumbering mind was roused.
'I can no longer remain here with propriety, sir,' said she, 'and I maybe allowed to ask, by what right you detain me.'
'It is my will that you remain here,' said Montoni, laying his hand onthe door to go; 'let that suffice you.'
Emily, considering that she had no appeal from this will, forbore todispute his right, and made a feeble effort to persuade him to bejust. 'While my aunt lived, sir,' said she, in a tremulous voice, 'myresidence here was not improper; but now, that she is no more, I maysurely be permitted to depart. My stay cannot benefit you, sir, and willonly distress me.'
'Who told you, that Madame Montoni was dead?' said Montoni, with aninquisitive eye. Emily hesitated, for nobody had told her so, andshe did not dare to avow the having seen that spectacle in theportal-chamber, which had compelled her to the belief.
'Who told you so?' he repeated, more sternly.
'Alas! I know it too well,' replied Emily: 'spare me on this terriblesubject!'
She sat down on a bench to support herself.
'If you wish to see her,' said Montoni, 'you may; she lies in the eastturret.'
He now left the room, without awaiting her reply, and returned to thecedar chamber, where such of the chevaliers as had not before seenEmily, began to rally him, on the discovery they had made; but Montonidid not appear disposed to bear this mirth, and they changed thesubject.
Having talked with the subtle Orsino, on the plan of an excursion, whichhe meditated for a future day, his friend advised, that they should liein wait for the enemy, which Verezzi impetuously opposed, reproachedOrsino with want of spirit, and swore, that, if Montoni would let himlead on fifty men, he would conquer all that should oppose him.
Orsino smiled contemptuously; Montoni smiled too, but he also listened.Verezzi then proceeded with vehement declamation and assertion, till hewas stopped by an argument of Orsino, which he knew not how to answerbetter than by invective. His fierce spirit detested the cunning cautionof Orsino, whom he constantly opposed, and whose inveterate, thoughsilent, hatred he had long ago incurred. And Montoni was a calm observerof both, whose different qualifications he knew, and how to bend theiropposite character to the perfection of his own designs. But Verezzi,in the heat of opposition, now did not scruple to accuse Orsino ofcowardice, at which the countenance of the latter, while he made noreply, was overspread with a livid paleness; and Montoni, who watchedhis lurking eye, saw him put his hand hastily into his bosom. ButVerezzi, whose face, glowing with crimson, formed a striking contrast tothe complexion of Orsino, remarked not the action, and continued boldlydeclaiming against cowards to Cavigni, who was slily laughing at hisvehemence, and at the silent mortification of Orsino, when the latter,retiring a few steps behind, drew forth a stilletto to stab hisadversary in the back. Montoni arrested his half-extended arm, and, witha significant look, made him return the poinard into his bosom, unseenby all except himself; for most of the party were disputing at adistant window, on the situation of a dell where they meant to form anambuscade.
When Verezzi had turned round, the deadly hatred, expressed on thefeatures of his opponent, raising, for the first time, a suspicionof his intention, he laid his hand on his sword, and then, seeming torecollect himself, strode up to Montoni.
'Signor,' said he, with a significant look at Orsino, 'we are not aband of assassins; if you have business for brave men employ me on thisexpedition: you shall have the last drop of my blood; if you haveonly work for cowards--keep him,' pointing to Orsino, 'and let me quitUdolpho.'
Orsino, still more incensed, again drew forth his stilletto, and rushedtowards Verezzi, who, at the same instant, advanced with his sword, whenMontoni and the rest of the party interfered and separated them.
'This is the conduct of a boy,' said Montoni to Verezzi, 'not of a man:be more moderate in your speech.'
'Moderation is the virtue of cowards,' retorted Verezzi; 'they aremoderate in every thing--but in fear.'
'I accept your words,' said Montoni, turning upon him with a fierce andhaughty look, and drawing his sword out of the scabbard.
'With all my heart,' cried Verezzi, 'though I did not mean them foryou.'
He directed a pass at Montoni; and, while they fought, the villainOrsino made another attempt to stab Verezzi, and was again prevented.
The combatants were, at length, separated; and, after a very long andviolent dispute, reconciled. Montoni then left the room with Orsino,whom he detained in private consultation for a considerable time.
