The Mysteries of Udolpho

The chapter opens with a poetic preface describing a wandering minstrel who finds delight in both gentle and dreadful scenes, in darkness and storms, and even in vicissitude—a soul moved to sighs and tears of pity. The actual narrative continues this motif through Valancourt, a young stranger St. Aubert and Emily encounter during their travels.

St. Aubert wakes refreshed from sleep and invites the stranger to breakfast. Learning that Valancourt once traveled as far as Beaujeu, a significant town on the route to Rousillon, St. Aubert decides to take that path. Valancourt offers to guide them for the first league and a half, as he had planned to wander anyway and prefers their company to traveling alone. The young man declines a seat in the carriage and proceeds on foot.

The travelers journey through a pastoral valley bright with verdure, groves of dwarf oak, beech, and sycamore, where cattle repose beneath. The mountain-ash and weeping birch shade the steep slopes. Shepherds drive immense flocks to the hills as the sun rises, and St. Aubert inhales the pure morning air, refreshing for the invalid. The dawn transforms the landscape from grey mist to golden light touching the mountain cliffs, while the valley below remains shrouded in dew. St. Aubert is emotionally moved, weeping as his thoughts turn to the Great Creator. Emily wishes to wander freely across the dewy turf. Valancourt converses sociably with other travelers, pointing out objects of admiration, and St. Aubert notes his ingenuousness: "This young man has never been at Paris."

At the parting of the roads, St. Aubert takes an affectionate farewell of Valancourt, who lingers and searches for conversation topics to delay his departure. He gazes earnestly at Emily as the carriage departs, and St. Aubert observes him standing on the roadside bank, watching the carriage with folded arms before waving a final salute.

After their parting, the aspect of the country transforms dramatically. The travelers enter regions of gloomy pine forests covering mountains nearly to their summits, interrupted only by granite cliffs and expanding rivers. The landscape becomes wild and unfrequented, with only distant shepherds and their dogs visible. The only human habitations are remote goat-herd or hunter cabins perched among cliffs. St. Aubert frequently alights to examine curious plants while Emily wanders in high enthusiasm beneath the forest shades.

The travelers continue over rough, unfrequented roads through dark pine forests. St. Aubert examines botanical specimens while Emily listens to the lonely murmur of the woods. They take dinner in the open air under spreading cedars before continuing toward Beaujeu. The road descends, leaving the pine forests behind, and evening twilight falls as the travelers proceed through rocky precipices toward their destination.

As darkness falls, a distant fire illuminates the rocks and horizon. St. Aubert suspects banditti common to the Pyrenees and grows watchful. He carries arms for protection against potential robbery. Suddenly, a voice commands the muleteer to stop from the road behind. St. Aubert orders Michael to proceed faster, but the mules refuse to quicken their pace. Horses' feet approach, and a man rides up demanding they stop.

When St. Aubert prepares a pistol for defense, a gunshot rings out—the man staggers on his horse. St. Aubert then recognizes Valancourt's voice calling out. He finds Valancourt bleeding profusely from an arm wound. The muleteer has pursued a runaway horse, leaving Emily alone in the carriage. Upon returning, St. Aubert discovers Emily has fainted from anxiety. Valancourt, despite his own condition, hastens to her relief. St. Aubert forms bandages from handkerchiefs to stop the bleeding. Learning Beaujeu lies two leagues distant, St. Aubert grows anxious about Valancourt's ability to travel. Valancourt insists his wound is slight, and they proceed slowly toward Beaujeu with Valancourt seated in the carriage.

Valancourt explains his unexpected reappearance: St. Aubert renewed his taste for society, and upon their departure, the hamlet seemed a solitude. He chose this romantic mountain route partly hoping to overtake them. Emily remains silent except when Valancourt addresses her directly, when tremulousness in his voice reveals his feelings. St. Aubert laments the rashness that caused the accident, while Valancourt struggles against pain to maintain a cheerful conversation and spare his companions unpleasant feelings.

As they approach the fire visible throughout the night, they discover a gipsy camp in the valley—one of numerous bands haunting the Pyrenees who partially subsist by plundering travelers. Emily views these savage figures with terror as the fire casts red, dusky gleams upon rocks and foliage, creating romantic effects. The rovers are busy preparing supper around a large pot and a rude tent where children and dogs play. Valancourt silently places his hand on one of St. Aubert's pistols while St. Aubert draws another, and they pass without being attacked, the gipsies apparently unprepared and occupied with their meal.

After another league and a half in darkness, the travelers arrive at Beaujeu and drive to its only inn, which though superior to mountain accommodations, remains poor. Valancourt is helped inside and laid down, while St. Aubert sends immediately for the town surgeon—a practitioner who treats horses as readily as humans and shaves faces as deftly as he sets bones. After examining Valancourt's arm, the surgeon determines the bullet passed through the flesh without touching bone, dresses the wound, and prescribes quiet.

The surgeon dresses Valancourt's wound and departs with solemn instructions for rest, which Valancourt feels disinclined to follow. Relief from pain brings spirits reanimated, and he wishes to join the conversation of St. Aubert and Emily, now released from apprehensions. Late as the hour is, St. Aubert must go out with the landlord to purchase provisions for supper, leaving Emily and Valancourt alone. They converse on natural history, scenery, poetry, and particularly St. Aubert—Emily's favorite subject.

The evening passes agreeably until St. Aubert, fatigued from the journey, and Valancourt, again sensible of pain, separate after supper. The conversation covers local character, natural history, and poetry, with Emily speaking and listening with peculiar pleasure on the subject of St. Aubert. Valancourt and Emily find themselves alone during St. Aubert's absence.

In the morning, Valancourt has passed a restless night and is feverish, his wound painful. The surgeon advises remaining quietly at Beaujeu, advice too reasonable to reject. Though St. Aubert distrusts this practitioner, enquiry reveals no nearer town offering better medical skill. St. Aubert alters his journey to await Valancourt's recovery, despite Valancourt's polite but insincere objections to this delay.

During Valancourt's enforced rest, St. Aubert and Emily explore the beautiful environs of Beaujeu, situated at the feet of the Pyrenean Alps. The mountains rise in abrupt precipices or swell with forests of cedar, fir, and cypress stretching nearly to their summits. The cheerful green of beech and mountain-ash appears like gleams of light amid dark forest verdure, while torrents pour through the woods.

Valancourt's confinement allows St. Aubert to observe his disposition and talents. He perceives a frank, generous nature full of ardor, highly susceptible to grandeur and beauty, yet impetuous, wild, and somewhat romantic. Valancourt has known little of the world but possesses clear perceptions and just feelings, expressing indignation or admiration with equal vehemence. St. Aubert sometimes smiles at his warmth but seldom checks it, often reflecting, "This young man has never been at Paris." St. Aubert discovers Valancourt comes from a respectable Gascony family of the same name, and invites him to continue the journey in the carriage once he can travel, though not yet manage his horse.

The travelers ascend higher into the mountains where glaciers exhibit frozen horrors and eternal snow whitens summits. They pause to contemplate these stupendous scenes from wild cliffs where only ilex and larch flourish, looking over dark fir forests and precipices where human foot has never wandered, down to glens so deep that torrent thunder is scarcely heard. Fantastic granite formations rise—some shooting into cones, others impending over their base with trembling snow threatening destruction. The travelers experience sublime emotions, with tears often coming to St. Aubert's eyes. The thin atmosphere makes distant objects appear near, surprising Emily. Deep silence is broken only by vultures and eagles, while billows of vapor roll below, partly revealing and concealing the landscape.

After traversing high Alpine regions for many leagues, the travelers begin descending toward Rousillon, and features of beauty mingle with the scene. They regard the sublime objects they have quitted with some regret, yet their eyes, fatigued with the extension of their powers, find rest on verdant woods and pastures along the river below, humble cottages shaded by cedars, mountaineer children, and flowery nooks among the hills.

As they descend, a grand Pyrenean pass into Spain appears on the right, gleaming with battlements and towers in the setting sun's splendor. Yellow-topped woods color the steeps below while snowy mountain points above reflect rosy hues.

St. Aubert looks out for the little town the Beaujeu residents directed him toward for the night, but no habitation yet appears. Valancourt cannot assist with judging distance, having never traveled this far along the Alpine chain before. They follow the single road that has guided them since leaving Beaujeu, confident in their direction as no alternative paths have offered choices to perplex or mislead them.

At sunset, St. Aubert orders the muleteer to hurry, feeling the fatigue of illness after a long day. While winding down the valley, he spots a large convoy of men, horses, and loaded mules moving down the opposite mountain, their bright arms glinting in the fading light. The appearance of military dress in the vanguard convinces him the group is a band of smugglers that has been intercepted by troops, easing his earlier anxiety.

As the travelers continue along the valley, they come upon a rude Alpine bridge spanning two lofty crags. A group of mountaineer children is amusing itself by dropping pebbles into the torrent below, watching the white spray rise and listening to the sullen echo of the water. St. Aubert attempts to call out for directions to Montigny, but the roar of the torrent and the height of the crags prevent him from being heard, so the party pushes on.

After twilight, the group hears the faint sound of a vesper‑bell drifting from a nearby convent. Valancourt suggests they seek shelter there, promising to ask for a night’s lodging or at least directions to Montigny. St. Aubert, exhausted and unwell, agrees, preferring the prospect of rest to a further night on the road.

Guided by the bell, the travelers ascend a steep, moonlit path into dense woods. The moonlight filters through the leaves, casting a trembling glow over the narrow track. The silence of the night, broken only by the occasional toll of the bell, creates an eerie atmosphere that strikes Emily with a mix of awe and fear, which Valancourt’s conversation partially alleviates.

On a small grassy summit where the trees open to reveal a silver‑lit valley, the party pauses to rest. Valancourt speaks of the power of such scenes to soften the heart, evoke pure melancholy, and awaken feelings of benevolence and love. St. Aubert reflects on the memory of those we love and the tender melancholy that such nights inspire, while Emily silently thinks of her deceased mother. The conversation deepens their sense of shared sorrow and fleeting comfort.

Emerging from the woods, the travelers spot the convent perched on a turfy hillock, surrounded by a high wall. They knock on an ancient gate and are met by a humble monk who leads them to a small room to wait. The superior, seated with a large black‑letter folio, receives them courteously, asks a few questions, and grants them lodging for the night.

After a brief, formal interview, the party is shown to a modest dining area where a simple supper is laid. St. Aubert, weakened by illness, receives gentle care from Emily and attentive assistance from Valancourt, who watches Emily with tender concern. The meal, though modest, provides a brief respite, and the travelers separate early to their respective rooms.

Later that night, Emily is awakened by the chiming of a bell and the sound of footsteps in the corridor, realizing it is the monks’ call to prayers. Unable to return to sleep, she opens her casement to the moonlit landscape, listens to the faint midnight hymn rising from a chapel below, and contemplates the grandeur of creation, the vastness of the heavens, and the goodness of the Deity. Moved by a pure, uplifting devotion, she watches the moon set over the valley before finally drifting back to a tranquil sleep.

The chapter begins with an epigraph from Thomson's "The Seasons," asserting that Fortune cannot deprive the soul of nature's grace, the beauty of dawn, or the pleasures of wandering through woods and lawns at evening. The poem celebrates the immutable treasures of the natural world and the gifts of fancy, reason, and virtue that no adversity can destroy. This invocation of nature's enduring consolations prefigures the themes that will unfold as St. Aubert faces ruin—yet finds solace in the sublime landscapes that remain accessible to all, regardless of worldly fortune.

The morning after their meeting, Valancourt breakfasts with St. Aubert and Emily at the little inn. St. Aubert appears languid from illness, and Emily watches her father with anxious affection, noting that his disorder seems to be increasing. The breakfast is nearly as silent as the preceding supper, the three companions lost in pensive reflection. St. Aubert reveals that he already knows Valancourt's family, as their estates lie within twenty miles of La Vallée and he has met Valancourt's elder brother during visits in the neighbourhood. This prior knowledge had inclined St. Aubert to accept Valancourt as a travelling companion, for while he trusts his own judgment of character, he would not have trusted countenance and manners alone as sufficient introduction for his daughter.

St. Aubert explains that Valancourt made known his name and family when they first met. The family estates are now held by Valancourt's elder brother, and these lands lie little more than twenty miles from La Vallée. St. Aubert has sometimes encountered the elder Valancourt during visits in the surrounding neighbourhood, making him familiar with the family's standing and reputation. This knowledge gave St. Aubert greater confidence in receiving the young man as a travelling companion, since appearances alone would not have sufficed as an introduction for someone accompanying his daughter through the countryside.

The carriage arrives to convey St. Aubert and Emily onward, and the moment of parting arrives. St. Aubert invites Valancourt to visit La Vallée whenever he passes through the region, and Valancourt eagerly accepts, glancing timidly at Emily as he does so. She attempts to smile away her serious mood. They share a few minutes of interesting conversation before St. Aubert leads the way to the carriage, his companions following in silence. Valancourt lingers at the door for several minutes after they are seated, and none of them can summon the courage to speak the word farewell. At length St. Aubert pronounces the melancholy word, which Emily passes to Valancourt, who returns it with a dejected smile. The carriage drives away, and Valancourt is seen at the inn door following them with his eyes until the winding road steals him from sight.

Once the carriage has departed, St. Aubert reflects on Valancourt as a promising young man, remarking that he has not been so pleased with any person on so brief an acquaintance for many years. Valancourt brings to St. Aubert's memory the days of his own youth, when every scene was new and delightful. St. Aubert sighs and recalls that when he was Valancourt's age, he thought and felt exactly as the young man does, and the world was opening before him then—now it is closing. Emily pleads with her father not to think so gloomily, expressing hope that he has many years left to live, for his own sake and for hers. St. Aubert speaks of the pleasure an old man takes in observing the ardour and ingenuousness of youth, comparing it to the reviving effect of spring upon a sick person. He declares that Valancourt is this spring to him, and Emily listens with unprecedented pleasure to her father's praises of another, finding joy in witnessing the warmth his character inspires.

The travellers proceed through delightful landscapes of vineyards, woods, and pastures, with the grandeur of the Pyrenees on one side and the ocean on the other. By noon they reach Colioure, a town on the Mediterranean where they dine and rest until the cool of the afternoon. They then continue along the enchanting shores extending toward Languedoc. Emily gazes with enthusiasm upon the vast sea, watching how its surface transforms with the play of light and shadow, and admiring the woody banks mellowed with autumnal tints. St. Aubert is eager to reach Perpignan, where he expects letters from M. Quesnel—letters that have induced him to leave Colioure despite his need for rest. After travelling a few miles, St. Aubert falls asleep, and Emily finds opportunity to examine the books she brought from La Vallée.

Emily searches for the book Valancourt had been reading the previous day, hoping to retrace passages his eyes had touched and to dwell on the lines he had admired, letting them speak in the language of his mind and conjure his presence. She cannot find the book, but discovers instead a volume of Petrarch's poems that had belonged to Valancourt, bearing his name. He had frequently read passages from this collection to her, with all the pathetic expression that characterizes Petrarch's feelings. Emily hesitates to believe what is apparent—that Valancourt purposely left this book in place of the one she lost, and that love prompted the exchange. Opening it with impatient pleasure, she observes the lines of his pencil drawn along passages he read aloud, and beneath others more descriptive of delicate tenderness than he had ventured to trust to his voice. Conviction dawns that she is beloved, and she weeps over the memorial of his affection, recalling the variations of tone and countenance with which he had recited these sonnets.

At Perpignan after sunset, St. Aubert finds letters from M. Quesnel that grievously affect him. Emily, alarmed by his evident distress, gently presses him to reveal its cause, but he answers only with tears and immediately turns to other topics. That night, Emily passes in sleepless solicitude. In the morning, she renews the subject and appears so deeply affected by her father's silence and dejection that he relents. He reveals that M. Motteville of Paris, in whom he had invested the chief of his personal property, has been ruined by various circumstances, and St. Aubert is ruined with him. The letters from M. Quesnel enclosed others from Motteville confirming his worst fears. St. Aubert explains he had been unwilling to cloud her enjoyment of the scenic journey, but her anxiety has defeated his purpose. He is uncertain whether they must quit La Vallée, as this depends on the compromise Motteville can make with his creditors. His income was never large and will now be reduced to little indeed—it is for Emily's sake that he is most afflicted.

Emily asks if they must quit La Vallée, and St. Aubert answers that this remains uncertain, dependent upon Motteville's negotiations. He acknowledges that his income will be reduced to little, and his grief is greatest for Emily's sake. She responds with tender composure, declaring that if La Vallée remains theirs, they shall be happy. They will keep only one servant, and the change in income will scarcely be perceptible to him. She argues that they will not miss luxuries they never valued, and poverty cannot deprive them of many consolations—neither their mutual affection, nor their self-respect, nor the regard of those whose opinions matter. She reminds him that poverty cannot steal intellectual delights or the comfort of affording her examples of fortitude and benevolence, nor her delight in consoling a beloved parent. She emphasizes that the scenes of nature, those sublime spectacles infinitely superior to artificial luxuries, remain open to the poor as to the rich. They retain nature's sublime luxuries and lose only art's frivolous ones. St. Aubert is moved to tears, draws Emily to his breast, and their tears flow together—not tears of sorrow. Afterward, he converses as before, assuming at least the appearance of natural tranquillity.

They reach the romantic town of Leucate early in the day, but St. Aubert is weary and they decide to pass the night there. In the evening, he exerts himself to walk with Emily to view the surrounding countryside, which overlooks the lake of Leucate, the Mediterranean, part of Rousillon, the Pyrenees, and a wide extent of Languedoc now blushing with the ripened vintage. They watch the busy peasants gathering grapes, catch the joyous songs carried on the breeze, and anticipate with apparent pleasure their next day's journey through this gay region. St. Aubert intends to continue along the sea-shore, partly from a wish to return home, but also from a desire to prolong the pleasure the journey gives his daughter and to test whether the sea air might benefit his own disorder.

The following day brings them through Languedoc, winding along the Mediterranean shores with the Pyrenees forming a magnificent backdrop, the ocean on their right and wide plains melting into the blue horizon on their left. St. Aubert appears pleased and converses often with Emily, yet his cheerfulness is sometimes forced, and melancholy occasionally steals across his countenance. Emily perceives these shadows and smiles to dispel them, though her heart aches as she watches misfortune prey upon her father's mind and enfeebled frame. Evening finds them in Upper Languedoc, where they seek a place to spend the night, but the village cannot accommodate them because of the vintage. They must proceed to the next post, and St. Aubert's languor from illness and fatigue grows acute. The rich plains and the gaieties of the French festival no longer awaken pleasure in St. Aubert, whose condition forms a mournful contrast to the hilarity surrounding him. He privately contemplates that his eyes will soon perhaps be closed forever on this world, on those distant mountains, luxuriant plains, blue vault, and cheerful daylight, on the peasant's song and the cheering voice of man. Emily reads the anguish in his expression and understands that he grieves to leave her unprotected. The sun throws its last yellow gleam on the Mediterranean waves as twilight spreads, and a cool breeze from the shore proves refreshing to health but chilling to sickness, requiring the window to be raised.

Increasing illness makes St. Aubert desperate to finish the day's journey. When told the next post is nine miles distant, he declares himself unable to proceed much further and sends Michael to enquire about any house that might accommodate them for the night. A passing peasant knows of none, but mentions a château among the woods that might receive no one, and cannot show the way as he is nearly a stranger to the area. On hearing that a steward and housekeeper reside there, St. Aubert determines to risk refusal and proceed. Another peasant reacts with surprise when they inquire about the château with a turret, warning them against going there. St. Aubert directs Michael toward an avenue to the right, guarded by a gate, where they enter between ancient oaks and chestnuts whose intermingled branches form a lofty dark arch above. The avenue's gloomy desolation and lonely silence fill Emily with apprehension as she recalls the peasant's strange manner of mentioning the place. Progress is slow in near darkness, with uneven ground and tree roots impeding them. Michael sees a figure moving in the avenue at a distance but cannot distinguish what it is. When Michael protests the wildness of the place, St. Aubert orders him to proceed a little farther. A second glimpse of the figure startles St. Aubert, who calls to Michael to stop. Michael protests that the person might be a robber, and St. Aubert, smiling at the phrasing, agrees to return to the road. As they turn about, a voice is heard from among the trees—a deep hollow tone that seems scarcely human.

