, 'my only wish is to
remain in my present station.'

'O! that is speaking quite from the purpose,' said her aunt, 'I see
you are still thinking of Mons. Valancourt. Pray get rid of all
those fantastic notions about love, and this ridiculous pride, and be
something like a reasonable creature. But, however, this is nothing to
the purpose--for your marriage with the Count takes place tomorrow, you
know, whether you approve it or not. The Count will be trifled with no
longer.'

Emily made no attempt to reply to this curious speech; she felt it
would be mean, and she knew it would be useless. Madame Montoni laid the
Count's presents upon the table, on which Emily was leaning, and then,
desiring she would be ready early in the morning, bade her good-night.
'Good-night, madam,' said Emily, with a deep sigh, as the door closed
upon her aunt, and she was left once more to her own sad reflections.
For some time she sat so lost in thought, as to be wholly unconscious
where she was; at length, raising her head, and looking round the room,
its gloom and profound stillness awed her. She fixed her eyes on the
door, through which her aunt had disappeared, and listened anxiously for
some sound, that might relieve the deep dejection of her spirits; but it
was past midnight, and all the family except the servant, who sat up for
Montoni, had retired to bed. Her mind, long harassed by distress, now
yielded to imaginary terrors; she trembled to look into the obscurity
of her spacious chamber, and feared she knew not what; a state of mind,
which continued so long, that she would have called up Annette, her
aunt's woman, had her fears permitted her to rise from her chair, and to
cross the apartment.

These melancholy illusions at length began to disperse, and she retired
to her bed, not to sleep, for that was scarcely possible, but to try, at
least, to quiet her disturbed fancy, and to collect strength of spirits
sufficient to bear her through the scene of the approaching morning.

CHAPTER V

Dark power! with shudd'ring, meek submitted thought
Be mine to read the visions old
Which thy awak'ning bards have told,
And, lest they meet my blasted view,
Hold each strange tale devoutly true.
COLLINS' ODE TO FEAR

Emily was recalled from a kind of slumber, into which she had, at
length, sunk, by a quick knocking at her chamber door. She started up
in terror, for Montoni and Count Morano instantly came to her mind; but,
havin