Emily, meanwhile, stunned by the last words of Montoni, forgot, for themoment, his declaration, that she should continue in the castle, whileshe thought of her unfortunate aunt, who, he had said, was laid inthe east turret. In suffering the remains of his wife to lie thus longunburied, there appeared a degree of brutality more shocking than shehad suspected even Montoni could practise.
After a long struggle, she determined to accept his permission to visitthe turret, and to take a last look of her ill-fated aunt: with whichdesign she returned to her chamber, and, while she waited for Annetteto accompany her, endeavoured to acquire fortitude sufficient to supporther through the approaching scene; for, though she trembled to encounterit, she knew that to remember the performance of this last act of dutywould hereafter afford her consoling satisfaction.
Annette came, and Emily mentioned her purpose, from which the formerendeavoured to dissuade her, though without effect, and Annette was,with much difficulty, prevailed upon to accompany her to the turret; butno consideration could make her promise to enter the chamber of death.
They now left the corridor, and, having reached the foot of thestair-case, which Emily had formerly ascended, Annette declared shewould go no further, and Emily proceeded alone. When she saw the trackof blood, which she had before observed, her spirits fainted, and, beingcompelled to rest on the stairs, she almost determined to proceed nofurther. The pause of a few moments restored her resolution, and shewent on.
As she drew near the landing-place, upon which the upper chamber opened,she remembered, that the door was formerly fastened, and apprehended,that it might still be so. In this expectation, however, she wasmistaken; for the door opened at once, into a dusky and silent chamber,round which she fearfully looked, and then slowly advanced, when ahollow voice
spoke. Emily, who was unable to speak, or to move fromthe spot, uttered no sound of terror. The voice spoke again; and, then,thinking that it resembled that of Madame Montoni, Emily's spirits wereinstantly roused; she rushed towards a bed, that stood in a remote partof the room, and drew aside the curtains. Within, appeared a pale andemaciated face. She started back, then again advanced, shuddered as shetook up the skeleton hand, that lay stretched upon the quilt; then letit drop, and then viewed the face with a long, unsettled gaze. Itwas that of Madame Montoni, though so changed by illness, that theresemblance of what it had been, could scarcely be traced in what it nowappeared. She was still alive, and, raising her heavy eyes, she turnedthem on her niece.
'Where have you been so long?' said she, in the same tone, 'Ithought you had forsaken me.'
'Do you indeed live,' said Emily, at length, 'or is this but a terribleapparition?' she received no answer, and again she snatched up the hand.'This is substance,' she exclaimed, 'but it is cold--cold as marble!'She let it fall. 'O, if you really live, speak!' said Emily, in a voiceof desperation, 'that I may not lose my senses--say you know me!'
'I do live,' replied Madame Montoni, 'but--I feel that I am about todie.'
Emily clasped the hand she held, more eagerly, and groaned. They wereboth silent for some moments. Then Emily endeavoured to soothe her, andenquired what had reduced her to this present deplorable state.
Montoni, when he removed her to the turret under the improbablesuspicion of having attempted his life, had ordered the men employed onthe occasion, to observe a strict secrecy concerning her. To this he wasinfluenced by a double motive. He meant to debar her from the comfortof Emily's visits, and to secure an opportunity of privately dispatchingher, should any new circumstances occur to confirm the presentsuggestions of his suspecting mind. His consciousness of the hatred hedeserved it was natural enough should at first led him to attribute toher the attempt that had been made upon his life; and, though therewas no other reason to believe that she was concerned in that atrociousdesign, his suspicions remained; he continued to confine her in theturret, under a strict guard; and, without pity or remorse, had sufferedher to lie, forlorn and neglected, under a raging fever, till it hadreduced her to the present state.
The track of blood, which Emily had seen on the stairs, had flowed fromthe unbound wound of one of the men employed to carry Madame Montoni,and which he had received in the late affray. At night these men, havingcontented themselves with securing the door of their prisoner's room,had retired from guard; and then it was, that Emily, at the time of herfirst enquiry, had found the turret so silent and deserted.