The hollow voice from among the trees on the left is neither commanding nor distressed but deep and hollow, seeming scarcely human. Michael whips his mules into a frantic pace, regardless of the darkness, broken ground, and danger to all, and does not stop until they reach the gate where the avenue opens onto the high-road. St. Aubert, who had declared himself very ill, takes Emily's hand and admits he is worse. She is extremely alarmed by his manner, observing that he grows worse yet there is no assistance to be had. As the rattling of wheels ceases, music reaches their ears—music that represents to Emily the voice of Hope. She exclaims that they must be near human habitation and that help may soon be obtained.

Emily hears distant sounds in the night, carried on the air from somewhere in the woods bordering the road. The sounds seem to come from a remote part of the forest, creating an atmosphere of mystery and nocturnal intrigue as she strains to listen.

As Emily gazes toward where the sounds originate, she perceives the faint outline of a château in the moonlight. The distant structure appears difficult to reach, and the difficulty of accessing it becomes a concern given St. Aubert's worsening condition.

St. Aubert has grown too ill to tolerate the motion of the carriage. When Michael attempts to proceed slowly along the road, St. Aubert suddenly faints and lies senseless. Emily cries out in anguish, fearing he may be dying, and calls for water to sprinkle on his face, which seems to bear the imprint of death in the moonlight.

Emily puts aside her own fears and commits St. Aubert to Michael's care, then ventures from the carriage alone to seek assistance at the distant château. Her anxiety for her father outweighs her terror of venturing into the dark woods alone, though she knows not whither she goes or to whom she will appeal.

Emily follows the direction of the music into a shadowy lane leading to the woods. The overhanging foliage excludes the moonlight, and the wildness of the place recalls her to a sense of danger. Without a guide but chance, she hurries through the woods until a rude avenue opens upon a moonlit spot where she hears voices in loud merriment.

Emily discovers a group of peasants dancing on a small circular green turf surrounded by woods. The joyous vintage music strikes up as peasant girls emerge from a cottage. Though her heart is occupied with terror for her father, Emily approaches the seated elder peasants and urgently explains her situation, begging for their help.

Several peasants rise with alacrity, offering whatever service they can provide. They follow Emily as she hurries back toward the road and the carriage, moving as quickly as they can to assist her ailing father.

When Emily and the peasants reach the carriage, they find St. Aubert has recovered consciousness. A venerable peasant extends an invitation to his cottage, assuring them the château cannot accommodate them as it is scarcely inhabited. St. Aubert, himself French and accustomed to French courtesy, accepts the generous offer with frankness.

The carriage follows the peasants through the lane to the moonlit glade. St. Aubert, restored in spirits by the courtesy of his host, gazes with sweet complacency upon the tranquil scene. He listens to the guitar and tamborine music and watches the peasants' dance with tears that are not merely mournful. Emily, however, feels only melancholy, each note of joy heightening her distress.

Upon learning the château belongs to the Marquis de Villeroi, who reportedly died about five weeks prior, St. Aubert becomes visibly agitated and exclaims that this is extraordinary. When La Voisin mentions that the Marquis once favored the residence but later took a dislike to it and has not visited for years, St. Aubert groans and asks about the Marchioness, clearly moved by memories of the past.

As the travelers rest in La Voisin's cottage, soft and plaintive music drifts on the air from the woods. La Voisin explains that the guitar is often heard at night when all is still, but nobody knows who plays it. The music is sometimes accompanied by a sweet and sorrowful voice, and superstitious locals believe the woods are haunted or that the music comes to warn of death.

The mysterious music produces a tone more full and melodious than a guitar, softer and more melancholy than a lute. A voice accompanies the instrument in a sound that seems to steal upon the air like distilled perfumes, so beautiful that even Silence seemed taken by surprise. St. Aubert observes the unique quality of the sound before it fades away.

La Voisin recounts that he first heard this music about eighteen years ago on a summer night. He had been walking alone in the woods, distressed about his sick child, when he heard sounds unlike anything he could describe—something like the music of angels. His wife later heard it too, and Father Denis from the convent of St. Clair suggested it was a warning of death, though La Voisin's son survived.

St. Aubert asks if a convent is nearby, and La Voisin mentions the Convent of St. Clair on the sea shore. Upon hearing this, St. Aubert appears struck with sudden remembrance. Emily observes clouds of grief and faint horror gathering on his brow as he resembles a marble monument bending in hopeless sorrow over the ashes of the dead.

La Voisin hurries out to call his daughter Agnes, a young woman of pleasing countenance. Emily learns that for their guests' accommodation, part of La Voisin's family must vacate their beds, a circumstance Emily lamenting. However, Agnes's reply demonstrates she has inherited at least a share of her father's courteous hospitality, and it is arranged that some children and Michael will sleep in a neighboring cottage.

Emily recognizes that her father's sudden eagerness to return home reflects a greater degree of illness than he willingly admits, though she herself also wishes to go home. St. Aubert retires to rest while Emily remains awake in her chamber.

Emily's thoughts turn to the late conversation about departed spirits, a subject that deeply affects her given her father's declining condition. She leans upon her casement, gazing upon the star-filled heavens and contemplating the sublime nature of the Deity and the afterlife.

Emily observes the tranquil night—silent save for occasional distant sounds of sheep-bells and closing casements—until the planet La Voisin had pointed out sinks below the woods. She recalls his mention of the mysterious planet and the associated music, which leads her to contemplate her father's evident emotion when discussing the death of the Marquis La Villeroi and the fate of the Marchioness.

Emily feels particular curiosity about why her father reacts so strongly to the name Villeroi, a name she cannot recall him ever mentioning before. She lingers at the window, half-hopeful the music will return, but none comes.

Recognizing the lateness of the hour and remembering she must rise early for the journey, Emily withdraws from the window and goes to rest.

The monk, who had appeared before, returned in the evening to offer consolation to Emily, and brought a kind message from the lady abbess inviting her to the convent. Emily did not accept the offer but returned an answer expressive of her gratitude. The holy conversation of the friar, whose mild benevolence bore some resemblance to St. Aubert's, soothed the violence of her grief. She reflected that in the sight of God her father yet lives, truly as he existed before, and only appears dead to her. The monk left her more tranquil than she had been since St. Aubert died.

Before retiring for the night, Emily trusted herself to visit the corpse. Silent and without weeping, she stood by its side, contemplating the placid features. She felt horror at the stillness death had fixed upon that countenance, then gazed with doubt and awful astonishment. Her reason could scarcely overcome an involuntary expectation of seeing that beloved countenance still animated. She took up the cold hand, spoke, continued gazing wildly, and burst into a transport of grief. She asked La Voisin to leave her alone. Again alone, she indulged her tears until the gloom of evening obscured the chamber. When her spirits were exhausted, she became tranquil. Before going to the common apartment, she kissed St. Aubert's lips as she was wont to do when bidding him good night. She kissed them again; her heart felt as if it would break, a few tears of agony started to her eyes, and she left the room.

Retired to her cabin, her melancholy thoughts still hovered round her father's body, and when she sunk into slumber, the images of her waking mind haunted her fancy. She dreamed she saw her father approaching with a benign countenance, then smiling mournfully and pointing upwards, his lips moving, but instead of words, she heard sweet music borne on the distant air. The strain swelled louder, and she awoke. The music continued in strains such as angels might breathe. She remembered the music of the preceding night, with the strange circumstances related by La Voisin, and the affecting conversation it had led to concerning the state of departed spirits. All that St. Aubert had said now pressed upon her heart. Chilled with superstitious awe, she rose and went to the window, observing the planet setting over the woods, and the music coming at intervals. She unclosed the casement to listen, but the sounds grew fainter and softer into silence. She observed the planet tremble between the fringed tops of the woods, then sink behind them. Chilled with melancholy awe, she retired to her bed and forgot her sorrows for a while in sleep.

On the following morning, Emily was visited by a sister of the convent with a second invitation from the lady abbess. Though she could not forsake the cottage while her father's remains were in it, she consented to pay her respects to the abbess in the evening. About an hour before sunset, La Voisin showed her the way through the woods to the convent, which stood in a small bay of the Mediterranean crowned by a woody amphitheatre. Had she been less unhappy, Emily would have admired the extensive sea view and the rich shores hung with woods and pastures, but her thoughts were occupied by one sad idea. The bell for vespers struck as she passed the ancient gate, seeming the funereal note for St. Aubert. She struggled against the sickening faintness that came over her, and was led into the presence of the abbess, who received her with maternal tenderness.

The abbess led Emily to a seat, held her hand, and regarded her in silence. "Be composed, my daughter," said the abbess, "do not speak yet; I know all you would say. Your spirits must be soothed. We are going to prayers; will you attend our evening service? It is comfortable to look up in our afflictions to a Father who sees and pities us." Emily's tears flowed again, but sweet emotions mingled with them. The abbess suffered her to weep without interruption and watched over her with benignity. When Emily became tranquil, she was encouraged to speak without reserve and to mention her reluctance to quit the cottage, which the abbess did not oppose. She praised Emily's filial piety and hoped she would pass a few days at the convent before returning to La Vallée. They went to the chapel, where the solemn devotion elevated her mind and brought the comforts of faith and resignation. Twilight came before the abbess permitted Emily to depart, and she left with a heart much lighter than she had entered, reconducted by La Voisin through the woods.

La Voisin suddenly stopped, looked round, and struck out of the path into the high grass, saying he had mistaken the road. Emily asked if they should enquire at the château between the trees. He replied there was no occasion, mentioning a brook and a light upon the water. He said nobody liked to go near that château after dusk. Emily enquired by whom it was inhabited, and La Voisin explained it was scarcely inhabited, for the Marquis Villeroi was dead and had not been in it for many years. He called it a desolate place now, though it had been a grand, fine place. When Emily pressed for the cause of this change, La Voisin was silent. She asked why he dreaded passing near the château in the dark, and he admitted he might be a little superstitious. He said strange things had happened there and that Emily's good father appeared to have known the late Marchioness. When Emily asked what had happened, he entreated her to enquire no further, saying it was not for him to lay open the domestic secrets of his lord. Emily forbore to repeat her question, and they continued on in silence.

When the hour arrived for St. Aubert's remains to be taken away, Emily went alone to look upon his countenance once more. La Voisin waited patiently below stairs, but after a long time, he went to lead her from the chamber. He found Emily lying senseless across the foot of the bed, near the coffin. She was carried to her room, where proper applications restored her. During her insensibility, La Voisin gave directions for the coffin to be closed, and he persuaded Emily to forbear revisiting the chamber. St. Aubert had wished to be interred in the church of the convent of St. Clair, in the north chancel near the ancient tomb of the Villerois, and the superior had granted this place. The sad procession moved to the church, met by the venerable priest and a train of friars. The solemn chant and organ peal touched all who witnessed Emily's feebleness and assumed tranquillity. She shed no tears but walked partly shaded by a thin black veil between supporters, preceded by the abbess and followed by nuns. At the grave, when the music ceased, Emily drew her veil over her face, and in the pause between the anthem and service, her sobs were audible. She commanded her feelings until the coffin was let down, and the earth rattled on its lid. Then a groan burst from her heart. When she heard the words, "His body is buried in peace, and his soul returns to Him that gave it," her anguish softened into tears. The abbess led her from the church and administered all the consolations that religion and gentle sympathy can give, ordering a bed and recommending rest. She claimed Emily's promise to remain a few days at the convent.

Emily had no wish to return to the cottage, the scene of all her sufferings. Now that no immediate care pressed upon her, she felt the indisposition disabling her from immediately travelling. The abbess's maternal kindness and the nuns' gentle attention did all possible to soothe her spirits and restore her health, but her health was too deeply wounded to be quickly revived. She lingered for some weeks at the convent under the influence of a slow fever, wishing to return home yet unable to go thither, often reluctant to leave the spot where her father's relics were deposited. Sometimes she soothed herself with the consideration that if she died there, her remains would repose beside those of St. Aubert. She sent letters to Madame Cheron and the old housekeeper. Her aunt's answer abounded more in commonplace condolence than in real sorrow, assuring her that a servant should be sent to conduct her to La Vallée, for her own time was occupied by company. Emily was sensible to the indecorous and unkind conduct of her aunt, who suffered her to return to La Vallée where she had no relation to console and protect her, more culpable since St. Aubert had appointed Madame Cheron her guardian. Madame Cheron's servant made La Voisin's attendance unnecessary, and Emily was glad to spare him a long journey. During her stay, the peace and sanctity within the convent, the tranquil beauty of the scenery, and the delicate attentions of the abbess and nuns almost tempted her to leave a world where she had lost her dearest friends and devote herself to the cloister. The pensive enthusiasm natural to her temper spread a beautiful illusion over the sanctified retirement, but as her spirits revived, the remembrance of Valancourt silently awakened her to hope, comfort, and sweet affections. It was perhaps this remembrance alone that determined her to return to the world.

It was several days after the servant's arrival before Emily was sufficiently recovered to undertake the journey. On the evening preceding her departure, she went to the cottage to take leave of La Voisin and his family. She found the old man sitting on a bench at his door, between his daughter Agnes and his son-in-law, who was playing upon a pipe resembling an oboe. A flask of wine stood beside the old man, and before him a small table with fruit and bread, round which stood several of his grandsons taking their supper. On the edge of the little green spread before the cottage were cattle and a few sheep reposing under the trees. The landscape was touched with the mellow light of the evening sun, whose long slanting beams played through a vista of the woods and lighted up the distant turrets of the château. She paused a moment to gaze upon the happy group—the complacency of healthy age on La Voisin's countenance, the maternal tenderness of Agnes as she looked upon her children, and the innocency of infantine pleasures in their smiles. The memory of her father rose with full force upon her mind, and she hastily stepped forward, afraid to trust herself with a longer pause. She took an affectionate and affecting leave of La Voisin and his family. He seemed to love her as his daughter and shed tears; Emily shed many. She avoided going into the cottage, since she knew it would revive emotions such as she could not now endure.

Before leaving the convent, Emily resolves to visit her father's grave one final time. Attending a midnight appointment with Sister Mariette, who provides the key to a private church door, Emily descends alone into the desolate church. The nun warns her of a newly opened grave in the east aisle. Despite experiencing sudden fear and briefly returning to the staircase, Emily overcomes her apprehensions and proceeds through the cold, moonlit aisles toward her father's burial place. As she passes, she glimpses a shadow between the pillars but, hearing no footsteps, dismisses it as fancy. She remains at St. Aubert's grave—marked by a simple marble near the Villerois monument—until the chime calls the monks to early prayers. After this melancholy farewell, she experiences a deeper, more restful sleep than she has known for a long time, finding her mind more tranquil and resigned.

When the moment of departure arrives, all Emily's grief returns. The memory of the dead and the kindness of the living bind her to this sacred place where her father's remains rest. The abbess offers repeated assurances of regard and invites her to return should her situation elsewhere prove unpleasant. Many nuns express unaffected regret at her leaving. Emily parts from the convent in tears, accompanied by their sincere wishes for her happiness.

Emily travels for several leagues before the countryside can briefly rouse her from deep melancholy. When the scenery does penetrate her sorrow, it only reminds her that St. Aubert was at her side during her last view of these places, calling forth his former remarks on similar landscapes. The journey passes in languor and dejection without particular incident. She sleeps in a town on the skirts of Languedoc and enters Gascony the following morning. As she approaches the plains near La Vallée, well-known objects press upon her notice, awakening tenderness and grief. Looking through tears at the wild grandeur of the Pyrenees, now varied with evening's rich lights and shadows, she remembers experiencing similar pleasures with her father. Particular scenes he once pointed out—the cliffs, the pine wood, the cottage among cedars—present themselves, and the languor of despair steals upon her heart. She recalls his admiration for these views on their last passage together, and exclaims mournfully at the thought of never seeing him again.

As Emily draws nearer the château, melancholy memorials of past times multiply until the building itself appears amid the glowing beauty of St. Aubert's favourite landscape. This object calls for fortitude rather than tears, and Emily dries her eyes, preparing to meet calmly the trying moment of returning to a home where no parent awaits. She recalls her father's lessons on resisting even virtuous sorrow and admiring minds that can suffer and reason simultaneously, pleading that if he may look down upon her, he will see her endeavouring to practice his precepts. A turn in the road reveals a nearer view—the chimneys tipped with light rising from behind St. Aubert's favourite oaks, whose foliage partly conceals the lower building. She sighs heavily, remembering this was his favourite hour, and gazing upon the long evening shadows stretched across the landscape. The scene appears as lovely and tranquil as in former days. When she hears the gay melody of peasants dancing on the banks of the Garonne—sounds she once listened to while walking with St. Aubert—her remaining fortitude abandons her, and she weeps until the carriage stops at her own little gate.

Theresa, the old housekeeper, emerges to open the gate, while Manchon the dog runs barking before her, fawning and gasping with joy. Theresa struggles between offering condolement and her affection for her young mistress. Manchon, in his confusion, runs to the carriage repeatedly, searching for his master, then returns to Emily whining and discontented. Theresa acknowledges the dog's loss and tries to comfort Emily, offering refreshments. Emily gives her hand to the old servant and makes kind enquiries about her health, but lingers in the walk to the château, knowing that within awaits no parent to welcome her. She dreads seeing objects that will recall her former happiness. Moving slowly toward the door, she pauses repeatedly, finding the château silent, forsaken, and forlorn. Trembling to enter yet knowing she cannot avoid it, she passes into the hall and crosses it with hurried steps, opening the door of what she calls her own room. The gloom of evening gives solemnity to its silent air, and every familiar piece of furniture speaks eloquently to her heart. She seats herself in the window where St. Aubert often sat with her, watching the sun retire from the prospect beyond the groves. When Theresa appears with coffee, she mentions having prepared the green bed and expresses her grief at the master's death. Emily makes enquiries about her father's pensioners. Theresa tells of those who have died and those who recovered, noting that old Mary has come to see her, having looked every day for three years as if she would die. Emily, unable to bear such sights in her present state, asks Theresa to inform Mary she is too ill to receive visitors but sends a token of remembrance. Given up to sorrow, Emily finds every object awakens remembrances leading to grief—her father's favourite plants, the little drawings his taste taught her to execute, the books he selected and they read together, the musical instruments whose sounds he loved. Rousing herself from this indulgence, she summons resolution to visit the forlorn rooms she dreads yet knows will affect her more if delayed. Passing through the green-house, her courage fails momentarily upon opening the library door. The shade from evening and foliage enhances the solemnity of this apartment where everything speaks of her father. She shrinks upon observing his armchair, so familiar, and the idea of him rises so distinctly that she almost fancies she sees him. Checking the illusions of her distempered imagination, she walks slowly to the chair and seats herself. A book lies open on the reading-desk before it, as her father left it on the evening before his departure, when he had read passages from this favourite author. The sight affects her extremely, and she weeps while gazing at the page, unable to move or close what he left open for any treasures. When she perceives movement and hears a rustling sound, her imagination conjures supernatural terror, but she recovers reason and reminds herself that spirits of loved ones, if they return, come in kindness. The sound returns, and something presses beside her into the chair—revealing itself as Manchon, who licks her hands affectionately. Finding her spirits unequal to further exploration, she walks into the garden and down to the terrace overlooking the Garonne. As the sun sets, under dark branches of almond trees the saffron glow of the west spreads beyond twilight. The bat flits silently by, and the nightingale's mourning note sounds. This hour brings to her recollection lines St. Aubert once recited on this very spot, which she now repeats with melancholy pleasure in her Sonnet to Evening. Wandering to St. Aubert's favourite plane-tree, where they and her dear mother so often conversed on a future state and where her father expressed comfort in their meeting again, Emily is overcome by recollection and leaves for the terrace wall. Below, she observes peasants dancing gaily on the banks of the Garonne, a stark contrast to her desolate state. They are gay and debonnaire, as they once were when she shared their gaiety and St. Aubert listened to their merry music with pleasure and benevolence. Unable to bear these remembrances, she turns away, yet recognizes that wherever she turns, new objects will sharpen her grief. Theresa finds her wandering in the night air and pleads with her to come inside, invoking what her poor master would have said. Emily tries to silence Theresa's ill-judged but well-meaning harangue about how St. Aubert never shed tears when Emily's mother died, how he told her grieving was wrong because her mistress was happy, and how the prayers of the poor reach heaven. Emily walks silently into the château, where Theresa has laid a solitary supper with one knife and fork. Entering what proves not to be her own room but a common sitting parlour, Emily checks her emotion and seats herself quietly. Her father's hat hangs on the opposite wall, and gazing at it brings faintness. Theresa offers to remove it, but Emily refuses, declaring she will go to her chamber. Despite Theresa's protests and mention of a pheasant dressed for her supper, sent by old Monsieur Barreaux who seemed so concerned upon hearing the sad news, Emily cannot take food. Her spirits entirely overcome, she retires to her room.

