tection of strangers. Emily, in
_The Mysteries of Udolpho_, possesses the same protective armour
as Adeline. When she is abused by Montoni, "Her heart swelled
with the consciousness of having deserved praise instead of
censure, and was proudly silent"; or again, in _The Italian_,

"Ellena was the more satisfied with herself because she
had never for an instant forgotten her dignity so far
as to degenerate into the vehemence of passion or to
falter with the weakness of fear."

Her father, M. St. Aubert, on his deathbed, bids Emily beware of
"priding herself on the gracefulness of sensibility."

Fortunately the heroine is merely a figurehead in _The Mysteries
of Udolpho_ (1794). The change of title is significant. The two
previous works have been romances, but it is now Mrs. Radcliffe's
intention to let herself go further in the direction of wonder
and suspense than she had hitherto ventured. She is like Scythrop
in _Nightmare Abbey_, of whom it was said:

"He had a strong tendency to love of mystery for its
own sake; that is to say, he would employ mystery to
serve a purpose, but would first choose his purpose by
its capability of mystery."

Yet Mrs. Radcliffe, at the opening of her story, is sparing in
her use of supernatural elements. We live by faith, and are drawn
forward by the hope of future mystifications. In the first volume
we saunter through idyllic scenes of domestic happiness in the
Chateau le Vert and wander with Emily and her dying father
through the Apennines, with only faint suggestions of excitement
to come. The second volume plunges us _in medias res_. The aunt,
to whose care Emily is entrusted, has imprudently married a
tempestuous tyrant, Montoni, who, to further his own ends,
hurries his wife and niece from the gaiety of Venice to the gloom
of Udolpho. After a journey fraught with terror, amid rugged,
lowering mountains and through dusky woods, we reach the castle
of Udolpho at nightfall. The sombre exterior and the shadow
haunted hall are so ominous that we are prepared for the worst
when we enter its portals. The anticipation is half pleasurable,
half fearful, as we shudder at the thought of what may befall us
within its walls. At every turn something uncanny shakes our
overwrought nerves; the sighing of the wind, the echo of distant
footsteps, lurking shadows, gliding forms, inexplicable groans,
mysterious music torture the sensitive imagination of E