When she had attempted to open the door of the chamber, her aunt wassleeping, and this occasioned the silence, which had contributed todelude her into a belief, that she was no more; yet had her terrorpermitted her to persevere longer in the call, she would probablyhave awakened Madame Montoni, and have been spared much suffering. Thespectacle in the portal-chamber, which afterwards confirmed Emily'shorrible suspicion, was the corpse of a man, who had fallen in theaffray, and the same which had been borne into the servants' hall, whereshe took refuge from the tumult. This man had lingered under his woundsfor some days; and, soon after his death, his body had been removedon the couch, on which he died, for interment in the vault beneath thechapel, through which Emily and Barnardine had passed to the chamber.
Emily, after asking Madame Montoni a thousand questions concerningherself, left her, and sought Montoni; for the more solemn interestshe felt for her aunt, made her now regardless of the resentment herremonstrances might draw upon herself, and of the improbability of hisgranting what she meant to entreat.
'Madame Montoni is now dying, sir,' said Emily, as soon as she sawhim--'Your resentment, surely will not pursue her to the last moment!Suffer her to be removed from that forlorn room to her own apartment,and to have necessary comforts administered.'
'Of what service will that be, if she is dying?' said Montoni, withapparent indifference.
'The service, at leave, of saving you, sir, from a few of those pangsof conscience you must suffer, when you shall be in the same situation,'said Emily, with imprudent indignation, of which Montoni soon made hersensible, by commanding her to quit his presence. Then, forgetting herresentment, and impressed only by compassion for the piteous state ofher aunt, dying without succour, she submitted to humble herself toMontoni, and to adopt every persuasive means, that might induce him torelent towards his wife.
For a considerable time he was proof against all she said, and all shelooked; but at length the divinity of pity, beaming in Emily's eyes,seemed to touch his heart. He turned away, ashamed of his betterfeelings, half sullen and half relenting; but finally consented, thathis wife should be removed to her own apartment, and that Emily shouldattend her. Dreading equally, that this relief might arrive too late,and that Montoni might retract his concession, Emily scarcely staid tothank him for it, but, assisted by Annette, she quickly prepared MadameMontoni's bed, and they carried her a cordial, that might enable herfeeble frame to sustain the fatigue of a removal.
Madame was scarcely arrived in her own apartment, when an order wasgiven by her husband, that she should remain in the turret; but Emily,thankful that she had made such dispatch, hastened to inform him of it,as well as that a second removal would instantly prove fatal, and hesuffered his wife to continue where she was.
During this day, Emily never left Madame Montoni, except to prepare suchlittle nourishing things as she judged necessary to sustain her, andwhich Madame Montoni received with quiet acquiescence, though she seemedsensible that they could not save her from approaching dissolution, andscarcely appeared to wish for life. Emily meanwhile watched over herwith the most tender solicitude, no longer seeing her imperious aunt inthe poor object before her, but the sister of her late beloved father,in a situation that called for all her compassion and kindness. Whennight came, she determined to sit up with her aunt, but this the latterpositively forbade, commanding her to retire to rest, and Annette aloneto remain in her chamber. Rest was, indeed, necessary to Emily, whosespirits and frame were equally wearied by the occurrences and exertionsof the day; but she would not leave Madame Montoni, till after the turnof midnight, a period then thought so critical by the physicians.
Soon after twelve, having enjoined Annette to be wakeful, and to callher, should any change appear for the worse, Emily sorrowfully badeMadame Montoni good night, and withdrew to her chamber. Her spirits weremore than usually depressed by the piteous condition of her aunt, whoserecovery she scarcely dared to expect. To her own misfortunes she saw noperiod, inclosed as she was, in a remote castle, beyond the reach of anyfriends, had she possessed such, and beyond the pity even of strangers;while she knew herself to be in the power of a man capable of anyaction, which his interest, or his ambition, might suggest.
Occupied by melancholy reflections and by anticipations as sad, shedid not retire immediately to rest, but leaned thoughtfully on her opencasement. The scene before her of woods and mountains, reposing in themoon-light, formed a regretted contrast with the state of her mind;but the lonely murmur of these woods, and the view of this sleepinglandscape, gradually soothed her emotions and softened her to tears.