Emily enters the chamber where St. Aubert used to sleep to burn her father's papers as instructed. She fastens the door and opens the closet where they are hidden, feeling unusual awe and trembling at the prospect of removing the board. She notices a great chair in one corner and a table opposite, recalling how her father had sat there on the evening before his departure. Due to her solitary life and melancholy thoughts, Emily has become susceptible to fancies that deceive her senses, and when she glances at the arm-chair in the closet, she imagines seeing her dead father's countenance there. She leaves momentarily but reproaches herself for the weakness and returns to complete her task. Following her father's directions, she finds the hidden board, presses the line he described, and uncovers the bundle of papers along with some scattered ones and a purse of louis. As she rises, the same illusion of her father's face appears again, and she rushes into the chamber, nearly fainting. Recovering her reason, she looks at some loose sheets and unknowingly reads a sentence of dreadful import before hastily putting the papers aside. The words inflame her imagination and tempt her to reconsider destroying the papers, but she reminds herself of her solemn promise to obey rather than argue. She consigns the papers to the flames, watching them slowly consume while shuddering at the recollection of the sentence she saw.

The closet contains a great chair in one corner and a table opposite where Emily had seen her father sitting on the evening before his departure. The solitary life Emily has led and the melancholy subjects on which she has dwelt have rendered her susceptible to thick-coming fancies and starts of imagination that deceive the senses. When her eyes glance on the arm-chair in the obscure part of the closet, she imagines the countenance of her dead father appears there. Emily stands frozen momentarily before leaving the closet, but her spirits soon return and she reproaches herself for allowing interruption in an act of serious importance.

After burning the papers, Emily discovers a small packet in the purse of louis. Opening it, she finds an ivory case containing the miniature portrait of a lady. She recognizes it as the same portrait over which her father wept. The portrait depicts a woman of uncommon beauty with an expression of sweetness shaded with sorrow and tempered by resignation. Emily cannot recollect any person the face resembles, though she suspects it may be the Marchioness of Villeroi. Dark brown hair plays carelessly along the open forehead, the nose is rather aquiline, and the lips form a melancholy smile. The blue eyes are directed upwards with peculiar meekness, and the brow speaks of fine sensibility. Emily muses over the portrait, contemplating its mysterious charm and the love and pity it inspires.

Emily is roused from her musing by the closing of the garden gate. Looking from the window, she sees Valancourt approaching the château. Her spirits, still agitated from her recent experiences, she feels unprepared to see him and remains in the chamber to collect herself. When they meet in the parlour, she notices a change in his air and countenance since their parting in Rousillon. Valancourt explains he has only been in Gascony for a few days and went on a long ramble after parting with the friends who made his Pyrenees wanderings so delightful. Emily is touched to tears by this, and Valancourt, observing her emotion, changes the subject to expressing admiration for the château and its prospects.

Emily and Valancourt walk down to the terrace where he is charmed with the river scenery and views over Guienne. Valancourt describes the source of the Garonne in the Pyrenees, detailing how it falls among mountain precipices, rushes through the Vallée d'Aran, washes the walls of Thoulouse, and fertilizes the pastures of Gascony and Guienne before reaching the Bay of Biscay. They discuss the Pyrenean Alpine scenes they shared, and Valancourt's voice becomes tremulously tender as he speaks. The subject recalls Emily's father, whose image appears in every landscape, and her silence reminds Valancourt of her grief. When he admires the grand plane-tree that shades the terrace, Emily remembers sitting there with St. Aubert expressing the same admiration. Valancourt understands her feelings and is silent, tears in his eyes.

Valancourt becomes greatly agitated as he tells Emily he must leave and perhaps never return. He ventures to declare his admiration for her goodness and expresses hope that at some future period he might be permitted to call it love. Emily is too overcome to reply, and Valancourt speaks tenderly of his love before asking if he might be allowed to hope for a future renewal of this subject. Emily fears to trust the preference her heart acknowledges towards Valancourt on so short an acquaintance, though she has observed much admirable in his taste and disposition, and her father had sanctioned these observations. She knows his family was known to St. Aubert and found unexceptionable. Though she cannot resolve to forbid his hope, she can scarcely dare to permit it. At length, she says she must think herself honoured by the good opinion of any person her father esteemed. Valancourt asks hopefully if Emily thinks him worthy of such honour and might be permitted to enquire after her health. Emily confesses she must be ingenuous about her situation, living alone in her father's house with no parent to sanction visits, and points out the impropriety of receiving them. Valancourt mournfully accepts this but asks to carry with him the hope of being permitted to make himself known to her family. After Emily begins and leaves unfinished several sentences, Valancourt fears she thinks him unworthy. Emily then says he does himself and her injustice, acknowledging that he has long possessed her esteem and perhaps more. Valancourt passes from despair to joy, exclaiming "O Emily! my own Emily!" and pressing her hand to his lips. Tears come to Emily's relief, and Valancourt watches anxiously over her as she recovers. He speaks of the many anxious hours he has passed near her, wandering at night near the château, watching round her habitation while she slept. He confesses he once ventured within the fence and spent a happy yet melancholy hour walking under her window. Valancourt explains he has been in the neighbourhood for several days, lodging in a village and wandering among the scenes, wishing to meet her yet not daring to visit. He takes his leave, promising to return when permitted to pay respects to her family, and Emily assures him her family will be happy to see any friend of her dear father.

As Valancourt lingers, unwilling to depart, and gazes on Emily, a hasty footstep approaches from behind the plane-tree. Emily turns to see Madame Cheron, and feels a blush steal upon her cheek while her frame trembles. She rises to meet her visitor. Madame Cheron greets her with surprise and enquiry about Valancourt, observing that Emily has already recovered her loss. Emily corrects her, saying her loss can never be recovered. Madame Cheron remarks on Emily having her father's disposition and suggests it would have been happier for him if it had been different. Emily regards her aunt with dignified displeasure. Madame Cheron examines Valancourt with supercilious scrutiny, and he takes his leave of Emily hastily, pained both at his own departure and at leaving her with Madame Cheron. When her aunt asks who the young man is and implies he is an idle admirer, Emily is extremely shocked.

Madame Cheron informs Emily that the world will observe and talk about her receiving a young man's visit in her unfriended situation. She announces her intention to oversee Emily's conduct, as St. Aubert made it his last request that she do so. She declares that unless Emily determines to be conformable to her direction, she will not trouble herself further. Madame Cheron reveals she has come to take Emily with her to Thoulouse. She expresses sorrow about St. Aubert's indifferent circumstances at death but states she will take her niece home. She suggests St. Aubert was always more generous than provident and would not have left his daughter dependent on relations. Emily calmly replies that she hopes he has not done so, and that his pecuniary misfortunes did not arise from his generosity. She trusts the affairs of M. de Motteville may yet be settled without deeply injuring creditors, and says she would be very happy to remain at La Vallée. Madame Cheron responds ironically, questioning Emily's desire for tranquility and retirement and accusing her of duplicity in pleading this excuse when she has so agreeable a companion as M. La Val—.

Emily cannot endure these cruel indignities and asserts that her excuse was a just one. She declares she feels more than ever the value of the retirement she solicited, and if the purport of her aunt's visit is only to add insult to the sorrows of her brother's child, she could well have spared it. Madame Cheron claims she has undertaken a very troublesome task. Emily mildly assures her that she is certain her father did not mean it should be such, and that she has the happiness to reflect that her conduct under his eye was such as he often delighted to approve. She says it would be very painful to her to disobey the sister of such a parent, and if Madame Cheron believes the task will really be so troublesome, she must lament that it is hers.

Emily resists the temptation to read further into her father's papers. Though the sentence she unknowingly reads inflames her imagination and she is urged by the most forcible and apparently necessary curiosity to enquire farther concerning the terrible and mysterious subject she has seen alluded to, she ultimately overcomes this temptation. She reminds herself that she has given a solemn promise to observe a solemn injunction, and it is not her business to argue but to obey. She hastens to remove the temptation that would destroy her innocence and embitter her life with the consciousness of irremediable guilt, while she has strength to reject it. Thus reanimated with a sense of her duty, she completes the triumph of her integrity over temptation, more forcible than any she has ever known, and consigns the papers to the flames.

Madame Cheron scolds Emily for receiving a lover unknown to the family, accusing her of impropriety; Emily demands clarification and is drawn into a tense confrontation.

Emily recounts how Valancourt was introduced to her father, how he was wounded, and how they travelled together, asserting his respectable lineage and that her father approved of him.

Madame Cheron mocks Valancourt as a “young adventurer” and a beggar, dismissing his pretensions and scoffing at Emily’s quick affection, insisting that looks have no bearing on character.

Emily offers refreshments to ease the tension; her aunt declares an immediate departure for Thoulouse, but Emily persuades her to postpone the journey until the next day.

Madame Cheron reproves Emily sharply, condemning her father’s prejudices and romantic notions; Emily, in tears, rebukes the injustice and reminds her aunt of her loss and need for tenderness, to no avail.

The day passes under the aunt’s petty tyranny while Emily is consumed by grief and foreboding, dreading the imminent loss of her home.

Emily takes a melancholy farewell of each room in the château, lingering in her father’s study, selecting his favourite books, and reflecting on the memories of her childhood.

Before going to bed, Emily gives Theresa detailed instructions on how to keep the château ready for her return, drawing comfort from the old servant’s simple devotion.

Clad in a light veil, Emily slips into the moonlit garden, wandering among the groves, breathing the night air and feeling the weight of her impending exile.

Under the serene night sky, she contemplates the vast universe, the calm landscape, and the divine order, finding solace and elevating her thoughts to her late father and faith.

She pauses beneath the old plane‑tree, recalling happy moments with her parents and the recent conversation with Valancourt, stirring mixed feelings of esteem, tenderness, and anxiety.

Recalling Valancourt’s confession of night wanderings, she fears encountering him and being censured; she leaves the plane‑tree, scans the shadows, hears possible footsteps, and hurries back toward the château.

She re‑enters the château, glimpses a figure in the moonlight, and, still uneasy, climbs to her chamber, watching the garden from her window before seeking rest.

Exhausted and agitated, Emily retires to bed, seeking a brief oblivion in sleep to escape her emotional turmoil.

Collins' Verse on Power** The chapter begins with an epigraph: "Some pow'r impart the spear and shield, / At which the wizard passions fly, / By which the giant follies die!" by Collins. This verse introduces the theme of inner struggle against dangerous desires and foolish pursuits.

View from the Terrace** From the highest terrace of Madame Cheron's gardens, Emily enjoys an expansive view over Languedoc. On the distant southern horizon, she sees the wild peaks of the Pyrenees, and her imagination paints the green pastures of Gascony at their base. Her thoughts turn to her peaceful home, to the neighborhood where Valancourt resides, and to the memory of her father. She experiences inexpressible pleasure in believing she beholds the countryside surrounding La Vallée, though only the retreating chain of the Pyrenees can truly be distinguished. The straight walks, formal parterres, and artificial fountains of her aunt's garden seem inferior when compared to the natural beauties of her childhood home.

Reproof for Early Walking** Madame Cheron scolds Emily for her early morning wanderings, including walks in the gardens. She declares she does not approve of solitary walks at such early hours and delivers a pointed reproof: "my gardens are very extensive; and a young woman, who can make assignations by moonlight at La Vallée, is not to be trusted to her own inclinations elsewhere." Emily is both surprised and shocked by this accusation.

Accusation of Impropriety** When Emily asks for an explanation of her aunt's harsh words, Madame Cheron refuses to provide one, though her severe looks and half-sentences suggest she believes she knows of degrading circumstances concerning her niece's conduct. Emily, though conscious of her innocence, cannot prevent a blush from appearing, and she trembles under her aunt's bold gaze. Madame Cheron's own blush is one of triumph at her perceived penetration. Emily suspects her aunt witnessed her garden walk at La Vallée on the night before departure from that house.

Dinner Party Arrivals** Madame Cheron informs Emily that a large party is expected for dinner. She reviews expected conduct, examines Emily's simple dress, and insists she appear with gaiety and taste. She shows Emily the splendors of her château before both retire to prepare. When guests arrive, Emily enters the saloon timidly, her mourning dress, dejected countenance, and retiring manner making her an interesting figure to many present. Among the guests are Signor Montoni and his friend Cavigni, who had visited M. Quesnel's previously.

Signor Montoni Described** Signor Montoni possesses an air of conscious superiority animated by spirit and strengthened by talents, to which all involuntarily yield. His quick perceptions are striking, yet his face can submit when occasion demands. Though his visage is long and rather narrow, he is considered handsome, perhaps due to the spirit and vigor of his soul shining through his features. Emily feels admiration mixed with inexplicable fear. Cavigni proves gay and insinuating as before, paying constant attention to Madame Cheron while finding opportunities to converse with Emily, directing wit at first, then assuming an air of tenderness that makes her shrink.

Fortnight of Dissipation** Two weeks pass in a continuous round of social engagements. Emily accompanies her aunt on all visits, sometimes entertained but more often wearied. She is struck by the apparent talents and knowledge displayed in conversation, only gradually discovering that most talents are those of imposture and the knowledge merely serves to assist deception. She observes that the constant gaiety displayed by visitors, which she initially attributed to contentment and benevolence, proves instead to result partly from insensibility to others' suffering and partly from a desire to display the appearance of prosperity that commands attention.

Evening at the Pavilion** Emily's most pleasant hours are spent in the pavilion on the terrace, where she retires with books or her lute to overcome melancholy. One evening, she excuses herself from accompanying her aunt and withdraws to the pavilion as a sultry day gives way to a mild, beautiful evening. The western windows frame the glory of a setting sun, illuminating the Pyrenees cliffs and touching their snowy summits with roseate hues that persist after the sun sinks below the horizon. Emily plays melancholy songs of her native province on her lute. Her thoughts turn to Valancourt, from whom she has heard nothing since arriving in Thoulouse. As she sits viewing the Garonne flowing toward La Vallée, she perceives how great an interest he holds in her heart.

The Resembling Horseman** Emily is awakened from her musing by the sound of horses' hooves along a road beneath the pavilion windows. A gentleman on horseback passes by, whose resemblance to Valancourt in air and figure immediately strikes her, though twilight prevents a clear view of his features. She retreats hastily from the lattice, fearing to be seen yet wishing to observe further. The stranger passes without looking up, and she sees him faintly winding through the high trees toward Thoulouse. This incident disturbs her spirits, and she returns to the château.

Confrontation over the Letter** The following morning, Madame Cheron summons Emily with an inflamed countenance. She holds out a letter and demands to know if Emily recognizes the handwriting. When Emily examines it and denies knowing it, Madame Cheron insists she confess the truth. Emily remains silent and turns to leave, but her aunt calls her back, accusing her of guilt based on her silence. Emily calmly points out the inconsistency in this reasoning. Her blushes later confirm Valancourt's name as the author, though she does not recollect recognizing his handwriting. Madame Cheron accuses her of having received many such letters secretly. Emily attempts to vindicate herself, referencing their earlier conversation at La Vallée when she told her aunt she had not forbidden Valancourt from addressing her family.

Threat of the Convent** Madame Cheron declares she will not permit disturbance from letters or visits from young men flattering Emily. She threatens to send Valancourt a proper answer and gives Emily an ultimatum: conform to her directions or she will abandon the task of overseeing her conduct and send her to board at a convent. Emily, overcome with tears, asks how she has deserved such reproofs. Weakened by fear and filled with scruples, she agrees to any restrictions her aunt requires. Madame Cheron demands a promise that Emily will neither see Valancourt nor write to him without her consent. Emily readily gives this promise and withdraws to walk in the garden.

Garden Solitude** In the garden, Emily composes her spirits and proceeds to her favorite pavilion at the terrace's end. Seated at an embowered window, she reviews all particulars of her conversation with Valancourt at La Vallée. She finds nothing to alarm her delicate pride and feels confirmed in the self-esteem necessary to her peace. Her mind becomes tranquil, and she sees Valancourt as amiable and intelligent as before. However, the thought of resigning him brings painful emotions, and she determines that no consideration will induce her to permit clandestine correspondence. As she repeats the words "should we ever meet again," tears come to her eyes.

Meeting with Valancourt** Hearing footsteps and the pavilion door open, Emily turns to see Valancourt himself. An emotion of pleasure, surprise, and apprehension presses upon her heart. Her color fades then returns brighter, and for a moment she cannot speak or rise. His countenance reflects her emotions, rousing her to self-command. Joy animates his features as he enters, though he suppresses it upon perceiving her agitation. He asks after her health in a tremulous voice. After some embarrassed conversation, she leads him into the gardens and asks if he has seen Madame Cheron. He replies he has not yet seen her and came directly to the gardens upon learning she was there. He asks permission to explain the purpose of his visit and to hope she will not accuse him of precipitation in availing himself of her former permission to address her family.

Discovery by Madame Cheron** As Emily speaks with Valancourt, she raises her eyes to see Madame Cheron turning into the avenue. Despite her fear, the consciousness of innocence permits her to appear tranquil, and she advances with Valancourt to meet her aunt. Madame Cheron regards them with haughty, impatient displeasure, and from a single glance Emily understands that her aunt believes the meeting was preconcerted. Emily becomes too agitated to remain with them and returns to the château, awaiting in trembling anxiety the conclusion of their conference. She learns later that Valancourt's letter had been undated, making it impossible for Madame Cheron to return an answer, and that this omission served as his excuse for calling before receiving a refusal.

Dismissal of Valancourt** After a long conversation, Madame Cheron returns with an expression of ill-humor but less severity than Emily had feared. She declares she has dismissed the young man and hopes her house will never be disturbed by similar visits. Valancourt has assured her the interview was not preconcerted. When Emily exclaims that her aunt asked him such a question, Madame Cheron defends her prudence. Emily is distressed that Valancourt must form such an opinion of her, but her aunt declares it matters little what opinion he forms since she has ended the affair. She lets him see she will not be trifled with and possesses more delicacy than to permit clandestine correspondence in her house.

Madame Cheron rebukes Emily regarding Valancourt's visit, threatening to send her niece to a convent if she continues seeing him. She reveals that Valancourt confessed his small fortune and dependence on an elder brother, which she considers impertinent. Valancourt had also declared he would accept his dismissal from Emily alone, a request Madame Cheron refuses. She forbids Emily from any secret meetings with him and departs to dress for an evening engagement at Madame Clairval's.

Emily reluctantly accompanies her aunt to the residence of Madame Clairval, an elderly widow who formerly lived in splendor at Paris and now hosts magnificent entertainments at Thoulouse. Madame Cheron, unable to rival these festivities, seeks to be counted among Madame Clairval's intimate friends, paying her obsequious attention and never refusing an invitation. The entertainments include a fancy ball with dancing in the illuminated garden.

The gardens are illuminated with tastefully arranged lamps beneath high, luxuriant trees. Company in gay and various dresses dance, converse on the turf, observe the cotillons, and enjoy refreshments and music from lute, hautboy, and tabor. The scene presents a striking picture of French festivity, which Emily surveys with melancholy pleasure.

Emily spots Valancourt dancing with a young, beautiful lady and conversing with familiar attention toward his partner. Overcome with emotion, she grows faint and sits on a turf bank beneath the trees. Despite her efforts to compose herself, her color fades again when her eyes meet Valancourt's across the garden.

Count Bauvillers, seated nearby, comments on Valancourt's dancing partner being among the beauties of Thoulouse with a large fortune. He criticizes Valancourt's dancing abilities despite his fine air and figure. Emily tries to turn the conversation but rises to join Madame Cheron when Valancourt approaches. The Count apologizes for criticizing someone Emily knows, but Madame Cheron denies any acquaintance with him.

Cavigni claims that only one woman deserved Montoni's praise, playfully suggesting women of refined understanding are above compliment. When Madame Cheron asks who this woman is, Cavigni's satirical meaning becomes apparent—he implies such women exist only to refuse compliments. His ironic encomiums on Madame Cheron, comparing Valancourt's lack of discernment to his admiration of Emily, leave Madame Cheron flattered yet oblivious to the mockery.

