chamber, while they passed the casement. When she returned to
it, all was again quiet. It was now very late, she was wearied with
watching, and began to doubt the reality of what she had seen on the
preceding night; but she still lingered at the window, for her mind was
too 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 a
solitary centinel, pacing at one end of it; and, at length, tired with
expectation, she withdrew to seek rest.

Such, however, was the impression, left on her mind by the music, and
the complaining she had formerly heard, as well as by the figure, which
she fancied she had seen, that she determined to repeat the watch, on
the following night.

Montoni, on the next day, took no notice of Emily's appointed visit, but
she, more anxious than before to see him, sent Annette to enquire, at
what hour he would admit her. He mentioned eleven o'clock, and Emily
was punctual to the moment; at which she called up all her fortitude
to support the shock of his presence and the dreadful recollections it
enforced. He was with several of his officers, in the cedar room;
on observing whom she paused; and her agitation increased, while he
continued to converse with them, apparently not observing her, till some
of his officers, turning round, saw Emily, and uttered an exclamation.
She was hastily retiring, when Montoni's voice arrested her, and, in a
faultering 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 may
hear.'

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 small
room, of which he shut the door with violence. As she looked on his dark
countenance, she again thought she saw the murderer of her aunt; and
her mind was so convulsed with horror, that she had not power to recall
thought enough to explain the purport of her visit; and to trust herself
with the mention of Madame Montoni was more than she dared.

Montoni at length impatiently enquired what she had to say? 'I have no
time for trifling,' he added, 'my moments are important.'

Emily then told him, that she wished to return to France, and came to
beg, that he would permit her to do so.--But when he looked surprised,
and enquired for the motive of the request, she hesitated, became