She continued to weep, for some time, lost to every thing, but toa gentle sense of her misfortunes. When she, at length, took thehandkerchief from her eyes, she perceived, before her, on the terracebelow, the figure she had formerly observed, which stood fixed andsilent, immediately opposite to her casement. On perceiving it, shestarted back, and terror for some time overcame curiosity;--at length,she returned to the casement, and still the figure was before it, whichshe now compelled herself to observe, but was utterly unable to speak,as she had formerly intended. The moon shone with a clear light, andit was, perhaps, the agitation of her mind, that prevented herdistinguishing, with any degree of accuracy, the form before her. Itwas still stationary, and she began to doubt, whether it was reallyanimated.
Her scattered thoughts were now so fa
r returned as to remind her, thather light exposed her to dangerous observation, and she was steppingback to remove it, when she perceived the figure move, and then wavewhat seemed to be its arm, as if to beckon her; and, while she gazed,fixed in fear, it repeated the action. She now attempted to speak, butthe words died on her lips, and she went from the casement to remove herlight; as she was doing which, she heard, from without, a faint groan.Listening, but not daring to return, she presently heard it repeated.
'Good God!--what can this mean!' said she.
Again she listened, but the sound came no more; and, after a longinterval of silence, she recovered courage enough to go to the casement,when she again saw the same appearance! It beckoned again, and againuttered a low sound.
'That groan was surely human!' said she. 'I WILL speak.' 'Who is it,'cried Emily in a faint voice, 'that wanders at this late hour?'
The figure raised its head but suddenly started away, and glided downthe terrace. She watched it, for a long while, passing swiftly inthe moon-light, but heard no footstep, till a sentinel from the otherextremity of the rampart walked slowly along. The man stopped underher window, and, looking up, called her by name. She was retiringprecipitately, but, a second summons inducing her to reply, thesoldier then respectfully asked if she had seen any thing pass. Onher answering, that she had; he said no more, but walked away down theterrace, Emily following him with her eyes, till he was lost in thedistance. But, as he was on guard, she knew he could not go beyond therampart, and, therefore, resolved to await his return.
Soon after, his voice was heard, at a distance, calling loudly; andthen a voice still more distant answered, and, in the next moment, thewatch-word was given, and passed along the terrace. As the soldiersmoved hastily under the casement, she called to enquire what hadhappened, but they passed without regarding her.
Emily's thoughts returning to the figure she had seen, 'It cannot be aperson, who has designs upon the castle,' said she; 'such an one wouldconduct himself very differently. He would not venture where sentinelswere on watch, nor fix himself opposite to a window, where he perceivedhe must be observed; much less would he beckon, or utter a sound ofcomplaint. Yet it cannot be a prisoner, for how could he obtain theopportunity to wander thus?'
If she had been subject to vanity, she might have supposed this figureto be some inhabitant of the castle, who wandered under her casement inthe hope of seeing her, and of being allowed to declare his admiration;but this opinion never occurred to Emily, and, if it had, she would havedismissed it as improbable, on considering, that, when the opportunityof speaking had occurred, it had been suffered to pass in silence; andthat, even at the moment in which she had spoken, the form had abruptlyquitted the place.
While she mused, two sentinels walked up the rampart in earnestconversation, of which she caught a few words, and learned from these,that one of their comrades had fallen down senseless. Soon after, threeother soldiers appeared slowly advancing from the bottom of the terrace,but she heard only a low voice, that came at intervals. As they drewnear, she perceived this to be the voice of him, who walked in themiddle, apparently supported by his comrades; and she again calledto them, enquiring what had happened. At the sound of her voice, theystopped, and looked up, while she repeated her question, and was told,that Roberto, their fellow of the watch, had been seized with a fit, andthat his cry, as he fell, had caused a false alarm.
'Is he subject to fits?' said Emily.
'Yes, Signora,' replied Roberto; 'but if I had not, what I saw wasenough to have frightened the Pope himself.'
'What was it?' enquired Emily, trembling.
'I cannot tell what it was, lady, or what I saw, or how it vanished,'replied the soldier, who seemed to shudder at the recollection.