Montoni finally joins the party, murmuring regrets for his absence. Madame Cheron, piqued by his neglect, addresses herself entirely to Cavigni, while Montoni exchanges arch glances with him. Emily begins to suspect that Montoni is paying serious addresses to her aunt, a prospect she finds both ridiculous and wonderful given their respective ages and pretensions.

Supper is served in garden pavilions and a large saloon with more taste than splendor. Madame Cheron, seated near Emily, surveys Valancourt with displeasure and asks his identity. When informed of Valancourt's supposed engagement to Mademoiselle d'Emery and her large fortune, Madame Cheron contradicts the report by revealing she had rejected his suit that morning.

Madame Cheron's attempts to depreciate Valancourt continue until the lady seated nearby reveals that Valancourt is Madame Clairval's nephew. This revelation completely overturns Madame Cheron's judgment, and she immediately begins praising him with servile enthusiasm, contradicting her earlier censures with equal frivolity. Cavigni, barely containing laughter, withdraws from the scene.

The following morning, a letter arrives from Valancourt. Madame Cheron, unusually moderate, permits Emily to read it. Valancourt requests permission to visit Emily on the approaching evening, declaring he will accept his dismissal from her alone. Emily looks at her aunt with timid expectation, asking what she should say.

Madame Cheron unexpectedly decides to allow Valancourt to visit, instructing her niece to summon him. Emily can scarcely believe what she hears, having expected continued resistance from her aunt. The reader later learns that Madame Cheron's change of heart stems from her discovery that Valancourt is the nephew of Madame Clairval—a connection of considerable social consequence in their neighborhood.

Valancourt arrives at the château in the evening and is received by Madame Cheron alone. They engage in a lengthy conversation before Emily is called down. When Emily finally enters the room, she observes her aunt speaking with complacency while Valancourt rises with eyes animated by hope. The stage is set for what proves to be a pivotal discussion of their future.

Madame Cheron reveals that Valancourt has informed her of his family connection to the Countess de Duvarney through his late uncle Monsieur Clairval. She expresses regret that he had not disclosed this relationship earlier, as she would have viewed it as sufficient introduction. Her tone shifts to a conditional acceptance: she will permit his visits, though she stops short of acknowledging him as family, and she speaks of "any further connection" as a distant possibility contingent upon his professional advancement.

Madame Cheron explicitly forbids any thoughts of marriage between Valancourt and Emily, refusing to bind herself with promises. She insists that while she permits their current intercourse, she will only "look forward to any further connection" as an event that may possibly occur in the course of years, and only if Valancourt rises in his profession or circumstances make it prudent for him to take a wife. Emily's countenance varies throughout this speech, her distress mounting almost to the point of departure.

Valancourt, equally embarrassed, hesitates to look at Emily, for whom he is distressed. When Madame Cheron falls silent, he attempts to explain himself but falters, requesting that he may not hope until he receives Emily's explicit permission. Madame Cheron interrupts impatiently, taking it upon herself to answer for Emily, while asserting her authority as guardian and declaring that her will must be Emily's in every instance.

Madame Cheron rises and quits the room, leaving Emily and Valancourt in mutual embarrassment. Only when Valancourt's hopes overcome his fears does he address her with the zeal and sincerity natural to his character. A considerable time passes before Emily is sufficiently recovered to hear his solicitations and inquiries with any degree of distinctness.

The narrator provides an illuminating analysis of Madame Cheron's conduct, which had been entirely governed by selfish vanity. When Valancourt first approached her with candor about his present circumstances and future expectancies, she had abruptly and unfeelingly rejected him, wishing her niece to marry ambitiously—not for Emily's happiness, but for the importance such an alliance would bring herself. Only upon discovering Valancourt's connection to the distinguished Madame Clairval did she become anxious for the match, calculating that the prospect of fortune and distinction for Emily promised the elevation she coveted. Her calculations rested on wishes rather than probability, and she seems to have forgotten that Madame Clairval has a daughter of her own. Valancourt had not forgotten this complication, which accounted for his modest expectations and his initial failure to mention the relationship.

From this period, Valancourt makes frequent visits to Madame Cheron's home, his regiment stationed near Thoulouse allowing for regular intercourse. Emily passes in his society the happiest hours she has known since her father's death. Both are so engaged by present moments that they give little serious consideration to what their attachment might cost them in the years ahead. Meanwhile, Madame Cheron's intercourse with Madame Clairval becomes more frequent, and her vanity is gratified by the opportunity to proclaim their nephews' and nieces' attachment throughout the neighborhood.

Montoni becomes a daily guest at the château, and Emily is compelled to observe that he is genuinely a suitor—and a favored one—to her aunt. This development introduces a new element of tension and complication to the household dynamics.

The winter months pass for Valancourt and Emily not merely in peace but in genuine happiness. His military station remains close enough to allow this frequent intercourse, and their attachment deepens with each meeting.

The pavilion on the terrace becomes the favorite scene of their interviews. There, Emily works alongside Madame Cheron while Valancourt reads aloud works of genius and taste, creating an intimate setting for their growing connection.

Valancourt listens to Emily's enthusiasm and expresses his own, observing repeatedly that their minds are formed to constitute each other's happiness. Their shared taste and identical noble and benevolent sentiments animate both, creating a profound intellectual and emotional bond.

Emily and Valancourt's attachment deepens as they discover in each other a meeting of minds and hearts. Their love, while forbidden to culminate in marriage by Madame Cheron's decree, flourishes in these winter months of happiness, drawing them ever closer in understanding and affection.

The chapter opens with an epigraph from "Castle of Indolence" describing a shepherd of the Hebridean Isles who sees a vast assembly appearing on hills and valleys, then dissolving mysteriously into air. This visionary opening establishes an atmosphere of mystery and magical revelation that will unfold throughout the chapter, foreshadowing the dramatic events to come.

Madame Cheron's avarice eventually yields to her vanity after witnessing the splendid entertainments given by Madame Clairval and the adulation bestowed upon her. Eager to elevate her status in her own eyes and in the world's view, she proposes immediate marriage terms between her niece Emily and Madame Clairval's nephew Valancourt. Madame Clairval accepts, considering Emily the apparent heiress to her aunt's wealth. Emily, however, remains ignorant of these negotiations until Madame Cheron informs her she must prepare for imminent nuptials. Astonished and unable to comprehend this sudden conclusion—which Valancourt himself had not even solicited—Emily objects decisively. Yet Madame Cheron, now as jealous of contradiction as she had formerly opposed any possibility of such a match, insists upon a speedy marriage with vehemence. Emily's objections vanish when she sees Valancourt, now informed of the intended happiness, who comes to claim her promise.

As preparations proceed for Emily and Valancourt's nuptials, Montoni becomes the acknowledged lover of Madame Cheron. Madame Clairval, though much displeased upon hearing of this approaching connection and willing to prevent Valancourt's marriage to Emily, feels her conscience prevents her from trifling with their peace. One morning, Emily is summoned to her aunt and learns with astonishment that Madame Cheron and Montoni were married that same morning. The secrecy of the marriage surprises Emily more than the union itself, though Madame Cheron claims she wished merely to avoid a bustle. Madame Montoni announces she will now celebrate her own marriage with splendor, even using the preparations made for Emily's wedding, and intends to delay Emily's nuptials. She expects Emily to wear her wedding clothes to honor this festival and announces a grand entertainment to follow.

Within days, Madame Montoni hosts a magnificent entertainment with a numerous company, including Valancourt, though Madame Clairval excuses herself from attending. The evening features a concert, ball, and supper. Valancourt serves as Emily's partner and, though he cannot help remembering that the decorations were designed for different festivities, he consoles himself with the thought that soon they would serve their original purpose. Madame Montoni dances, laughs, and talks incessantly, while Montoni remains silent, reserved, and somewhat haughty, seeming weary of the frivolous parade. This entertainment proves to be the first and last celebration of their nuptials. Montoni, though his severe temper and gloomy pride prevent him from enjoying such festivities, is willing to promote them for the advantage they might bring. However, Madame Montoni, suddenly conscious of her inferiority to other women in personal attractions and driven by jealousy, opposes her husband's inclination for company, believing him to be well-received in the local female society.

A few weeks after the marriage, Madame Montoni informs Emily that the Signor intends to return to Italy as soon as preparations can be made for the long journey. They will go first to Venice, where Montoni has a fine mansion, and then to his estate in Tuscany. When Emily expresses surprise at being included in this party, her aunt insists she must accompany them—how could they possibly leave her behind? Madame Montoni then delivers devastating news: Valancourt must be told that the proposed connection between the families must be thought of no more. Montoni himself has forbidden the connection, considering it greatly inferior to what Emily might reasonably expect. Madame Montoni claims she now leaves the affair entirely to the Signor, acknowledging that Valancourt never was a favorite of hers and that she was overpersuaded into giving consent. She declares her determination that Emily shall submit to those who know better how to guide her. Emily, overwhelmed by this sudden shock, retreats to her apartment, contemplating her dark prospects in Italy, torn by civil commotion, far from Valancourt.

Valancourt arrives at the château in a state of agitation, finding Emily in tears. He implores her to speak with him privately, but she initially refuses, insisting he must see her aunt first. When he asks where Montoni is, his tone alters and his eyes flash with indignation. Emily, terrified of the consequences, assures him Montoni is not home and entreats him to moderate his resentment. At her tremulous voice, his eyes soften from wildness to tenderness. He leads her into an adjoining parlour, where she urges him not to seek violence against Montoni, warning him of what she would suffer from such revenge. Deeply moved, Valancourt promises to restrain himself and avoid violence, though he cannot tamely submit to Montoni's authority. Emily comforts him with assurances of her unalterable affection and the hope that in little more than a year, she will be her own mistress, free from her aunt's guardianship. However, Valancourt realizes she will then be in Italy, in the power of those whose dominion will not cease with legal rights.

When Madame Montoni enters and discovers Valancourt with Emily, she rebukes them sharply for this seemingly clandestine interview. Valancourt explains his purpose was to request an interview with Montoni and proceeds to make his case with tempered spirit. His eloquent expostulations make Madame Montoni somewhat sensible of her unworthy conduct, and she becomes susceptible to shame—though not remorse. She hates Valancourt for awakening her to this painful sensation, and her anger rises so high that Valancourt is compelled to leave abruptly, fearing an intemperate reply. He realizes from Madame Montoni he has nothing to hope, for what pity or justice could be expected from someone who feels the pain of guilt without the humility of repentance? To Montoni he writes, not demanding but soliciting an interview, but Montoni refuses, claiming an interview could neither remove objections nor overcome wishes, serving only to produce useless altercation. Valancourt's repeated solicitations go unanswered, and finally his letters are returned unopened.

In the first moments of passionate despair, Valancourt hastens to Montoni's château, determined to see him by whatever means necessary, but Montoni denies him admittance. When Valancourt then asks for Madame and Ma'amselle St. Aubert, the servants absolutely refuse him entry. Departing in a state approaching frenzy, Valancourt writes to Emily, expressing all his agony without restraint and entreating her to grant him a secret interview. Soon after dispatching this letter, his passions cooling, he becomes sensible of his error in giving Emily new subject for distress and would give half the world to recover it. However, Emily is spared this pain by the suspicious policy of Madame Montoni, who has ordered that all letters addressed to her niece be delivered to herself. After perusing the letter and indulging in expressions of resentment at Valancourt's mention of Montoni, Madame Montoni consigns the letter to the flames.

Montoni grows increasingly impatient to leave France and repeatedly orders his servants to expedite preparations for the journey. He also conducts unspecified business with certain persons. Regarding Valancourt's letters, Montoni maintains a deliberate silence, neither responding to the young man's requests nor acknowledging his pleas.

Valancourt, having subdued his earlier passionate transgressions against propriety, writes to Emily requesting only the simple indulgence of bidding her farewell. His tone becomes increasingly desperate as he learns that Emily will depart in just a few days and that Montoni intends to prevent any meeting between them. Valancourt's modest requests go entirely unanswered, leaving him in torturing suspense without even a line of comfort.

When Valancourt learns that Emily will truly depart in a few days and that he is intended never to see her again, he abandons all consideration of prudence. In a second letter to Emily, he ventures to propose a clandestine marriage. This letter, like his previous correspondence, is transmitted to Madame Montoni rather than reaching Emily directly. The proposal arrives too late, as the last day of Emily's stay at Thoulouse arrives without granting Valancourt any response or hope of a parting interview.

When Emily finally gathers courage to inquire whether Valancourt will be permitted to take his leave, Madame Montoni informs her that this consolation has been refused. She explains that after the provocation she received from Valancourt in their last interview and the persecution Montoni has suffered from his letters, no entreaties shall avail to grant the request. Madame Montoni rebukes Emily for her grief, calling Valancourt's behavior "extremely presumptuous and impertinent" and commanding her niece to overcome her "foolish sorrows" and behave properly.

Emily sinks into a stupor as sudden and irremediable misfortune overwhelms her mind. Having loved Valancourt with the tenderest affection and long considering him the friend and companion of all her future days, she can conceive of no happiness unconnected with him. The thought of permanent separation—perhaps forever, certainly to distant parts of the world where they could scarcely hear of each other's existence—afflicts her deeply. She yields to an impression she mistakes for a presentiment that she is going from Valancourt forever, and the image of the Alps rising between them seems almost unbearable.

On the night before her departure, Emily's agitation becomes so intense that she opens the casement of her chamber and, revived by the night air and moonlight falling upon the elms of a long avenue, determines to walk in the open air. Passing silently through the château into the garden, she enters the avenue and moves toward the terrace and pavilion where she and Valancourt have spent many happy hours admiring the prospect over Languedoc and her native Gascony. Despite her fear of being observed, her desire to revisit this sacred place overcomes her apprehension.

As Emily sits at the pavilion window, mourning that they shall never view the landscape together again, she is startled by a voice speaking near her in the darkness. It is Valancourt, who has haunted the gardens and pavilion for many nights with a faint hope of seeing her. Their emotion at this unexpected reunion is so intense that for some moments neither can speak. Valancourt explains that he came to the pavilion after sunset and has been watching ever since, unable to tear himself from a place so near to Emily.

In the pavilion bathed in moonlight, Valancourt and Emily struggle with their emotions. Valancourt expresses his horror of the separation and despair of their ever meeting again, while Emily tries to comfort him with every circumstance that might lead to hope. However, Valancourt's fears detect the friendly fallacies she endeavors to impose upon them both, and his imagination conjures visions of Emily surrounded by new society and admirers in a distant country who will try to make her forget him. Their tears flow freely as they confront the likelihood of permanent separation.

Valancourt, overwhelmed by emotion and fear of losing Emily forever, proposes an immediate marriage. He suggests that at an early hour the following morning, Emily should quit Madame Montoni's house and be conducted by him to the church of the Augustines, where a friar shall await to unite them. His voice trembles as he pleads with Emily to trust her own heart and be his forever. Emily listens in silence to this proposal, her cheek growing cold as her senses seem to fail her, though she does not actually faint.

After recovering from her momentary collapse, Emily rejects Valancourt's proposal with candor that proves her true esteem and love for him. She explains her reasons: her duty to her father's sister, her repugnance to a clandestine marriage, and her fear that emerging into the world with embarrassments might ultimately involve Valancourt in misery and repentance. She dreads involving him in obscurity and vain regret, choosing to endure present suffering rather than provoke distant misfortune. Valancourt, touched by her consideration for his welfare, renounces his proposal, though the triumph nearly breaks his heart.

Before Emily departs, Valancourt reveals troubling information he gathered from an Italian stranger who spoke of Montoni in suspicious terms. The Italian hinted that Montoni may be a man of desperate fortune and character, mentioning a castle of Montoni's among the Apennines and strange circumstances concerning his former mode of life. When pressed for details, the Italian grew reserved and would say only that his information came from floating report, which might arise from personal malice. Valancourt warns Emily that Montoni's countenance exhibits a fire, keenness, and sullen watchfulness that confirms his suspicions about the man's character.

With his imagination awakened to every danger and his apprehensions for Emily strengthened by the Italian's warnings, Valancourt determines to persevere in opposing her departure. He tells Emily that this is no time for scrupulous distinctions or weighing dubious circumstances. Seeing clearly the serious dangers she will encounter with a man of Montoni's character, he implores her to accept his protection. His voice trembles as he begs Emily to let his tenderness and arms withhold her from the evils he shudders to foresee.

Emily remains leaning on the balustrade in deep thought as Valancourt paces the terrace with hurried steps. The information about Montoni excites alarm she can scarcely justify, raising once more the conflict of contrasted interests. Though she has never liked Montoni and recognizes in his countenance the traits Valancourt describes, she reflects that a vague terror cannot be expected to prove more powerful than the united influence of love and grief, which she has already conquered. Yet the warnings from Valancourt recall all their energy, and she must achieve a second conquest over her own fears before departing for Italy.

Valancourt remonstrates and entreats with Emily against their impending separation, employing all the energy that love and apprehension can inspire. His imagination magnifies the possible evils she may encounter, presenting to her vivid depictions of the dangers ahead.

Emily begins to see through Valancourt's exaggerated warnings. She reflects that there is no proof Montoni is the person the stranger meant, and that even if he was, Montoni merely noticed Valancourt's character and fortunes from report. She determines that such circumstances cannot justify implicit belief in the rumors.

When Emily gently attempts to convince Valancourt of his errors in reasoning, his demeanor transforms to one of dark despair. He exclaims that this moment is the bitterest yet, insisting she cannot love him if she can reason so coolly and deliberately.

Emily, endeavouring to conceal her emotion, reveals that if Valancourt is yet to learn how dear he is to her heart, no assurances can give him conviction. Her words falter and tears flow freely, bringing instantaneous conviction of her love back to Valancourt.

Valancourt declares himself a wretch who has felt only for himself. He acknowledges he ought to have shown fortitude and supported Emily, but instead increased her sufferings through childish conduct, and begs her forgiveness for the unnecessary anguish his terrors have caused them both.

Valancourt questions why they must part, asking why they should separate for longer than until tomorrow. Emily admits she is unequal to these moments and cannot consent to his hasty, imprudent proposal. They acknowledge they must submit to circumstances, having already revealed all their hearts.

Reaching the gate that terminates the avenue near the château, they stop. Emily insists on parting there and asks Valancourt to teach her the fortitude she has forgotten. He struggles to compose himself and says farewell with solemn tenderness, promising they shall meet again to part no more.

Valancourt presses Emily to his heart one final time and holds her in silence, weeping. They exchange farewells, lingering before parting. Valancourt forces himself away and passes up the avenue, while Emily moves slowly toward the château, listening to his distant footsteps fade until only the melancholy stillness of night remains. She hurries to her chamber seeking repose, which has fled from her wretchedness.

Montoni's Character and Companions Montoni is a man who finds joy only in conflict, power, and the thrill of risk, having adopted gambling first to stave off the boredom of inaction before turning it into a consuming passion. He associates with a crowd of young men with more wealth than status and more vice than either, though he despises most for their lack of talent and only keeps their company to use them as tools for his own ends. His close inner circle includes Bertolini, a generous but dissipated man; Orsino, his chief favorite, a cruel, cunning, power-hungry schemer; and Verezzi, a talented but impulsive, fickle man ruled by shifting passions, easy for those who know him to manipulate.

The Dinner Party The day after Montoni’s late-night return to Venice, he hosts a dinner for his inner circle, joined by Venetian nobleman Count Morano and Signora Livona, a woman he introduces to his wife as a lady of exceptional merit.

Madame Montoni's Displeasure Madame Montoni greets the dinner guests with open hostility, resenting them for keeping her husband out late the prior night, envying his preference for their company over hers, and disliking them for being his associates. She withholds the courtesy she shows Count Morano from the rest of the party, and her haughty, sullen demeanor and overly extravagant, non-Venetian dress stand in sharp contrast to the modest, gentle sweetness of Emily, who is quietly charmed by Signora Livona’s warmth and beauty.

The Evening Gondola Ride As evening cools, the party embarks on Montoni’s gondola and rows out onto the Adriatic. Emily is swept up in the quiet beauty of the scene: the sunset’s red glow on the water, the emerging stars, the soft sound of oars and distant music, which brings memories of her father St. Aubert and Valancourt flooding back, bringing quiet tears to her eyes. The moonlight catches the soft, pensive expression of her face, framed by a thin black veil.

