evailed so far, as that Verezzi consented to retire, without seeing
Montoni.

On calling at her aunt's apartment, she found it fastened. In a few
minutes, however, it was opened by Madame Montoni herself.

It may be remembered, that it was by a door leading into the bedroom
from a back passage, that Emily had secretly entered a few hours
preceding. She now conjectured, by the calmness of Madame Montoni's
air, that she was not apprised of the accident, which had befallen her
husband, and was beginning to inform her of it, in the tenderest manner
she could, when her aunt interrupted her, by saying, she was acquainted
with the whole affair.

Emily knew indeed, that she had little reason to love Montoni, but could
scarcely have believed her capable of such perfect apathy, as she now
discovered towards him; having obtained permission, however, for Annette
to sleep in her chamber, she went thither immediately.

A track of blood appeared along the corridor, leading to it; and on
the spot, where the Count and Montoni had fought, the whole floor was
stained. Emily shuddered, and leaned on Annette, as she passed. When she
reached her apartment, she instantly determined, since the door of the
stair-case had been left open, and that Annette was now with her, to
explore whither it led,--a circumstance now materially connected with
her own safety. Annette accordingly, half curious and half afraid,
proposed to descend the stairs; but, on approaching the door, they
perceived, that it was already fastened without, and their care was then
directed to the securing it on the inside also, by placing against it as
much of the heavy furniture of the room, as they could lift. Emily then
retired to bed, and Annette continued on a chair by the hearth, where
some feeble embers remained.

CHAPTER VII

Of aery tongues, that syllable men's names
On sands and shores and desert wildernesses.
MILTON

It is now necessary to mention some circumstances, which could not be
related amidst the events of Emily's hasty departure from Venice, or
together with those, which so rapidly succeeded to her arrival in the
castle.

On the morning of her journey, Count Morano had gone at the appointed
hour to the mansion of Montoni, to demand his bride. When he reached
it, he was somewhat surprised by the silence and solitary air of the
portico, where Montoni's lacqueys usually loitered; but surprise
was soon changed to astonishment, and astonish