th the
view of ancient grandeur, and an emotion of melancholy awe awakened all
its powers, as she walked through rooms, obscure and desolate, where no
footsteps had passed probably for many years, and remembered the strange
history of the former possessor of the edifice. This brought to her
recollection the veiled picture, which had attracted her curiosity,
on the preceding night, and she resolved to examine it. As she passed
through the chambers, that led to this, she found herself somewhat
agitated; its connection with the late lady of the castle, and the
conversation of Annette, together with the circumstance of the veil,
throwing a mystery over the subject, that excited a faint degree of
terror. But a terror of this nature, as it occupies and expands the
mind, and elevates it to high expectation, is purely sublime, and leads
us, by a kind of fascination, to seek even the object, from which we
appear to shrink.

Emily passed on with faltering steps, and having paused a moment at
the door, before she attempted to open it, she then hastily entered the
chamber, and went towards the picture, which appeared to be enclosed
in a frame of uncommon size, that hung in a dark part of the room.
She paused again, and then, with a timid hand, lifted the veil; but
instantly let it fall--perceiving that what it had concealed was no
picture, and, before she could leave the chamber, she dropped senseless
on the floor.

When she recovered her recollection, the remembrance of what she had
seen had nearly deprived her of it a second time. She had scarcely
strength to remove from the room, and regain her own; and, when arrived
there, wanted courage to remain alone. Horror occupied her mind, and
excluded, for a time, all sense of past, and dread of future misfortune:
she seated herself near the casement, because from thence she heard
voices, though distant, on the terrace, and might see people pass, and
these, trifling as they were, were reviving circumstances. When her
spirits had recovered their tone, she considered, whether she should
mention what she had seen to Madame Montoni, and various and important
motives urged her to do so, among which the least was the hope of the
relief, which an overburdened mind finds in speaking of the subject of
its interest. But she was aware of the terrible consequences, which such
a communication might lead to; and, dreading the indiscretion of her
aunt, at length, endeavoured to arm herself with reso