Count Morano's Rondeau As distant music fades, Count Morano, seated next to Emily, picks up a lute and performs a tender, melancholy rondeau full of declarations of soft, faithful love, his fine tenor voice carrying over the water with exquisite, gentle expression that moves his entire audience.

Emily's Song To avoid appearing affected, Emily immediately begins to play and sing a simple, moving folk song from her native province, though the familiar melody brings back too many memories of home, causing her voice to tremble and fail. She quickly switches to a bright, airy dance song to cover her emotion, delighting the company, and after receiving effusive praise (including from Count Morano) she passes the lute to Signora Livona, who accompanies it with skilled Italian taste. The group then sings several *canzonettes* together, accompanied by lutes and other instruments, with harmonies swelling and fading in turn.

Montoni Departs for the Casino Tired of the musical entertainment, Montoni plots to leave the gondola party to gamble at a casino. When the music pauses, he proposes returning to shore, a suggestion eagerly seconded by Orsino but opposed by the rest of the group. He abandons any pretense of excuse when an empty gondola returning to Venice passes by, and leaves the ladies in the care of his companions, heading to St. Mark’s to join the gamblers. Emily feels a flicker of regret at his departure, as his presence felt like a vague, unplaceable protection.

Count Morano's Attentions After Montoni leaves, Count Morano secretly sends for his own gondola and musicians, and the group transfers to his more lavishly decorated boat. While they eat a collation of fruit and ice, with the band playing from a following boat, the Count sits beside Emily and pays her constant, increasingly obvious attention, offering her bold, impassioned compliments she cannot mistake. She tries to avoid him by talking to Signora Livona and adopting a gentle but reserved manner, which fails to deter him, and only makes Cavigni eye him with displeasure and Emily with uneasiness. She longs to return to Venice, but it is near midnight when they finally approach St. Mark’s Place, loud with the sound of gaiety and song.

The Supper at the Casino The group lands at St. Mark’s, and Madame Montoni is easily persuaded by Count Morano to join the promenade and then a supper at his casino, despite Emily’s quiet dread of the Count’s attentions. The casino is lavishly decorated, and a splendid banquet is laid out; Emily’s reserve makes the Count realize he must first win Madame Montoni’s favor to get closer to Emily, so he shifts his attention to her aunt, who is so flattered by his notice that she drops all her usual haughtiness and agrees to all his suggestions. Before the party ends, he has completely won Madame Montoni’s esteem, and invites the group to join him in his opera box the next evening, leaving Emily anxiously searching for an excuse to avoid attending.

A Return at Sunrise The party does not leave the casino until very late, and Emily is shocked to see the sun rising over the Adriatic as they depart, though the fresh sea breeze and the lingering beauty of the moonlit city soften her regret at leaving. Count Morano escorts them home, where they learn Montoni has not yet returned; Madame Montoni retires to her rooms in a bad temper, finally freeing Emily from the fatigue of the long night.

A Visit from Venetian Ladies The next evening, Madame Montoni receives visits from a group of Venetian ladies whose warm, easy kindness and refined, alternately tender and playful conversation charms Emily, even as their gentleness highlights Madame Montoni’s own coarseness and selfishness.

Signora Herminia's Song During the visit, a lady named Signora Herminia picks up a lute and sings a song with an uncommonly rich, expressive tone, performing with such natural gaiety that she seems completely unaware of her own skill, playing simply for her own enjoyment rather than to show off.

Emily's Sketch Emily steps back from the group and sketches a portrait of Signora Herminia playing the lute, set against the small potted plants and lattice of the saloon. The drawing, while not technically perfect, has enough spirit and taste to charm Signora Herminia, who is delighted by the gift and the sentiment behind it, and promises to keep it as a token of their new friendship.

An Evening at St. Mark's That evening, Cavigni joins the ladies for a gondola ride to St. Mark’s, as Montoni has other engagements. The scene is as lively and beautiful as the night before, but Emily is not bothered by Count Morano’s attentions this time, and is able to enjoy the cool breeze, the glimmering sea, the distant music, and the grand arcades of St. Mark’s, though the view of the moonlit water and the sound of a distant gondolier’s song still bring back tender memories of her home and Valancourt.

The Opera After walking for a time, the group sits outside a casino for coffee before heading to the opera. The spectacle of the opera is far less moving to Emily than the natural beauty she has just experienced, and she finds herself longing for the end of the evening so she can escape Count Morano’s continued attentions. The contrast between the Count and Valancourt only deepens her longing for home.

Memories of Valancourt Throughout the opera, Emily is unable to focus on the performance, as her thoughts keep drifting to Valancourt. The persistent, unwanted attention of Count Morano only makes her memories of Valancourt more vivid, and she often sighs as she thinks of him.

The Persistent Count Morano Over the following weeks, the group continues their regular rounds of Venetian social visits, and Count Morano repeatedly finds ways to insert himself into Emily’s company. While his manners, appearance, and accomplishments are widely admired, Emily’s heart remains fixed on Valancourt, and his unwanted, persistent attentions make her notice and dislike several unappealing traits in his character that she might have overlooked otherwise.

News of M. Quesnel's Inheritance Shortly after arriving in Venice, Montoni receives a letter from M. Quesnel announcing that his wife’s uncle has died at his villa on the Brenta, leaving M. Quesnel his estate and other possessions, which he will now travel to claim. The deceased uncle was Madame Quesnel’s maternal uncle, and while Montoni has no claim to the inheritance, he struggles to hide his sharp envy of M. Quesnel’s good fortune.

Montoni's Disappointment The news of the inheritance stings Montoni deeply, as it highlights the extent of his own financial disappointment in his marriage to Madame Montoni. He had married her believing she was wealthy, but has discovered she deliberately concealed her relative poverty, and has secured most of her actual property for herself, leaving Montoni with only a small, inadequate sum that he brought to Venice to maintain a facade of wealth and attempt to recoup his lost fortunes.

Montoni's True Character The narrative confirms earlier hints about Montoni’s true nature: he is driven by greed and a desire for power, and his marriage to Madame Montoni was a calculated attempt to access her supposed wealth. He despises her for her inferior understanding and resents her deception, which left him worse off than before, having sacrificed his pride and freedom for a union that has brought him only financial strain and contempt.

Madame Montoni's Delusions Madame Montoni lacks the grace to bear her husband’s contempt with dignity, or to acknowledge any fault of her own in their strained marriage, choosing instead to blame Montoni entirely for her unhappiness. Her vanity has already been wounded by his obvious contempt, and she clings to the delusion that she is still a wealthy woman of high status, believing she owns a palace in Venice and a castle among the Apennines, while Montoni occasionally hints at plans to visit their Udolpho castle to collect rent, a property he has not visited in two years and which is only occupied by an elderly steward.

Emily viewed the approaching journey with pleasure, expecting it would provide new experiences and free her from Count Morano's persistent attentions. She anticipated having time in the countryside to reflect on Valancourt and indulge the melancholy that thoughts of him and memories of La Vallée, connected to her parents, always stirred. These idealized scenes seemed more comforting than any worldly splendor.

Count Morano soon moved beyond silent devotion, openly declaring his passion to Emily and making formal proposals to Montoni. While Montoni encouraged the suit, Emily firmly rejected it. Bolstered by Montoni's support and his own vanity, Morano remained undeterred in his pursuit of success.

Montoni said nothing of his planned journey, causing Emily growing impatience. He was rarely home except when the Count or Signor Orsino visited, as a coolness had developed between himself and Cavigni. Montoni frequently closeted himself with Orsino for hours, sacrificing his beloved gambling to remain home through the night. This new privacy in Orsino's visits excited both Emily's surprise and alarm, as she had reluctantly perceived much of Orsino's character despite his efforts to conceal it. Following these meetings, Montoni often appeared deeply troubled, sometimes abstracted from everything around him with a terrible gloom, or else with eyes flashing fire and energies roused for some great enterprise.

A second letter arrived from M. Quesnel announcing his arrival at Villa Miarenti with his lady, describing his good fortune in Italian affairs, and requesting that Montoni, his wife, and Emily visit his new estate. Emily also received a far more affecting letter from Valancourt, written hopeful she might still be in Venice, telling of his health and unceasing affection. He had lingered at Thoulouse after her departure to wander through familiar scenes, then gone to his brother's château near La Vallée.

Valancourt described how the vicinity to La Vallée alone had detained him at Estuvière, where he rode early each morning to wander through scenes once her home. He had renewed acquaintance with the old servant Theresa, who delighted to speak of Emily. He wandering the grounds seeking her image under every shade, especially beneath her favorite plane tree where they had first sat together and he had confessed his love. Memory of those moments overcame him as he sat in tears, remembering her voice and the tender hope she had inspired.

Valancourt explained that his letter was composed over many days, begun soon after her departure, as writing was the only employment that made her absence bearable. When conversing with her on paper, she almost seemed present. He had deferred sending his packet merely to prolong this comfort, and whenever depressed, had poured forth sorrows to her and found consolation. The letter was a picture of his life and thoughts for the past month, though other readers might find it trivial.

Valancourt learned that La Vallée had been let, which destroyed his "fairy paradise of ideal delight." Theresa had wept telling him she must leave her dear mistress's service and the château after receiving Quesnel's letter informing her the place was let and her services no longer required. Theresa had been surprised by a visit from M. Quesnel accompanied by a stranger viewing the premises with curiosity. Valancourt received a summons from his regiment and rode to La Vallée one final morning, learning the new tenant had arrived and Theresa was gone. He passed an hour in the fishing-house in the woods before departing.

Having been shut out from the scenes so interesting to his heart, Valancourt was reconciled to returning to his regiment. He lamented being unable to gain admittance to take another farewell beneath Emily's favorite plane tree, forbearing to tempt strangers' curiosity. In the fishing-house, he passed an hour he could not recall without emotion, wondering if they might not be separated forever.

Emily's letter from Valancourt moved her to tears of tenderness upon learning he remained well and that time had not erased her image from his heart. The intelligence concerning La Vallée struck her with new force, for that Quesnel had let it without consulting her both surprised and shocked her, particularly as it proved his absolute authority over her affairs. Though Quesnel had proposed letting the château before her departure, she had strongly opposed surrendering her father's villa to strangers and depriving herself of a sure home. Her father had received her solemn promise never to dispose of La Vallée, and she considered letting it a violation of that vow. She wept bitterly over Theresa, whom she had resolved to help, fearing Quesnel's cold heart could feel only for itself.

Montoni summoned Emily to his study to discuss a subject from M. Quesnel's letter. Emily expressed her wish to speak on the topic, and Montoni insisted that any objection founded on sentiment ought to yield to solid advantage. When Emily acknowledged it was too late to deliberate and she must regret losing her power to reject, Montoni praised her strength of mind, claiming she would later perceive that romantic illusions were snares of childhood to be vanquished. He allowed her to add lines to his letter to Quesnel confirming her acquiescence.

Emily wrote to her uncle expressing that she had hoped the affair had been concluded with less precipitation so she might have subdued some prejudices lingering in her heart. She submitted in point of prudence but had much to say on other matters when they met. She entreated him to take care of Theresa, signing herself his affectionate niece.

The following day, Count Morano dined again at Montoni's in uncommon spirits, showing something like exultation in addressing Emily that she had never observed before. His cold civility from her only seemed to encourage rather than discourage him. He sought opportunity to speak with her alone, but Emily insisted she could hear nothing he would be unwilling to repeat before the company.

That evening, Madame Montoni and her party went out upon the sea. As Count Morano led Emily to his zendaletto, he kissed her hand and thanked her for condescension. Emily hastily withdrew her hand and concluded he spoke ironically, but observing the Count's zendaletto waiting while others arranged themselves in gondolas, she determined not to permit a separate conversation and wished him good evening, returning to the portico. The Count followed to expostulate, but Montoni came out, took her hand without speaking, and led her to the zendaletto. Despite her entreaties in a low voice about impropriety, Montoni was inflexible, declaring the caprice intolerable and claiming there was no impropriety in the case.

Emily's dislike of Morano rose to abhorrence at his undaunted assurance, and she felt indignation that he thought her opinion of no consequence so long as Montoni sanctioned his pretensions. Montoni sat on one side of her while Morano placed himself on the other, and Emily trembled in apprehension of the discourse that might follow the initial silence. She broke the silence herself to prevent fine speeches from Morano, but Montoni gave only short, disobliging replies.

Morano expressed gratitude for her goodness and thanked Montoni for providing this opportunity, seeming to believe she had secretly accepted him. He asked why she wished to diminish the delight of the moment with cruel reserve, teaching her eyes to contradict the kindness of her "late declaration." Emily regarded him with astonishment and displeasure, and when Montoni demanded she adhere to a declaration she had allegedly made through him, Emily denied ever doing so, declaring Morano's perseverance had deprived him even of the esteem she had been inclined to believe he merited.

Montoni accused Emily of caprice, noting the Count offered an alliance that would honor any family while hers was not noble, and that his honor was now engaged. Emily insisted her answers had been uniform and it was unworthy to accuse her of caprice. When Montoni claimed she had acknowledged hours ago it was too late to recede and accepted the Count's hand, Emily denied all this, her own hand bearing no such testimony. Montoni demanded her explanation, and Emily requested he first give his confidence. After Montoni agreed to share his confidence, Emily asked what subject his letter to Mons. Quesnel had addressed, and Montoni replied it was the same subject as her note to him—she had stipulated for his confidence before demanding that question.

Montoni confronts Emily regarding their earlier conversation about Count Morano's proposal, accusing her of deliberately misunderstanding his intentions. He sarcastically acknowledges her skill at "this same art of misunderstanding" and warns her of his displeasure, declaring he lacks the patience and humility she might expect from a lover. Emily attempts to explain herself, but Montoni dismisses the need for explanation, suggesting her intentions have changed and will likely change again.

Emily steadfastly maintains her rejection of Count Morano's proposal, declaring to both men that she "never can accept the honour of your alliance." She refuses to engage further in conversation about the subject, asserting that further discussion brings only pain to everyone involved. Despite Morano's impassioned pleas and protestations of devotion, Emily remains unmoved, pointing out that his continued pursuit resembles persecution rather than honorable courtship.

Count Morano becomes increasingly agitated as Emily maintains her refusal and Montoni mocks his submission. When Montoni insults him as a "slave of a pretty tyrant" and implies Emily treats him like a puppet, Morano's resentment shifts from Emily to Montoni. He declares Montoni has a "stronger enemy than a woman to contend with" and announces his intention to protect Emily from Montoni's threatened resentment, accusing Montoni of misleading him and seeking revenge upon an innocent person.

Emily explains the misunderstanding regarding her conversation with Montoni about La Vallée, entreating him to write to M. Quesnel to rectify the situation. Montoni appears incredulous, and Morano remains perplexed. However, the attention of both men becomes diverted, and their passion diminishes. Montoni asks Morano to return to Venice for private conversation, and Morano complies, somewhat soothed. The two men depart together in Morano's zendaletto, leaving Emily with hope for release from her difficult situation.

Alone in her apartment, Emily considers the tyrannical conduct of Montoni, Morano's dauntless perseverance, and her desolate situation far from friends and country. She contemplates her options: returning to France to escape Montoni's power, though M. Quesnel has shown himself equally oppressive; residing in a convent where her father is buried; or waiting until La Vallée's lease expires. She determinedly resolves to represent her distress to M. Quesnel and entreat permission to return to France.

Emily looks in vain to Valancourt as her protector, knowing he is confined by his profession to a distant kingdom. She takes comfort in knowing at least one person would sympathize with her afflictions. Though she refuses to give him pain by relating her reasons for regretting her rejection of his better judgment concerning Montoni, she does not lament the delicacy and disinterested affection that made her reject his proposal for a clandestine marriage. She has no intention of consenting to immediate marriage with Valancourt, believing it would defeat both his interest and fame at this early stage of their lives.

The following day, Madame Montoni questions Emily about the previous evening's events. Emily relates what transpired and requests her aunt's support in urging Montoni to give Count Morano a definitive denial. However, Emily soon perceives that Madame Montoni has been fully aware of the conversation and is not inclined to help. The aunt expresses her opinion that Montoni is right to enforce Emily's consent by any means, questioning what pretensions Emily has to such a match.

Madame Montoni reveals her cruelty by making malevolent allusions to Emily's father, suggesting he had too much pride for his fortune and criticizing his educational choices for Emily. Emily defends her father's memory with dignity, explaining that his pride had "a noble object—the happiness which he knew could be derived only from goodness, knowledge and charity." She states her highest glory would be to emulate such pride. The aunt's venomous envy extends to attacking her late brother's character, deepening Emily's distress and isolation.

In the days before departure for Miarenti, Montoni does not address Emily at all. His looks declare his resentment, but his silence regarding the Count surprises her. She notices that Count Morano neither visits nor is mentioned for three days, leading her to various conjectures—fear that their dispute ended fatally, hope that he has wearied of his suit, or suspicion that he employs stratagem, expecting gratitude to prevail where love could not.

Montoni determines to depart in the evening to avoid the heats and catch cool breezes. About an hour before sunset, the family embarks in a barge for the Brenta. Emily sits alone near the stern of the vessel as it begins its journey away from Venice, contemplating the landscape and her circumstances as the sun begins its descent.

As the barge floats slowly away, Emily watches the gay and lofty city lessening from view. The palaces seem to sink into distant waves, while the loftier towers and domes, illuminated by the declining sun, appear on the horizon like far-seen clouds lingering on the western verge. Eventually even these fade into distance, leaving only the vast scene of cloudless sky and mighty waters as Emily departs the city that has been the source of her recent troubles.

Emily's gaze over the Adriatic toward distant, unseen shores of Greece fills her with classical remembrances. She experiences "that pensive luxury which is felt on viewing the scenes of ancient story" as thoughts of Homer's Iliad come to her mind. The scenes "once the haunt of heroes—now lonely, and in ruins" inspire her fancy with melancholy, leading her to reanimate the landscape with a little story composed in her imagination, blending ancient classical references with oriental imagery.

Emily composes verses depicting a weary camel driver named Hamet crossing the ruined plains of Troy at twilight. The poem contrasts the former grandeur of the city with its present desolation—where "princes wont to joy," now "wandering shepherds" seek shelter. After falling asleep beside his camels, Hamet is attacked by a robber Tartar but is saved by an anonymous shepherd who had watched his flock nearby. The poem concludes with Hamet departing at dawn, his heart merry as he anticipates returning to his wife and children, while the classical landscape is bathed in morning light.

As Emily approaches the shores of Italy, she distinguishes the rich features of the landscape—purple hills, groves of orange, pine and cypress shading magnificent villas, and towns rising among vineyards. The noble Brenta appears as the barge reaches its mouth, where horses are attached to tow it upstream. The grandeur of Palladian villas along the shores is heightened by setting sun rays creating strong contrasts of light and shade, with the scent of oranges and flowering myrtles wafting across the water as strains of music occasionally drift from embowered retreats.

As twilight falls over the Brenta landscape, Emily sits in musing silence, watching features gradually vanish into obscurity. She remembers happy evenings observing twilight with her father at La Vallée, and a tear falls to his memory. Her spirits soften into melancholy under the hour's influence, the low murmur of waves, and the stillness broken only by distant music. She experiences afflicting presages about Valancourt, feeling as though she has taken leave of him forever, and is seized by a conviction, "if such that may be called," that she shall never see him again.

Montoni rouses Emily from her reverie, and she follows him to the cabin where Madame Montoni sits alone. Her aunt's countenance shows the inflamed signs of resentment, apparently from a recent conversation with her husband. Montoni regards his wife with "sullen disdain," and both maintain a haughty silence for some time. When Montoni finally speaks to Emily about M. Quesnel, he dismisses her hope that he has been convinced of error, stating she might as reasonably expect to find "sincerity and uniformity of conduct in one of your sex" as to convict him of error.

Emily recognizes with painful clarity that Montoni's conduct toward her has not been the result of misunderstanding or error, but rather of deliberate intention. She feels both afflicted and humiliated by this realization, prompting her to withdraw from conversation and seek solitude on the deck of the vessel.

Seeking escape from painful conversation, Emily retreats to the deck where she finds some measure of peace in the tranquil night air. Past midnight, starlight provides a dim illumination of the riverbanks and water's surface. As the moon rises, she contemplates her upcoming reception by Mons. and Madame Quesnel, attempts to plan what she might say regarding La Vallée, and tries to distract herself from anxiety by observing the moonlit landscape. She notices a building emerging between the trees in the distance.

