should not be informed of this event till the morning, for she considered that he might, perhaps, utter some inhuman expressions, such as in the present temper of her spirits she could not bear. With Annette alone, therefore, whom she encouraged by her own example, she performed some of the last solemn offices for the dead, and compelled herself to watch during the night by the body of her deceased aunt. During this solemn period, rendered more awful by the tremendous storm that shook the air, she frequently addressed herself to Heaven for support and protection, and her pious prayers, we may believe, were accepted of the God that giveth comfort.

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CHAPTER Xxx.

The midnight clock has tolled; and hark, the bell
Of death beats slow! heard ye the note profound?
It pauses now; and now with rising knell

Flings to the hollow gale its sullen sound.-MASON.

WHEN Montoni was informed of the death of his wife, and considered that she had died without giving him the signature so necessary to the accomplishment of his wishes, no sense of decency restrained the expression of his resentment. Emily anxiously avoided his presence, and watched, during two days and two nights, with little intermission, by the corpse of her late aunt. Her mind deeply impressed with the unhappy fate of this object, she forgot all her faults, her unjust and imperious conduct to herself; and remembering only her sufferings, thought of her only with tender compassion. Sometimes, however,she could not avoid musing upon the strange infatuation that had proved so fatal to her aunt, and had involved herself in a labyrinth of misfortune, from which she saw no means of escaping, -the marraige with Montoni. But, when she considered this circumstance, it was more in sorrow than in anger,more for the purpose of indulging lamentation than reproach.

In her pious cares she was not disturbed by Montoni, who not only avoided the chamber where the remains of his wife were laid, but that part of the castle adjoining to it, as if he apprehended a contagion in death. He seemed to have given no orders respecting the funeral, and Emily began to fear he meant to offer a new insult to the memory of Madame Montoni; but from this apprehension she was relieved, when, on the evening of the second day, Annette informed her that the interment was to take place that night. She knew that Montoni would not attend; and it was sovery grievous to her to think that the remains of her unfortunate aunt would pass to the grave without one relative or friend to pay them the last decent rites, that she determined to be deterred by no consideration for herself, from

observing this duty. She would otherwise have shrunk from the circumstance of following them to the cold vault, to which they were to be carried by men, whose air and countenances seemed to stamp them for murderers, at the midnight hour of silence and privacy, which Montoni had chosen for committing, if possible, to oblivion the reliques of a woman, whom his harsh conduct had, at least, contributed to destroy.

Emily, shuddering with emotions of horror and grief, as sisted by Annette, prepared the corpse for interment; and, having wrapt it in cerements, and covered it with a winding sheet, they watched beside it, till past midnight, when they heard the approaching footsteps of the men who were to lay it in its earthly bed. It was with difficulty that Emlly overcame her emotion, when, the door of the chamber being thrown open, their gloomy countenances were seen by the glare of the torch they carried, and two of them, without speaking, lifted the body on their shoulders, while the third preceding them with the light, descended through the castle towards the grave which was in the lower vault of the chapel within the castle walls.

They had to cross two courts towards the east wing of the castle, which, adjoining the chapel, was, like it, in ruins: but the silence and gloom of these courts had now little power over Emily's mind, occupied as it was with more mournful ideas; and she scarcely heard the low and dismal hooting of the night bird, that roosted among the ivied battlements of the ruin, or perceived the still flittings of the bat, which frequently crossed her way. But, when, having entered the chapel, and passed between the mouldering pillars of the aisles, the bearers stopped at a flight of steps, that led down to a low arched door, and, their comrade having descended to unlock it, she saw imperfectly the gloomy abyss beyond-saw the corpse of her aunt carried down these steps, and the ruffianlike figure, that stood with a torch at the bottom to receive it-all her fortitude was lost in emotions of inexpressible grief and terror. She turned to lean upon Annette, who was cold and trembling like herself, and she lingered so long on the summit of the flight, that the gleam of the torch began to die away on the pillars of the chapel, and the men were almost beyond her view. Then, the gloom around her awakening other fears, and a sense of what she considered to be her duty overcoming her reluctance, she descended to the vaults, following the echo of footsteps and the faint ray that pierced the darkness, till the harsh grating of a distant door, that was opened to receive the corpse, again appalled her.

After a pause of a moment, she went on, and, as she entered the vaults, saw between the arches, at some distance, the men lay down the body near the edge of an open grave, where stood another of Montoni's men and a priest,

whom she did not observe, till he began the burial service: then lifting her eyes from the ground, she saw the venera ble figure of the friar; and heard him in a low voice, equally solemn and affecting, perform the service for the dead. At the moment, in which they let down the body into the earth,the scene was such as only the dark pencil of a Domenichino, perhaps, could have done justice to. The fierce features and wild dress of the condottieri, bending with their torches over the grave, into which the corpse was descending, were contrasted by the venerable figure of the monk wrapt in long black garments, his cowl thrown back from his pale face, on which the light gleaming strongly showed the lines of affliction softened by piety, and the few gray locks, which time had spared on his temples: while, beside him, stood the softer form of Emily, who leaned for support upon Annette; her face half averted, and shaded by a thin veil, that fell over her figure; and her mild and beautiful countenance fixed in grief so solemn as admitted not of tears, while she thus saw committed untime. ly to the earth her last relative and friend. The gleams, thrown between the arches of the vaults, where, here and there, the broken ground marked the spots in which other bodies had been recently interred, and the general obscurity beyond, were circumstances that alone would have led on the imagination of a spectator to scenes more horrible than even that, which was pictured at the grave of the misguided and unfortunate Madame Montoni.

