vinced her, that Montoni's situation was
not what it formerly appeared to be, the intelligence she had just
received from her aunt on this point, struck her with all the force of
astonishment, which was not weakened, when she considered the present
style of Montoni's living, the number of servants he maintained, and the
new expences he was incurring, by repairing and fortifying his castle.
Her anxiety for her aunt and for herself increased with reflection.
Several assertions of Morano, which, on the preceding night, she
had believed were prompted either by interest, or by resentment, now
returned to her mind with the strength of truth. She could not doubt,
that Montoni had formerly agreed to give her to the Count, for a
pecuniary reward;--his character, and his distressed circumstances
justified the belief; these, also, seemed to confirm Morano's assertion,
that he now designed to dispose of her, more advantageously for himself,
to a richer suitor.

Amidst the reproaches, which Morano had thrown out against Montoni,
he had said--he would not quit the castle HE DARED TO CALL HIS, nor
willingly leave ANOTHER murder on his conscience--hints, which might
have no other origin than the passion of the moment: but Emily was now
inclined to account for them more seriously, and she shuddered to think,
that she was in the hands of a man, to whom it was even possible they
could apply. At length, considering, that reflection could neither
release her from her melancholy situation, or enable her to bear it with
greater fortitude, she tried to divert her anxiety, and took down from
her little library a volume of her favourite Ariosto; but his wild
imagery and rich invention could not long enchant her attention; his
spells did not reach her heart, and over her sleeping fancy they played,
without awakening it.

She now put aside the book, and took her lute, for it was seldom that
her sufferings refused to yield to the magic of sweet sounds; when they
did so, she was oppressed by sorrow, that came from excess of tenderness
and regret; and there were times, when music had increased such sorrow
to a degree, that was scarcely endurable; when, if it had not suddenly
ceased, she might have lost her reason. Such was the time, when she
mourned for her father, and heard the midnight strains, that floated by
her window near the convent in Languedoc, on the night that followed his
death.

She continued to play, till Annette brought dinner into