The vessel glides smoothly along the Brenta River through the still midnight hours. Emily hears the occasional calls of barge-men addressing their horses on the banks, and from a remote part of the vessel comes the melancholy song of a sailor. As the barge approaches, voices become audible and the lofty portico of a villa, shadowed by groves of pine and sycamore, emerges from the darkness—previously pointed out to Emily as belonging to Madame Quesnel's relative.

The barge stops at a flight of marble steps leading up to a lawn. Mons. and Madame Quesnel are discovered seated on sofas in the portico with several friends, enjoying the cool night air andrefreshments while a simple serenade plays from the riverbank. The company exchanges customary greetings, and Emily, now accustomed to the nocturnal customs of the warm climate, is not surprised to find her hosts abroad two hours after midnight.

After the initial bustle of arrival subsides, Emily observes the singular beauty of the hall—a white marble apartment with columns and a cupola-supported roof. Two open sides terminate in porticos admitting views of the gardens and river. A central fountain refreshes the air and blends with fragrance from surrounding orangeries. Etruscan lamps illuminate the interior while softer moonlight reaches the outer porticos.

The guests engage in a pattern of mutual boasts and affected pity. M. Quesnel speaks self-importantly of his affairs, boasting of acquisitions while feigning sympathy for Montoni's disappointments. Montoni responds with contemptuous silence until Quesnel mentions Emily, then departs with her into the gardens. Madame Quesnel, who praised Italy while in France, now extols France while in Italy, attempting to excite envy with descriptions of places her audience has not seen. Madame Montoni retaliates with boasts of Venetian delights and Montoni's castle on the Apennines. Emily listens in vain for any mention of Valancourt.

Dawn trembles on the eastern horizon as light gradually expands to reveal the Italian mountains and gleaming landscapes. Sunbeams spread a fine saffron tinge across the scene. The landscape transforms from glinting to fully revealed colors, with distant features softened by atmospheric mist. Dark verdure of pines and cypresses contrasts with the light. Market boats now populate the Brenta with painted awnings, displaying fruit, flowers, and peasant girls, creating a moving, festive picture animated by oars, passing choruses, and rustic instruments.

The party explores the villa gardens, where Emily finds relief from painful thoughts. She admires the majestic cypresses, groves of cedar, lemon, and orange trees, pine and poplar clusters, and luxuriant chestnut and oriental planes, all casting rich shade. Bowers of flowering myrtle and spicy shrubs mingle their fragrance with vivid flowers. Rivulets refresh the air throughout the green recesses. Emily lingers to contemplate distant landscapes through vistas—mountain summits touched with purple, steep but gradually shelving, open valleys without formal artifice, and groves sometimes embellished by ruined villas with broken columns.

As the sun gains prominence in the sky, the party concludes their garden excursion and withdraws to rest, bringing this night's journey and activities to a close.

The brief quotation from Collins' poem—"Dark power! with shudd'ring, meek submitted thought / Be mine to read the visions old"—foreshadows the terrors Emily will encounter at Udolpho Castle, setting the gothic atmosphere that characterizes this pivotal chapter in Emily's journey.

Emily is startled from a troubled sleep by urgent knocking at her chamber door. Annette arrives with alarming news that Montoni has commanded the household to depart Venice immediately. The servants are in chaos, and no one knows the reason for this sudden departure. Emily fears Count Morano may be involved, but Annette confirms he is not present. Montoni's state of agitation and the rushed preparations suggest something sinister is afoot. Emily's trembling hands and pale appearance betray her extreme distress at this unexpected summons.

Emily prepares for departure with trembling urgency, throwing her books and clothes into a travelling trunk. She goes down to her aunt's dressing-room, where Montoni impatiently reproves his wife for delay. Both Emily and her aunt appear ignorant of the reason for this hurried journey, though Madame Montoni undertakes it with visible reluctance. Emily accepts the situation, reasoning that no change in her circumstances could possibly be for the worse, unaware of the horrors that await her.

The family embarks on gondolas departing from Venice at dawn. Neither Count Morano nor Cavigni accompanies them, which provides Emily some relief. As the gondola leaves the portico steps, she feels like a criminal receiving a short reprieve. When they pass St. Mark's without stopping to collect Count Morano, her heart grows lighter still. Emily watches the rising dawn illuminate the mountain-tops of Friuli while the shores and lower elevations remain in shadow. She observes the busy scene on the lagoon as market boats head toward the city, and she takes a last look at the splendid city, her mind turning to the uncertain future and the motives behind this sudden removal.

As Montoni and his party travel by carriage across the Terra-firma toward the Apennines, Emily falls into deep depression. Montoni's manner is particularly severe, confirming her fears that he has brought her to this secluded place to force her compliance with his schemes—whether to terrify her into obedience or to solemnize her marriage to Count Morano with the necessary secrecy. Emily's spirit, briefly revived by Morano's absence, fails completely. Her mind is consumed with thoughts of Valancourt, who is now far beyond her reach, and she can never hope to hear from him in the solitude to which she hastens.

The travellers begin their ascent among the immense pine-forests of the Apennines. The dark woods and winding roads exclude all views except of aspiring cliffs above, with occasional openings offering glimpses of the country below. The gloom of these shades, their solitary silence broken only by mountain breezes, and the tremendous precipices raise Emily's feelings into solemn awe. She sees only images of gloomy grandeur and dreadful sublimity. Her mind conjures equally terrifying possibilities: she knows not where she is going, under the dominion of a man from whom she has already suffered much, possibly to marry against her will or to endure whatever punishment Montoni's Italian revenge might dictate.

The travellers reach a resting point where a magnificent scene opens below—an amphitheatre of mountains extending to the campagna of Italy, with cities, rivers, woods, and the Adriatic Sea visible on the horizon. Emily momentarily loses her sorrows in the immensity of nature's grandeur, gazing upon the splendor of the world she is quitting. Yet for her, only Valancourt exists in that world; to him alone her heart turns, and for him alone she sheds bitter tears. As they continue ascending through pine forests, the road enters a narrow pass exhibiting tremendous crags with no vegetation except occasional oak trees clinging to rocks. Wild and romantic scenes unfold—cascading waterfalls, pastoral vales with herds and shepherds' cabins—yet these lack the indescribable awe Emily experienced crossing the Alps.

As evening approaches, the travellers descend into a deep valley surrounded by inaccessible mountains. A vista opens to the east showing the Apennines in their darkest horrors, with ridges of pines creating an image of grandeur Emily has never witnessed. The setting sun's rays stream through an opening in the cliffs, illuminating the towers and battlements of a castle spreading along a precipice's brow. Montoni breaks his long silence to announce: "There, is Udolpho." Emily gazes with melancholy awe upon this gothic edifice, its grey stone walls and mouldering features rendered sublime yet gloomy. As twilight deepens, the light fades from the castle, leaving only its clustering towers visible against the darkening sky. The castle appears to reign sovereign over the desolate scene, its solitary and forbidding aspect awakening terror in Emily's heart.

The carriages ascend through dark, extensive woods that awaken terrifying images in Emily's mind. Upon reaching the castle gates, the deep tone of the portal bell announces their arrival. Emily surveys the edifice, distinguishing only its massy walls and the extent of its ramparts, noting that it is vast, ancient, and dreary. The gateway, defended by round towers with overhanging turrets, is united by an embattled curtain with a portcullis. Long grass and wild plants wave from the crumbling battlements, appearing to sigh over the surrounding desolation. As carriage wheels roll heavily under the portcullis, Emily feels as if entering a prison. The first court is gloomy, and a second gate leads to an even wilder, grass-grown court where briony, moss, and nightshade overgrow the lofty walls. An extensive gothic hall, obscured by evening gloom and illuminated only by a glimmering light through distant arches, reveals black wainscoted walls and a corridor leading to upper apartments. Montoni's sudden arrival prevented adequate preparations, and the servant who greets them shows no joy, his muscles relaxed and his countenance grave.

An ancient servant named Carlo appears to receive his lord. He welcomes Montoni to the castle, explaining that preparations were necessarily limited due to their short notice. Carlo reveals that the castle has been lonely for nearly two years, and he recounts numerous disrepair issues: the north tower has damaged battlements that nearly killed his wife, a section of the great hall roof has collapsed, winds whistled through the castle all winter, the rampart wall has tumbled down in three places, and dangerous stairs lead to the west gallery. Montoni impatiently cuts short Carlo's detailed explanations, promising to discuss repairs tomorrow. The old man's reluctance to leave these walls despite his hardships speaks to the melancholy character of the place.

When Montoni's family gathers round a fire in a spacious apartment with black larch-wood walls, Madame Montoni attempts conversation but receives only sullen responses. Emily, observing the solemn desolation of the room and the tall figure of Montoni passing slowly with folded arms, gathers courage to ask the reason for their sudden journey. After a long pause and repetition of her question, Montoni responds curtly that it does not suit him to answer enquiries, nor is it becoming for her to make them. He tells her time may unfold everything, but he desires no further harassment. He recommends she retire to her chamber and endeavor to adopt a more rational conduct, dismissing her sensibility as mere weakness. Madame Montoni, showing unexpected kindness, bade Emily good night, which moves her niece to tears. Montoni orders a servant to guide Emily to her chamber.

Emily curtsies to Montoni and begins to withdraw, but Montoni points out she does not know the way. His lady's woman is summoned to escort Emily. As they cross the hall, Emily asks Annette about her room. Annette replies that it is called the double chamber, over the south rampart, reached by the great staircase. She has already become lost in this rambling place, and notes that her lady's room lies at the opposite end of the castle—emphasizing the vast and disorienting nature of the edifice Emily must now call home.

Emily ascends the marble staircase with Annette, who resumes her chat about the wild and lonely castle. Annette expresses her fear of living in such a place, wishing herself back in France, and compares it to a giant's castle where she expects to see fairies. Emily playfully engages with the idea of fairies holding their revels in the illuminated hall at midnight, requiring penance for such a sight. Annette declares she will come to the corridor at midnight and keep silent, though she confesses to being more frightened of ghosts than fairies. She mentions Benedetto's opinion that the dismal galleries and halls are fit only for ghosts, and threatens to become one herself if she lives there long. Emily warns her not to let Signor Montoni hear of these fears, which would highly displease him.

Down the passage leading to a back staircase, Annette continues her haranguing on ghosts and fairies while Emily follows. However, Annette misses her way and they wander about through other passages and galleries, growing frightened by their intricacies and desolation until Annette calls aloud for assistance. They are beyond the hearing of the servants, who are on the other side of the castle, so Emily opens the door of a chamber on the left.

Annette warns Emily not to go in, saying she will only lose herself further, but Emily insists on examining the rooms to find their way through. The chamber opens into a suite of spacious and ancient apartments, some hung with tapestry and others wainscoted with cedar and black larch-wood. The furniture seems almost as old as the rooms, retaining grandeur though covered with dust and dropping to pieces with damp and age. Annette remarks on the coldness of the rooms, saying nobody has lived in them for many years, and begs to go. Emily presses on, hoping the rooms may open upon the great staircase.

Emily comes to a chamber hung with pictures and examines one of a soldier on horseback in a field of battle, thrusting his spear at a supplicating man beneath the horse. The soldier's vengeful expression strikes Emily as resembling Montoni, and she shudders and turns away. Passing hastily over several other pictures, she comes to one concealed by a veil of black silk. The singularity of this circumstance arrests her attention as she wishes to remove the veil and examine what has been so carefully concealed, though she somewhat lacks the courage. Annette exclaims in surprise at the veiled picture, mentioning it is the picture she was told about at Venice.

When Emily asks what the picture is about, Annette hesitates and cannot explain exactly what she has heard. Emily commands Annette to remove the veil, but Annette refuses outright, her countenance growing pale. Emily inquires what Annette has heard to terrify her so. Annette claims to know nothing, only that something very dreadful belongs to it and that it has been covered in black ever since. She mentions it somehow concerns the owner of the castle before Signor Montoni came into possession. Emily observes that Annette knows nothing after all, and Annette reveals she has been made to promise never to tell, struggling between her inclination to reveal a secret and her fear of the consequence. When Emily lifts the veil, Annette immediately walks away with the light, and Emily, unwilling to be left alone in the dark chamber, follows her. They pass to the extremity of the apartment suite and find themselves at the top of the marble staircase.

Annette goes to call a servant while Emily remains, and her thoughts return to the picture. An unwillingness to tamper with a servant's integrity has checked her inquiries, as well as concerning alarming hints about Montoni, though her curiosity is entirely awakened and she knows her questions might easily be answered. She is inclined to go back and examine the picture, but the loneliness of the hour and the place, with the melancholy silence and a certain degree of awe excited by the mystery attending the picture, prevent her. She determines to examine it when daylight has reanimated her spirits. As she leans from the corridor over the staircase, she again observes the vast strength of the walls, somewhat decayed, and the pillars of solid marble rising from the hall.

A servant appears with Annette and conducts Emily to her chamber, which is in a remote part of the castle at the very end of the corridor from which the suite of apartments opens. The lonely aspect of the room makes Emily unwilling for Annette to leave immediately, and the dampness chills her with more than fear. She asks the servant Caterina to bring wood and light a fire. Caterina says it is many a year since a fire was lit there, and Annette remarks every room feels like a well and she wishes herself at Venice again. Emily waves for Caterina to fetch the wood, and Annette wonders why they call it the double chamber. Emily surveys the room, finding it lofty and spacious with walls lined with dark larch-wood, the bed and furniture very ancient with an air of gloomy grandeur. One of the high casements overlooks a rampart, but the view beyond is hidden in darkness. Emily tries to support her spirits in Annette's presence and restrain tears that come to her eyes, having been accustomed to tenderness and affection until losing her parents. The stern manners of Montoni still shock her. A servant brings supper from Madame Montoni, and Emily makes Annette sit down and sup with her. When the meal is over, Annette, encouraged by Emily's kindness and stirring the wood into a blaze, draws her chair nearer and asks if Emily has ever heard the strange accident that made the Signor lord of this castle.

To call off her attention from pressing subjects, Emily rises and examines her room and furniture. Walking round it, she passes a door that is not quite shut, and upon bringing the light forward, discovers it leads to a steep, narrow staircase winding between two stone walls. She wishes to know where it leads, and is the more anxious since it communicates so immediately with her apartment, but lacking courage to venture into darkness alone, she closes the door and tries to fasten it. Finding it has no bolts on the chamber side, though it has two on the other, she places a heavy chair against it to remedy the defect. She remains alarmed at the thought of sleeping alone in this remote room with a door opening she knows not whither and which cannot be perfectly fastened inside. She sometimes wishes to entreat that Annette might remain with her all night, but is deterred by fear of betraying what would be thought childish fears and by unwillingness to increase Annette's apt terrors.

Annette, who dearly loves the marvellous, has heard a circumstance connected with the castle that highly gratifies this taste. Having been enjoined not to mention it, her inclination to tell is so strong that she is every instant on the point of speaking what she knows, though she fears incurring Montoni's displeasure by offending him. She looks round the chamber and draws closer to Emily, saying she has heard all about it from Benedetto during their travels. She promises to tell Emily because she trusts her to keep a secret, having promised others never to tell. Emily smiles and says she will keep it as faithfully as Annette. Annette begins the tale by explaining the castle is very old and strong and has withstood many sieges. It was not Signor Montoni's always, nor his father's, but by some law was to come to the Signor if a certain lady died unmarried.

Annette explains the lady lived in the castle with everything very grand about her. Signor Montoni used often to come to see her and was in love with her, offering to marry her, though somehow related. However, she was in love with somebody else and would not have him, which made him very angry. She was very melancholy and unhappy for a long while, used to walk about upon the terrace under the windows by herself and cry. Montoni left the castle and never came near it for a long time, but she was just as unhappy whether he was present or not. They called the lady Signora Laurentini, and she was very handsome, though she too was sometimes in great passions like the Signor.

Annette relates that one evening at the latter end of the year—possibly September, October, or November—Signora Laurentini walked out of the castle into the woods below, as she had often done before, alone except for her maid. The wind blew cold and strewed leaves about, whistling dismally among the great chestnut trees. Her woman would have persuaded her to return, but she was fond of walking in the woods at evening, particularly when the leaves were falling. They saw her go down among the woods, but night came and she did not return. Ten, eleven, twelve o'clock passed with no lady. The servants went out to seek her and searched all night long but could find her or any trace of her. From that day to this, nothing has been heard of her.

Emily asks if this is true, and Annette confirms it with a look of horror. However, Annette adds that the Signora has been seen several times since, walking in the woods and about the castle at night. Several of the old servants who remained for some time after declare they saw her, and she has been seen by vassals who happened to be in the castle at night. Emily points out the contradiction—that nothing has been known of her yet she has been seen—and Annette, without noticing the remark, emphasizes this was told her as a great secret and begs Emily not to hurt her or Benedetto by telling it again. Emily assures her of discretion and advises her to be discreet herself and never mention what she has told. When Emily asks what inquiries were made, Annette explains that the Signor laid claim to the castle directly as next heir, and the judges or senators said he could not take possession until so many years were gone by, and then if the lady could not be found, she would be as good as dead and the castle would be his own. Many strange reports were spread that Annette will not tell. When Emily asks if anyone spoke to the apparitions, Annette declares with terror that nobody would dare speak to a spirit. The apparition never came in or went out of the castle, was in one place now and then the next minute in another part of the castle, and never spoke. Several parts of the castle have never been entered since because of these sightings.

Annette relates that there is an old chapel adjoining the west side of the castle where, at midnight, one may hear such groans that it makes one shudder to think of them. Strange sights have been seen there. Emily begs her to stop these silly tales, but Annette protests they are not silly and says she will tell one story that Caterina told her.

Caterina often came to the castle then to keep old Carlo and his wife company, and Carlo later recommended her to the Signor, so she has lived there ever since. On a cold winter's night, Carlo wished for figs to roast that lay in the store-closet, but it was a long way off, so he asked Caterina to fetch them, telling her they lay in a corner of the store-room at the end of the north-gallery. He told her to take the lamp and mind as she went up the great staircase that the wind through the roof did not blow it out. So Caterina took the lamp and went to the north-gallery—the wide gallery they had passed before coming to the corridor. As she went with the lamp in her hand, thinking of nothing at all, Annette suddenly exclaims she has heard a noise again and it was not fancy.

Emily and Annette sit trembling in silence when they hear a low knocking against the wall. Annette screams in alarm, and the chamber door slowly opens.

The visitor is Caterina, who has come to summon Annette to Madame Montoni. Though Emily recognizes who it is, she cannot immediately overcome her terror. Annette, caught between laughter and tears, scolds Caterina for frightening them while secretly worrying that her earlier revelations may have been overheard. Emily, reluctant to be left alone given her shaken nerves, nevertheless dismisses Annette for the night to avoid offending Madame Montoni.

Alone with her thoughts, Emily dwells on the strange history of Signora Laurentini and her own precarious situation—isolated in foreign mountains, trapped in a castle under the power of a man who was a stranger to her just months ago. She considers how Montoni has already wielded usurped authority over her.

Emily reflects with terror on Montoni's character. She believes he possesses both the ingenuity to conceive schemes and the talents to execute them, and she fears he has a heart entirely devoid of compassion that would permit any atrocity his interests demanded. She recalls Madame Montoni's unhappiness and Montoni's harsh, contemptuous treatment of his wife, all of which confirms her alarm.

Emily remembers Valancourt's warnings about Montoni on the eve of her departure from Languedoc, and his attempts to dissuade her from this journey. His fears now seem prophetic and confirmed. Her heart mourns when she recalls Valancourt, yet reason consoles her: whatever her suffering, she has not involved him in misfortune, and she is free from self-reproach.

The hollow sighing of the wind fills the corridor. When a violent gust sweeps through and shakes the castle, Emily discovers that her makeshift door fastening has been displaced and the door to the private staircase stands half open. Curiosity and fear both stir within her. She takes her lamp to investigate but hesitates at the top of the steps, daunted by the profound stillness and gloom. She decides to wait until daylight for further investigation and closes the door with a stronger guard in place.

Emily examines the door to the private staircase and, finding it still partially open, secures it more firmly with an additional barrier before retreating to her bed.