When the service was over, the friar regarded Emily with attention and surprise, and looked as if he wished to speak to her, but was restrained by the presence of the condottieri, who, as they now led the way to the courts, amused themselves with jokes upon his holy order, which he endured in silence, demanding only to be conducted safely to his convent, and to which Emily listened with concern and even horror. When they reached the court, the monk gave her his blessing, and, after a lingering look of pity, turned away to the portal, whither one of the men carried a torch; while Annette, lighting another, preceded Emily to her apartment. The appearance of the friar and the expression of tender compassion with which he had regarded her, interested Emily, who, though it was at her earnest supplication that Montoni had consented to allow a priest to perform the last rites for his deceased wife, knew nothing concerning this person till Annette now informed her that he belonged to a monastery_situated among the moun tains at a few miles distance. The superior, who regarded Montoni and his associates not only with aversion but with terror, had probably feared to offend him by refusing his request, and had, therefore, ordered a monk to officiate at the funeral, who, with the meek spirit of a Christian, had evercome his reluctance to enter the walls of such a castle, by

the wish of performing what he considered to be his duty, and, as the chapel was built on consecrated ground, bad not objected to commit to it the remains of the late unhappy Madame Montoni.

Several days passed with Emily in total seclusion, and in a state of mind partaking both of terror for herself and grief for the departed. She, at length, determined to make other efforts to persuade Montoni to permit her to return to France. Why he should wish to detain her, she could scarcely dare to conjecture; but it was too certain that he did so, and the absolute refusal he had formerly given to her departure allowed her little hope that he would not consent to it.-But the horror which his presence inspired made her defer, from day to day, the mention of this subject; and at last she was awakened from her inactivity only by a message from him, desiring her attendance at a certain hour. She began to hope that he meant to resign, now that her aunt was no more, the authority that he had usurped over her; till she recollected that the estates, which had occasioned so much contention, were now hers, and she then feared Montoni was about to employ some stratagem for obtaining them, and that he would detain her his prisoner till he succeeded. This thought, instead of overcoming her with dispondency, roused all the latent powers of her fortitude into action; and the property which she would willingly have resigned to secure the peace of her aunt, she resolved that no common sufferings of her own should ever compel her to give to Montoni. For Valancourt's sake, also, she determined to preserve these estates, since they would afford that competency by which she hoped to secure the comfort of their future lives. As she thought of this, she indulged the tenderness as often and anticipated the delight of that moment when, with affectionate generosity, she might tell him they were his own.-She saw the smile that lighted up his features-the affectionate regard which spoke at once his joy and thanks; and at this instant she believed she could brave any sufferings which the evil spirit of Montoni might be preparing for her. Remembering, then, for the first time since her aunt's death, the papers relative to the estates in question, she determined to search for them, as soon as her interview with Montoni was over.

With these resolutions she met him at the appointed time, and waited to hear his intention before she renewed her request. With him were Orsino and another officer, and both were standing near a table covered with papers, which he appeared to be examining.

I sent for you, Emily, said Montoni, raising his head, that you might be a witness in some business which I am transacting wtih my friend Orsino. All that is required of you will be to sign your name to this paper: he then took up

one, hurried unintelligibly over some lines, and laying it be fore her on the table, offered her a pen. She took it and was going to write-when the design of Montoni came upon her mind like a flash of lightning; she trembled, let the pen fall, and refused to sign what she had not read. Montoni affected to laugh at her scruples, and, taking up the paper again, pretended to read; but Emily, who still trembled on perceiving her danger, and was astonished that her own credulity had so nearly betrayed her, positively refused to sign any paper whatever. Montoni, for some time, persevered in affecting to ridicule this refusal; but when he per⚫ceived by her steady perseverance that she understood his design, he changed his manner, and bade her follow him to another room. Their he told her, that he had been willing to spare himself and her the trouble of useless contest, in an affair where his will was justice, and where she should find it a law; and had therefore endeavoured to persuade, rather than to compel her to the practice of her duty.

I, as the husband of the late Signora Montoni, she added, am the heir of all she possessed: the estates, therefore, which she refused to me in her lifetime, can no longer be withheld, and, for your own sake, I would undeceive you respecting a foolish assertion she once made to you in my bearing-that these estates would be yours, if she died without resigning them to me. She knew at that moment she had no power to withhold them from me after her decease; and I think you have more sense than to provoke my resentment by advancing an unjust claim. I am not in the habit of flattering, and you will therefore receive as sincere the praise I bestow when I say that you possess an understanding superior to that of your sex, and that you have none of those contemptible foibles that frequently mark the female character-such as avarice and the love of power, which latter makes women delight to contradict and to tease, when they cannot conquer.-If I understand your disposition, and your mind, you hold in sovereign contempt these common failings of your sex.

Montoni paused; and Emily remained silent and expecting; for she knew him too well to believe he would condescend to such flattery,unless he thought it would promote his own interest; and though he had forborne to name vanity among the foibles of women, it was evident that he considered it to be a predominent one, since he designed to sacrifice to hers the character and understanding of her whole sex. Judging as I do, resumed Montoni, I cannot believe you will oppose where you know you cannot conquer, or, indeed, that you would wish to conquer, or be avaricious of any property when you have no justice on your side. I think it proper, however, to acquaint you with the alternative. If you have a just opinion of the subject in question, you shall be allowed a safe conveyance to France, within a short pe riod; but if you are so unhappy as to be misled by the late