'Was it the person, whom you followed down the rampart, that hasoccasioned you this alarm?' said Emily, endeavouring to conceal her own.
'Person!' exclaimed the man,--'it was the devil, and this is not thefirst time I have seen him!'
'Nor will it be the last,' observed one of his comrades, laughing.
'No, no, I warrant not,' said another.
'Well,' rejoined Roberto, 'you may be as merry now, as you please; youwas none so jocose the other night, Sebastian, when you was on watchwith Launcelot.'
'Launcelot need not talk of that,' replied Sebastian, 'let him rememberhow he stood trembling, and unable to give the WORD, till the man wasgone, If the man had not come so silently upon us, I would have seizedhim, and soon made him tell who he was.'
'What man?' enquired Emily.
'It was no man, lady,' said Launcelot, who stood by, 'but the devilhimself, as my comrade says. What man, who does not live in the castle,could get within the walls at midnight? Why, I might just as wellpretend to march to Venice, and get among all the Senators, when theyare counselling; and I warrant I should have more chance of gettingout again alive, than any fellow, that we should catch within the gatesafter dark. So I think I have proved plainly enough, that this can benobody that lives out of the castle; and now I will prove, that it canbe nobody that lives in the castle--for, if he did--why should he beafraid to be seen? So after this, I hope nobody will pretend to tellme it was anybody. No, I say again, by holy Pope! it was the devil, andSebastian, there, knows this is not the first time we have seen him.'
'When did you see the figure, then, before?' said Emily half smiling,who, though she thought the conversation somewhat too much, felt aninterest, which would not permit her to conclude it.
'About a week ago, lady,' said Sebastian, taking up the story.
'And where?'
'On the rampart, lady, higher up.'
'Did you pursue it, that it fled?'
'No, Signora. Launcelot and I were on watch together, and every thingwas so still, you might have heard a mouse stir, when, suddenly,Launcelot says--Sebastian! do you see nothing? I turned my head alittle to the left, as it might be--thus. No, says I. Hush! saidLauncelot,--look yonder--just by the last cannon on the rampart! Ilooked, and then thought I did see something move; but there being nolight, but what the stars gave, I could not be certain. We stood quitesilent, to watch it, and presently saw something pass along the castlewall just opposite to us!'
'Why did you not seize it, then?' cried a soldier, who had scarcelyspoken till now.
'Aye, why did you not seize it?' said Roberto.
'You should have been there to have done that,' replied Sebastian. 'Youwould have been bold enough to have taken it by the throat, though ithad been the devil himself; we could not take such a liberty, perhaps,because we are not so well acquainted with him, as you are. But, as Iwas saying, it stole by us so quickly, that we had not time to get ridof our surprise, before it was gone. Then, we knew it was in vain tofollow. We kept constant watch all that night, but we saw it no more.Next morning, we told some of our comrades, who were on duty on otherparts of the ramparts, what we had seen; but they had seen nothing, andlaughed at us, and it was not till to-night, that the same figure walkedagain.'
'Where did you lose it, friend?' said Emily to Roberto.
'When I left you, lady,' replied the man, 'you might see me go down therampart, but it was not till I reached the east terrace, that I sawany thing. Then, the moon shining bright, I saw something like a shadowflitting before me, as it were, at some distance. I stopped, when Iturned the corner of the east tower, where I had seen this figure nota moment before,--but it was gone! As I stood, looking through theold arch, which leads to the east rampart, and where I am sure it hadpassed, I heard, all of a sudden, such a sound!--it was not like agroan, or a cry, or a shout, or any thing I ever heard in my life. Iheard it only once, and that was enough for me; for I know nothing thathappened after, till I found my comrades, here, about me.'
'Come,' said Sebastian, 'let us go to our posts--the moon is setting.Good night, lady!'
'Aye, let us go,' rejoined Roberto. 'Good night, lady.'
'Good night; the holy mother guard you!' said Emily, as she closed hercasement and retire
d to reflect upon the strange circumstance that hadjust occurred, connecting which with what had happened on former nights,she endeavoured to derive from the whole something more positive, thanconjecture. But her imagination was inflamed, while her judgment was notenlightened, and the terrors of superstition again pervaded her mind.