Emily leaves the lamp burning, but its dim, uncertain light only deepens her dread. By its wavering rays, she imagines seeing shapes pass her curtains and glide into the darkness of her chamber. She does not close her eyes to sleep until the castle clock strikes one.

Emily awakens troubled by thoughts of Count Morano and anticipated misfortunes. To quiet her restless mind, she gazes from her casement upon the magnificent Alpine landscape. She observes the wild grandeur of mountain peaks fading into misty hues, dark woods sweeping down to valleys, and the castle's fortifications spreading across rocky terrain. The scenery includes a foaming rapid stream cascading among crags, catching sunlight through pine foliage, and a mountain vista that gradually reveals pastoral beauty as mist rises. The pine forests brighten, and the mountains appear to shelve into the Adriatic sea in the distance. The morning's breezy freshness revives her spirit, and she raises her thoughts in prayer amid the sublimity of nature.

Having viewed the scenery, Emily turns to examine the door she had carefully guarded the previous night. She discovers that the chairs have been moved slightly, and the door itself is now fastened. Since this door can only be secured from the outside, it must have been bolted during the night. The realization strikes her like an apparition. The corridor door remains locked as she left it, but this mysterious bolting alarms her deeply. She becomes seriously uneasy about sleeping in a chamber so liable to intrusion, so remote from the family. She determines to mention the circumstance to Madame Montoni and request a different apartment.

Emily makes her way to the great hall where breakfast is spread, finding her aunt alone. Montoni has been examining the castle's fortifications with Carlo. Emily notices that Madame Montoni has been weeping, and her heart softens toward her aunt, though she carefully avoids acknowledging her unhappiness. Seizing Montoni's absence, Emily mentions the door incident and requests another apartment, also enquiring again about the sudden journey. Her aunt refers her to Montoni regarding the room change and professes ignorance about their journey's purpose. Emily tries to reconcile her aunt to their situation by praising the castle's grandeur, but Madame Montoni, though somewhat softened by misfortune, cannot resist ridiculing Emily's taste. Montoni enters, his countenance darker and sterner than usual, and the breakfast proceeds in uncomfortable silence.

Emily ventures to request another apartment, relating the circumstances of the bolted door. Montoni dismisses her concerns as "idle whims," insisting she must be content with the chamber prepared for her. He suggests the wind may have shaken the door and made the bolts slide, though Emily has observed the bolts are rusted and could not move so easily. When she repeats her request, Montoni sternly tells her to conquer her fears and cease tormenting others with them. He declares that no existence is more contemptible than one embittered by fear, glancing meaningfully at Madame Montoni, who colours but remains silent. Wounded and disappointed, Emily determines to endure her fears rather than continue seeking relief.

Carlo enters with fruit, noting that Montoni must be tired from his long ramble. He begins to mention something about a place in the vaulted passage but stops when Montoni frowns and waves him away. Carlo then offers cherries he gathered himself from an old tree catching the south sun, presenting the basket to Madame Montoni and Emily. Montoni impatiently cuts short the exchange, dismissing Carlo but ordering him to remain in waiting. After Carlo leaves, Montoni departs to examine the castle further, while Emily remains with her aunt, enduring her ill humour and soothing her affliction.

When Madame Montoni retires to her dressing-room, Emily explores the castle through a folding door to the ramparts. These extend along the precipice's brow around three sides of the edifice, with the fourth guarded by high court walls and the gateway. Emily admires the grandeur of the broad ramparts and the changing scenery below—mountain-tops, pine forests, and narrow glens among the Apennines. She examines the gothic magnificence of Udolpho with its proud irregularity, lofty towers, battlements, high-arched casements, and slender watch-towers perched on turret corners. Leaning on the terrace wall, she shudders measuring the precipice below, where dark summits of woods arrest her gaze. She observes Montoni ascending a winding path cut in the rock below, accompanied by Carlo and a peasant receiving his directions.

While Emily leans on the walls, she hears carriage wheels and the loud portal bell. She hastily retreats toward her apartment as several persons enter the hall through an opposite door. The agitation of her spirits and the hall's extent and duskiness prevent her from distinguishing the strangers. Her fears fix upon one object—Count Morano—and she believes she has seen him. She remains in her room, agitated with apprehensions and listening to distant sounds until she hears voices on the rampart. She observes Montoni below with Signor Cavigni, conversing earnestly and often stopping to face each other with uncommonly interesting discourse.

Annette arrives with news that Signor Cavigni has arrived, along with Signor Verezzi and others. Emily mistakenly believes Count Morano is among them and nearly faints before Annette clarifies that Morano has not come. Annette describes her excitement at seeing Christian faces and fellow servants in the castle, mentioning that Ludovico has arrived with the party—a tall, handsome young man who was Signor Cavigni's lacquey. Emily listens patiently to Annette's loquacity about Ludovico's singing at Venice regattas, though she grows weary of the chatter. When Emily mentions the bolted door, Annette turns pale. Emily asks about the chamber and the staircase, but Annette hurries away to attend to her lady, promising to gather information.

Montoni's refusal of another chamber leaves Emily determined to bear her situation with patience. She unpacks her books—her delight in happier days and comfort in hours of moderate sorrow—arranging them on a high chest. She considers sketching the sublime scenes from her windows but checks this pleasure, remembering how often such intentions have been prevented by misfortune. She questions why she should be deluded by hope simply because Morano has not yet arrived, knowing he will come eventually. She attempts to read but her attention wanders, and she throws the book aside to explore the adjoining chambers of the castle. Her imagination is pleased by views of ancient grandeur, and melancholy awe awakens her powers as she walks through rooms likely undisturbed for years.

Emily's exploration brings to her recollection the veiled picture that attracted her curiosity the previous night. She resolves to examine it. As she passes through chambers leading to it, she grows somewhat agitated—its connection to the former lady of the castle, Annette's conversation, and the mystery of the veil all contribute to a faint degree of terror. Yet this terror, by occupying and expanding the mind and elevating it to high expectation, proves purely sublime and leads her by fascination to seek even objects from which she appears to shrink. Emily passes on with faltering steps, pausing at the door before hastily entering the chamber and approaching the picture enclosed in an uncommon-sized frame hanging in a dark part of the room.

Emily pauses again, then with a timid hand lifts the veil. Instantly she lets it fall—what it conceals is no picture. Before she can leave the chamber, she drops senseless on the floor, having witnessed something so horrifying that her very recollection of it threatens to deprive her of consciousness a second time. She barely has strength to remove from the room and regain her own chamber, where she lacks courage to remain alone. Horror occupies her mind, excluding all sense of past misfortune and dread of future evils. She seats herself near the casement where she can hear distant voices on the terrace and see people pass—trifling reviving circumstances that gradually restore her spirits.

When Emily recovers her recollection, she considers whether to mention what she saw to Madame Montoni. Various important motives urge her to do so, including the relief an overburdened mind finds in sharing its distress. However, dreading her aunt's indiscretion, she determines to arm herself with resolution and observe profound silence on the subject. Montoni and Verezzi soon pass under the casement, speaking cheerfully, and their voices revive her. The Signors Bertolini and Cavigni join the party on the terrace. Emily goes to seek her aunt, whose solitude now affects her spirit given the proximity to the chamber where she received such a severe shock. She finds Madame Montoni preparing for dinner, though her pale and affrighted countenance alarms even her aunt. Emily maintains sufficient strength of mind to remain silent about what made her shudder.

At dinner, Emily meets the gentlemen lately arrived, who have a busy seriousness in their looks unusual for them. Their thoughts seem too occupied by some deep interest to bestow much attention on Emily or Madame Montoni. They speak little, and Montoni less. Emily shudders as she looks at Montoni, the horror of the chamber rushing upon her mind. Several times colour fades from her cheeks, and she fears illness will betray her emotions, but the strength of her resolution remedies her frame's weakness. She obliges herself to converse and even tries to appear cheerful. Montoni appears to labour under some vexation that bends up his faculties to energy and fortitude. The meal is comfortless and silent. Even Cavigni's gay countenance has caught the castle's gloom, mingled with a fierceness Emily has seldom seen him indicate. Count Morano is not named, and conversation turns chiefly upon the wars agitating the Italian states, Venetian army strength, and their generals' characters.

After dinner, when servants withdraw, Emily learns that a cavalier who drew upon himself Orsino's vengeance has died of his wounds and that strict search continues for his murderer. This intelligence disturbs Montoni, who muses and asks where Orsino has concealed himself. His guests, except Cavigni, are ignorant that Montoni himself assisted Orsino to escape from Venice. They reply that Orsino fled at night with such precipitation and secrecy that even his most intimate companions know not his whereabouts. Montoni blames himself for asking, for a second thought convinces him that a man of Orsino's suspicious temper is not likely to trust any present with knowledge of his asylum. Yet Montoni considers himself entitled to Orsino's utmost confidence and does not doubt he shall soon hear of him.

Following dinner, Emily accompanies Madame Montoni to the ramparts, where both women walk in contemplative silence. Emily struggles to keep secret the terrible discovery she made earlier, knowing that speaking of it could endanger them both given their vulnerability under Montoni's control. She experiences ominous presentiments about her fate being connected to the castle. As she gazes upon the distant mountains, she yearns for her homeland and thinks fondly of Valancourt, whose love has been her sole comfort.

Walking upon the rampart walls, Emily contemplates how far she has traveled from her peaceful home and beloved friends. The massive fortress appears to her as a prison, and she wonders if she will ever see Valancourt again. Though his memory sustains her, her melancholy deepens as she considers the hopelessness of her circumstances. Her forebodings intensify throughout the day.

Madame Montoni observes peasants repairing fortifications and notices a breach that has fallen into disrepair. When she looks toward a distant mountain, she sees a long procession of soldiers—horse and foot—winding along the woody descent. The glitter of pikes and arms catches her attention, though the distance prevents her from distinguishing their colors. The vanguard emerges from the woods while more troops continue to pour over the mountaintop in endless succession.

Alarmed by the military procession, Madame Montoni sends Emily to summon Montoni. When Emily approaches his chamber, she hears loud dispute among the cavaliers. Despite her dread of his displeasure, she delivers the message. Montoni dismisses her curtly, but upon hearing the reason for her alarm, he and his companions immediately proceed to the ramparts to observe the troops for themselves.

Cavigni identifies the approaching forces as condottieri—a band of mercenaries—marching toward Modena. The procession extends along the valley while other troops wind among the northern mountains. Military signals echo across the landscape as trumpets and cymbals sound in answer to one another from different elevations. Montoni, recognizing the signals as non-hostile, watches them pass by without incident. Cavigni and Verezzi are invigorated by the martial display, while Montoni withdraws into thoughtful silence.

Emily remains on the ramparts as evening descends, unwilling to return to her lonely chamber after the shock she has endured. Madame Montoni, in low spirits, retreats to her dressing-room without inviting Emily to accompany her. Emily lingers on the fortifications until grey haze spreads over the landscape, avoiding the mysterious recesses of the castle she now fears to explore.

Before retiring, Emily visits Madame Montoni and finds her weeping in great agitation. Despite Emily's naturally soothing presence, her aunt's heart remains too tormented to accept comfort. Emily's delicate observation of her aunt's distress gentles her own manner, though this display of sympathy offends Madame Montoni's pride. She dismisses Emily as soon as propriety allows, though Emily requests that Annette be permitted to stay with her through the night.

Emily crosses the dark galleries alone, carrying only a dim lamp that threatens to expire. The oppressive silence of the castle is broken only by distant laughter from the servants' quarters. She passes the rooms she visited earlier, avoiding the door that once concealed something terrible. Upon reaching her own apartment, she settles with a book to await Annette, but her solitude and the chamber's proximity to yesterday's horror plague her spirits. She checks that her chamber door remains fastened, anxious about the previous night's intrusion.

Annette arrives late, having been summoned by Madame Montoni. When Emily questions her about the locked chamber, Annette reports that no one knows anything about it, though old Carlo seemed troubled by her enquiries. Annette reveals superstitious tales about a ghostly figure guarding a cannon on the east rampart, and admits she attempted to view the shrouded picture that morning—only to find the door locked. Emily discerns that Annette has been deliberately misled, and she fears her own visit to the chamber may have been observed. To calm Annette's credulity, Emily redirects conversation to lighter topics like Venice's regattas and moonlight festivals.

Near midnight, the castle's great bell sounds twice. Emily hears carriage wheels in the courtyard below and fears Count Morano has arrived. She sends Annette to investigate while she remains in agonized suspense. When Annette confirms it is indeed the Count, Emily nearly collapses. Annette describes seeing Morano's carriage at the gate, illuminated by torches, accompanied by horsemen and another gentleman. Ludovico informs Annette that Montoni remains awake, consulting with his guests in the north gallery.

Emily, increasingly anxious, asks Annette to seek information from the servants' hall regarding Count Morano's intentions. Emily accompanies her to the top of the great staircase but avoids the great hall where she might be seen by the Count. Instead, Annette guides her through private passages to a back staircase leading to the servants' quarters. Emily then makes her way back toward her chamber, fearful of becoming lost again in the castle's intricacies.

As Emily navigates the corridors alone, she hears low moans emanating from behind one of the many doors. Convulsive sobs and piercing lamentations lead her to believe someone suffers within. Though afraid, her pity overcomes her terror, and she gently opens the door to discover Madame Montoni weeping at her dressing-table. Some unknown male figure sits nearby in a chair by the fire, speaking occasionally in low tones that Emily cannot distinguish. Choosing not to intrude upon her aunt's distress or eavesdrop on private discourse, Emily retreats silently to her own chamber.

Emily's concern for her aunt deepens as she realizes Madame Montoni has received a late visitor whose identity remains unknown. The mysterious conversation between her aunt and this unnamed gentleman suggests troubles far beyond what Emily has been permitted to witness. She withdraws without revealing her presence, leaving Madame Montoni unaware that she has observed her distress.

Annette returns from the servants' hall without useful intelligence, as the servants either know nothing or feign ignorance about Count Morano's intentions. They can discuss only the dangerous mountain road and the torches that illuminated their lord's perilous nighttime journey. Emily finally dismisses Annette for the night but hesitates before allowing her to leave, remembering the chamber's disturbing associations. Before Annette departs, Emily learns that Montoni and the Count were still together when she left, and that Madame Montoni's dressing-room door was fastened—suggesting she had retired for the night, though Emily now knows this was not the case.

Emily dismisses Annette for the night after her hints about the chamber. Sitting alone in midnight solitude, she muses upon her circumstances and those of Madame Montoni. Her attention falls upon a miniature picture she discovered among her father's papers after his death—a picture bearing a striking resemblance to him, yet imbued with a melancholy sweetness that soothes rather than saddens. However, this tranquility shatters when she recalls the ominous words from the manuscript found with the portrait, which had formerly filled her with doubt and horror. Despite her weariness, she decides against undressing, choosing instead to lie down fully clothed with her faithful dog Manchon stationed at the bed's foot as a guardian against whatever dangers the night might bring. Her troubled fancy prevents rest, and she does not close her eyes until the castle clock strikes two.

From disturbed slumber, Emily awakens to a noise seemingly originating within her chamber. When silence returns as she listens fearfully, she believes it merely a dream, but the sound recurs, this time appearing to emanate from the section of the room communicating with the private staircase. She remembers the door having been mysteriously fastened the previous night, and her recent suspicion that this staircase might have private communication with her apartment. Terror seizes her heart as she raises herself and peers toward the door, but the lamp's feeble light leaves the room's remote areas shrouded in shadow. The noise continues—sounding like the drawing of rusty bolts, stopping and starting again as if its source fears discovery. Then the door moves, opens slowly, and something enters. Extreme darkness prevents her from distinguishing what approaches, and she watches in frozen terror as a form glides through the chamber's obscurity. When it draws near the hearth's stronger light, Emily perceives a human figure. Certain remembrances strike her heart almost rendering her senseless, yet she continues watching as the figure stands motionless at the bed's foot where the curtains allow her a glimpse. After a moment, the figure retreats to take the lamp and survey the room, then advances again toward the bed. The light awakens Manchon, who barks loudly and attacks the intruder. The stranger strikes the dog with a sheathed sword and springs toward the bed. Emily discovers Count Morano.

Morano throws himself on his knee beside the bed, entreating Emily to fear nothing, having thrown down his sword. He attempts to take her hand, but she springs from the bed in the dress her prophetic apprehension had prevented her from discarding. He follows her to the staircase door where she discovers, by a lamp's gleam, another man halfway down the steps. Screaming in despair, believing herself betrayed by Montoni, she finds no possibility of escape. Morano leads her back into the chamber, claiming he loves her too well for his own peace and came not to alarm but to speak with her. He reveals that Montoni is a villain who would have sold her to his love, and that Montoni now has new, more profitable schemes concerning her. Emily's contempt is evident, yet hope flickers in her breast. Morano pleads desperately, warning that Montoni's schemes are insearchable and terrible, that he has no principle when interest or ambition leads. He urges her to flee to Venice, claiming he has bribed a servant to open the castle gates, and that before dawn she will be far away. Overcome by this sudden shock when she had begun hoping for better days, Emily sees destruction surrounding her on every side. She throws herself into a chair, pale and breathless, trembling at Morano's hints which she no longer doubts, yet recoiling from submitting to this man whose evils seem equally terrible to endure.

When Emily declares she will remain under Signor Montoni's protection, Morano's composure shatters completely. He paces the room with quick, disturbed steps, his darkened countenance expressing jealousy and revenge. He demands to know if she would prefer all the misery Montoni may condemn her to in this remote prison over marriage with a man who adores her. When she remains steadfast, his rage intensifies, and he accuses her of loving Montoni. His fury reaches its peak when he grasps her wrist and stamps his foot, crying that Montoni shall not live to triumph over him. Emily, terrified by his words and the fury in his eyes, tries to save him from this error, declaring Montoni is not her rival. Yet Morano, beyond reason, determines to force her to accompany him since his prayers have failed. He reveals he has people in waiting to convey her to his carriage, noting her voice will bring no succour from this remote part of the castle. Emily sits mute and trembling, her thoughts disordered by terror, as Morano's threats grow increasingly menacing.

The confrontation erupts when Montoni, followed by the old steward and several others, bursts through the corridor door. Morano, who had been hurrying Emily across the chamber, pauses with his mind suspended between love and vengeance. Montoni cries "Draw!" and Morano instantly turns to face him, delivering a thrust with his sword while commanding his men to take Emily. Montoni parries the blow. The fight becomes so desperate that none of the spectators dare approach. Montoni swears that the first to interfere shall fall by his sword. Morano's fury is lent strength by jealousy and revenge, while Montoni displays fierce yet wary valour, his skill and temperance gradually gaining advantage. Morano receives Montoni's sword point in his arm but continues fighting, seemingly insensible to pain or loss of blood, alive only to his passions. Montoni perseveres, receiving a wound on his own arm, yet almost in the same instant severely wounding and disarming his adversary.

The Count falls back into the arms of his servant, disarmed and wounded. Montoni holds his sword over the fallen man and demands he ask for his life. Morano, sinking under his wound's anguish, can scarcely reply except by a gesture and few feebly articulated words indicating he would not beg. When he faints, Montoni prepares to plunge his sword into his breast, but his arm is arrested by Cavigni. Montoni yields to the interruption without much difficulty, though his complexion changes almost to blackness as he regards his fallen enemy. He orders that Morano be carried instantly from the castle.

Emily, who had been prevented from leaving the chamber during the combat, now comes forward to plead Morano's cause with the warmest benevolence, entreating Montoni to allow him the assistance his condition requires within the castle. But Montoni, rapacious of vengeance, refuses all mercy. With monstrous cruelty, he again commands his defeated enemy be taken from the castle in his present state, despite only woods or a solitary neighbouring cottage being available to shelter him from the night. The Count's servants declare they will not move him until he revives, and Montoni's men stand inactive while Cavigni remonstrates. Emily, superior to Montoni's menaces, gives water to Morano and directs the attendants to bind up his wound. Only when Montoni feels pain from his own hurt does he withdraw to examine it, leaving the matter of Morano's fate in this uncertain state.

The Count slowly recovers, and the first object his eyes encounter is Emily bending over him with a countenance strongly expressive of solicitude. He surveys her with anguish, acknowledging he has deserved this punishment but not from Montoni—it is from Emily that he has deserved punishment, yet receives only pity. He declares he must resign her but not to Montoni, and begs forgiveness for the suffering he has caused. Then, his anger rekindling against Montoni, he swears the villain's infamy shall not go unpunished. He commands his servants to bear him from this place immediately, insisting he cannot bear a carriage's motion and will not pass another night under Montoni's roof, even if he might expire on the way. He rejects Cavigni's offer to petition Montoni for shelter in the castle with disdain. As he departs, his fury burns undiminished, and he sends word to Montoni that he will go when it suits his own convenience, calling the castle a serpent's nest and warning this is not the last Montoni shall hear from him—vowing he will not leave another murder on Montoni's conscience if he can help it.

The chapter opens with a tense confrontation in the corridor. Count Morano is being carried away by his servants when Cavigni challenges him, and Verezzi threatens Morano with his sword, declaring he will plunge it into his body if he dares insult his friend again. Morano manages to raise himself momentarily to deliver a defiant retort, calling the action worthy of a villain's friend, but immediately collapses back into the arms of his servants. Montoni's men restrain Verezzi, who seems ready to carry out his threat, while Cavigni attempts to withdraw him from the corridor. Emily, who has been detained by compassionate interest, begins to leave but is stopped by Morano's supplicating voice.

Emily approaches Morano despite her fear, moved by his fainting condition. Morano tells her he is leaving forever and may never see her again. He asks for her forgiveness and good wishes, and Emily grants both, adding wishes for his general welfare. Morano sighs and asks her to think of him sometimes, forgetting his offense but remembering the passion that caused it. He confesses he would ask impossibilities—her love—but acknowledges he has not deserved such favor. As Emily shows impatience to leave, she warns Morano to consider his safety given Verezzi's passion and Montoni's resentment. Morano complies with her concern for his safety, asking once more for her assurance of good wishes before departing.

Emily finds Montoni in the cedar parlour, suffering from his wound but displaying a stern, calm countenance that reveals only the dark passion of revenge, not pain. He rebukes Emily for not obeying his first summons and accuses her of female caprice, implying that she favored Count Morano after he dismissed him. Emily protests that she does not comprehend his implication regarding the double-chamber. Montoni demands to know what extraordinary interest detained her with a man she has always avoided. Emily calmly explains it was compassion, asking how either of them could witness Morano's deplorable condition without wishing to relieve it. Montoni accuses her of hypocrisy and attempts at satire, then lectures her on the indispensable virtues of sincerity, uniformity of conduct, and obedience. Emily is shocked but proud in her conscious worth, remaining silent. When informed Morano has been removed to a neighbouring cottage, Montoni allows Emily to retire to her apartment.

In the great gallery, Emily hears voices in dispute and approaches to find Cavigni and Verezzi alone. Verezzi's face is flushed with rage, and since Morano has been removed, he appears willing to direct his resentment at Cavigni. Verezzi insists he will inform Montoni immediately of Morano's insults, particularly the accusation of murder. Cavigni argues that words spoken in passion require no answer and that pursuing petty revenge could have fatal consequences. Emily joins Cavigni's entreaties, and they eventually prevail upon Verezzi to retire without seeing Montoni.

Emily calls at her aunt's apartment, which she finds fastened. When Madame Montoni opens the door, Emily prepares to inform her tenderly about Montoni's accident, but her aunt interrupts to say she is already acquainted with the whole affair. Emily discovers that Madame Montoni displays perfect apathy toward her husband's condition, showing little love despite the circumstances. Emily nonetheless obtains permission for Annette to sleep in her chamber with her.

A trail of blood marks the corridor leading to Emily's apartment, and the floor where the Count and Montoni fought remains stained. Shuddering and leaning on Annette, Emily passes the grim scene. Upon reaching her apartment, Emily remembers that the staircase door remains open and decides to explore where it leads, considering it materially connected to her safety. When Annette proposes to investigate, they find the door already fastened from outside. They then secure the door from the inside by placing heavy furniture against it. Emily retires to bed while Annette sits by the hearth where embers remain.

The narrative now shifts to explain circumstances surrounding Emily's hasty departure from Venice that could not be related amidst the rapid events. On the morning of her journey, Count Morano arrived at Montoni's mansion at the appointed hour to demand his bride, only to discover the household abandoned.

Morano found the portico silent and deserted, with only an old woman remaining to guard the mansion. She informed him that Montoni and his family had departed for Terra-firma early that morning. His servants confirmed the news, and Morano's surprise transformed into raging disappointment as he rushed through the halls, interrogating the old woman furiously before stamping about like a madman, cursing Montoni and his own folly.

The old woman eventually revealed that Montoni had gone to his castle on the Apennine. Morano immediately prepared to follow, accompanied by a friend and numerous servants, determined either to obtain Emily or to exact full revenge upon Montoni. His rage eventually subsided enough for his conscience to suggest certain circumstances explaining Montoni's conduct.

Montoni had received indisputable proof that Morano's financial circumstances, rather than being affluent as claimed, were greatly involved. Interested only by avarice and pride, Montoni had stipulated Emily's estate in Gascony as the price of his favor. After obtaining confirmation of Morano's bankruptcy on the eve of the intended nuptials, Montoni hastened to Udolpho to remove Emily from Morano's reach and avoid useless altercation, revealing nothing to Emily of his motives.

When Morano's arrival was announced, Montoni admitted him expecting him to fulfill his engagement. However, Morano's enraged demeanor instantly disabused him of this notion. Despite Montoni's explanations, Morano persisted in demanding Emily and reproaching Montoni without mentioning the former stipulation. Weary of dispute, Montoni deferred settlement until the next day, giving Morano some hope based on Montoni's apparent indecision.

Alone in his apartment, Morano reflected on the conversation and Montoni's character, abandoning his hope. He devised a scheme to carry Emily away, entrusting his confidential valet Cesario to find a servant among Montoni's household willing to betray his master. The valet discovered a man whom Montoni had treated harshly, who guided Cesario through a private passage to Emily's chamber and provided keys for their retreat.

Old Carlo overheard two of Morano's servants expressing surprise at their master's sudden secret departure. From their surmises, Carlo drew a just conclusion. Before disclosing his apprehensions to Montoni, he positioned himself at Emily's door, and when convinced Morano was in the room, he alarmed Montoni, rescuing Emily from the Count's designs.

With Emily released from Morano's addresses, her spirits found relief from a portion of her anxiety. However, Morano's assertions about Montoni's terrible schemes lingered in her mind. She determined to enjoy this respite from actual misfortune, took her drawing instruments, and positioned herself at a window to sketch the mountain scenery.

On the following morning, several strangers arrived at the castle and were shown into a private apartment where Montoni met with them for nearly an hour. Montoni appeared as usual except for his wounded arm in a sling. After attending to business on the ramparts, he ordered Carlo to conduct the strangers to quarters formerly occupied by upper servants.

Morano remained in a cottage in the woods below, suffering both bodily and mental pain while meditating deep revenge. His servant had traveled considerable distance to procure a surgeon, who refused to give a positive opinion on the danger of Morano's wounds and remained to watch the event.

From her window, Emily observed the strange arrivals walking on the ramparts. Their singular dress and fierce air fixed her attention. She sketched them as banditti amid the mountain-view, and was surprised at the spirit of her group once finished—but she had copied from nature.

Montoni anxiously sought to discover which servant had delivered the castle keys to Morano. The man who had betrayed him would not betray a fellow-servant even to justice, feigning ignorance. Montoni's suspicions fell upon the porter Barnardine, who denied the accusation with such steadiness that Montoni could scarcely believe him guilty. The real offender escaped detection.

Annette sought Emily throughout the castle to show her a portrait of the late lady of the place, which old Carlo had identified. Emily shuddered at the mention but ultimately allowed Annette to lead her to an obscure chamber where the portrait hung among others covered with dust and cobweb.

Annette pressed Emily to view the portrait, noting that it represented a lady in the flower of youth and beauty—handsome and noble, but full of passion rather than sentiment, displaying a haughty impatience of misfortune rather than placid resignation. The lady had disappeared twenty years prior, and Annette remarked that the Signor should display such a portrait more prominently given that she had given him his riches.

Emily learned that other servants had already seen the portrait, having gained access through unlocked doors. She cautioned Annette to be guarded in conversation about it, but Annette pointed out that it was no secret among the servants. The portrait hung in a chamber adjoining the servants' quarters.

Emily found her aunt weeping alone, with grief and resentment struggling on her countenance. Madame Montoni poured forth her complaints about Montoni's deceptions: he had ruined his fortune through gambling, squandered her dowry, and now sought to compel her to sign away her settlements. She complained of his neglect and cruelty, having refused to relinquish her rightful property and resolutely defied his threats.

When Montoni later confronted his wife, he sternly ordered Emily from the room while Madame Montoni insisted she stay as a witness. Emily's composure at her aunt's revelations—their suspicions of ruin, the castle and mansion perhaps not being Montoni's own property, and his treatment of her for refusing to surrender her settlements—left Madame Montoni mistaking her niece's silence for indifference or contempt, reproaching her for want of duty and feeling.

Emily attempts to counsel Madame Montoni toward prudence, urging her aunt to conciliate rather than provoke Signor Montoni further. Emily argues that reproaches, however justified, cannot punish him but may provoke additional violence against her.

Madame Montoni defiantly refuses Emily's counsel, declaring she will not tamely submit and will speak her mind to Montoni regardless of consequences. She dismisses Emily's suggestions as mean-spirited and accuses her of lacking feeling for others' suffering.

Alone in her chamber, Emily reflects upon her aunt's troubled circumstances and Montoni's apparent financial distress despite his lavish lifestyle. She recalls Count Morano's accusations against Montoni, including hints about his former agreement regarding her marriage and dark suggestions about past crimes. Unable to find comfort in her favorite Ariosto or her lute, Emily succumbs to melancholy reflection.

Annette arrives with Emily's dinner and reveals that Madame Montoni has been slandering Emily to others, speaking ill of her relationship with Valancourt and accusing her of improper conduct. Annette confesses she heard Madame Montoni and Montoni conspiring about forcing Emily to marry Count Morano, regardless of her own objections.

Emily is stunned and distressed upon learning of her aunt's betrayals. She expresses profound grief that her aunt, who should have protected her reputation, instead spread false reports about her conduct. Emily reminds herself of her aunt's misfortune while struggling to reconcile this revelation with her previous understanding of family loyalty.

Emily, veiled, walks upon the castle ramparts, the only permitted area for exercise. The fortifications stand silent and solitary as peasants have departed. She observes a striking effect of sunlight breaking through clouds to illuminate the western towers while the rest of the castle remains in shadow.

Through a gothic arch, Emily notices three strange men she had observed earlier. Their fierce countenances and wild appearance alarm her. She glimpses a face expressing sullen haughtiness and dark watchful villainy that thrills her with horror. The men speak among themselves in broken Italian and gaze after her as she swiftly passes, prompting her immediate retreat to her apartment.

In the evening, Montoni hosts an extended drinking gathering with his guests in the cedar chamber. His spirits are elevated, possibly due to his triumph over Count Morano. Cavigni watches Verezzi carefully, having restrained him from further antagonizing Montoni regarding Morano's taunts.

The company discusses Count Morano and the previous evening's events. Morano's name leads to discussion of Emily, whom all praise except Montoni, who abruptly changes the subject. When servants withdraw, Montoni and his companions enter private conversation.

Heated by wine, Verezzi disregards Cavigni's warning signals and shares Morano's dark hints about Montoni's castle ownership. He mentions Morano's assertion that Montoni would not willingly leave another murder on his conscience, provoking Montoni's immediate anger and demands for explanation.

Montoni demands proof of the castle ownership challenges, insisting no man shall question his honor with impunity. Verezzi retreats, claiming they believe only what they know, and Montoni recovers his composure, accepting their disavowal of Morano's accusations. The gathering proceeds with toasts and strained camaraderie.

Bertolini inquires about Montoni's long neglect of the castle, prompting Montoni to reveal he inherited it nearly twenty years ago through the female line. He mentions the last lady of his family line, Lady Laurentini, was beautiful and wealthy but rejected his advances for another, leading to her eventual tragedy.

Montoni recounts that Lady Laurentini fell into deep melancholy after her romantic rejection and he believes she took her own life. The circumstances were mysterious, as her remains were never discovered despite her vanishing from her locked chamber one October night after recovering from a fit of frantic madness.

As Montoni begins to share the mysterious circumstances of Lady Laurentini's disappearance, a mysterious voice interrupts with the word "Repeat them!" The guests look among themselves in confusion, each asking who spoke. Montoni declares they are overheard and refuses to continue the tale, though the guests insist no one else is present in the chamber.

Montoni rises abruptly, declaring the situation "very extraordinary" and insisting it cannot be tolerated. He announces his determination to uncover the meaning behind the inexplicable event, demanding to know what has occurred. His visible agitation betrays his attempts to maintain composure.

The company rises in confusion as Montoni addresses the mysterious happening. Bertolini remarks on the oddness of the situation, noting that no stranger appears to be present in the room. Cavigni dismisses the incident as a trick, though his laughter seems forced. The uncertainty and growing unease spread throughout the gathering.

The servants are summoned to conduct a thorough search of the chamber. Despite their efforts, no person is discovered. The inability to find any physical explanation for the occurrence significantly intensifies the surprise and consternation among the assembled guests. Montoni himself becomes visibly discomposed by the failure to find answers.

Despite his guests' entreaties to withdraw to another chamber and continue their conversation, Montoni firmly refuses. He declares his intention to leave both the room and the subject matter, deeming it "too solemn" to pursue further. His insistence on departure reflects his genuine disturbance, though he struggles to appear at ease.

Verezzi seizes the opportunity to mock Montoni, questioning how someone who has often ridiculed others' credulity could possibly be superstitious. The teasing tone suggests he views Montoni's alarm as hypocritical, given his previous dismissive attitudes toward such concerns.

Montoni responds with stern displeasure, denying superstition while claiming understanding of how to dismiss commonplace arguments against it. He maintains that he will investigate the matter further, asserting his commitment to determining the truth behind the strange occurrence through methodical inquiry rather than accepting supernatural explanations.

Following Montoni's departure from the room, the guests disperse for the night. They separate and retire to their respective apartments, concluding the evening's gathering under the shadow of the unexplained event that has disrupted their conversation and left lingering questions unanswered.

The chapter opens with an epigraph from King John, describing a "wicked, heinous fault" visible in one's eye, reflecting the troubled mood of a breast. This sets a somber tone for the chapter's events.

Returning from the gay scenes of Paris to the gloomy Apennine, Emily's thoughts remain faithful to Valancourt. She views him as her only hope, recollecting with jealous exactness every assurance and proof of his affection she had witnessed. She reads his letters repeatedly, analyzing each word that speaks of his attachment, and dries her tears while trusting in his truth.

Montoni conducts a strict inquiry concerning the strange circumstance of his alarm but obtains no information. He is ultimately forced to account for it by the reasonable supposition that it was a mischievous trick played off by one of his domestics.

Montoni's disagreements with Madame Montoni over the subject of her settlements become more frequent than ever. He confines her entirely to her own apartment and does not scruple to threaten her with much greater severity should she persevere in her refusal.

Reason, had she consulted it, would have pointed out the danger of irritating by further opposition a man such as Montoni had proved himself to be, and to whose power she had so entirely committed herself. It would also have told her of the extreme importance of reserving those possessions that would enable her to live independently of Montoni should she ever escape his immediate control. But she is directed by a more decisive guide than reason—the spirit of revenge, which urges her to oppose violence to violence, and obstinacy to obstinacy.

Wholly confined to the solitude of her apartment, Madame Montoni is reduced to soliciting the society she had lately rejected. Emily becomes the only person, except Annette, with whom she is permitted to converse.

Generously anxious for her aunt's peace, Emily tries to persuade when she cannot convince, and seeks by every gentle means to induce her to forbear the asperity of reply that so greatly irritates Montoni. The pride of Madame Montoni sometimes softens to Emily's soothing voice, and there are even moments when she regards her affectionate attentions with goodwill.

The scenes of terrible contention, to which Emily is frequently compelled to be witness, exhaust her spirits more than any circumstances since her departure from Thoulouse. The gentleness and goodness of her parents, together with the scenes of her early happiness, often steal upon her mind like the visions of a higher world. She reflects that Montoni's passions, wild as they were, could be bent to the cause of his interest and generally disguised in his countenance. Her present life appears like the dream of a distempered imagination, and she wishes to escape to Languedoc and repose.

A circumstance occurs that awakens Annette's curiosity. Coming to Emily's apartment with a countenance full of importance, she declares she wishes she were once safe in Languedoc again, exclaiming that she never expected to be caught up in an old castle among such dreary mountains, with the chance of being murdered or having her throat cut.

Annette tells Emily of her conversation with Ludovico regarding the strange preparations about the castle and the strange-looking people calling there every day. She observes that Montoni is strangely altered from his behavior in France, where he was gay and gallant to her lady. Ludovico hints that the repairs to the castle and preparations on the ramparts are not being made for any young lady, suggesting something more ominous is in the wind. He notes many ill-looking fellows coming to the castle daily, whom the Signor sees and talks with, staying in the neighbourhood.

In the evening, Emily retires to rest after passing melancholy hours with Madame Montoni. She is alarmed by strange and loud knocking at her chamber door, followed by a heavy weight falling against it that almost bursts it open. She calls to know who is there, receives no answer, and a chilling silence follows. Terror supplies the place of conviction as she imagines some stranger has discovered her apartment with intent to rob or murder. She listens in fearful silence, and hears a faint breathing near her, convinced someone is on the other side of her locked door. Footsteps seem to ascend the private staircase, and she retreats toward the corridor to escape.

On opening the corridor door, Emily nearly falls over a person lying senseless on the floor—she recognizes Annette. Fear instantly yields to surprise, and Emily hurries to assist the poor girl, whose trembling frame refuses to support her.

When Annette recovers enough to speak, she explains, with solemnity of conviction that almost staggers Emily's incredulity, that she has seen an apparition while passing through the corridor to her bedroom. She describes seeing a tall figure gliding into the room that is always shut up, which nobody has the key to except the Signor. Emily suggests it might have been the Signor himself, but Annette insists she had left him quarrelling in her lady's dressing-room at the time. Annette affirms that what she saw was nothing human.

Annette declares she would not sleep in the room for a thousand sequins, nor go out into the corridor again for the whole world. Emily, whose spirits have been severely shocked, insists that Annette pass the night with her. With much difficulty, she prevails, assisted by the girl's fear of the corridor. Emily first tries to ridicule Annette's fears, then soothe them, but neither attempt succeeds.

Early the following morning, Emily crosses the hall to the ramparts and hears a noisy bustle in the courtyard with the clatter of horses' hoofs. From an upper casement, she sees a large party of horsemen dressed in a singular but uniform habit—short jackets of black and scarlet, with some wearing plain black cloaks that hang down to the stirrups. She observes daggers of various sizes tucked into their belts, along with pikes and javelins. Their small Italian caps, some distinguished by black feathers, give their countenances a fierce and savage appearance. Emily almost fancies herself surrounded by banditti, and a vague thought crosses her mind—that Montoni might be their captain and this castle their place of rendezvous. She sees Cavigni, Verezzi, and Bertolini emerge from the hall, similarly habited but with mixed black and scarlet plumes, and observes the exulting joy on Verezzi's visage while Cavigni displays a graceful, commanding figure that somewhat resembles Valancourt in spirit and dignity.

Montoni appears at the hall door, unaccoutred, and carefully observes the horsemen. He converses with the cavaliers and bids them farewell. The band wheels round the court and, led by Verezzi, issues forth under the portcullis. Montoni follows to the portal and gazes after them for some time. Emily sees the party winding among the western mountains, appearing and disappearing between the woods, until distance confuses their figures and only a dingy mass appears moving along the heights.

Emily observes that no workmen are on the ramparts and that repairs to the fortifications seem complete. While sauntering thoughtfully, she hears distant footsteps and sees several men lurking under the castle walls who are evidently not workmen but look as if they would accord well with the party that has departed.

Annette comes with her usual alarm and reports that nobody knows what is happening except old Carlo, who is as close as his master. Some servants say the Signor is going out to frighten an enemy, but where is the enemy? Others say he is going to take away somebody's castle. Annette recalls Ludovico's droll stories and notes that he sees further into the Signor's meaning than others.

Under pressure from Madame Montoni, Annette reveals what Ludovico told her—that the Signor is going to be a great robber, to rob on his own account, to be a captain of robbers. Madame Montoni demands to know the exact words Ludovico said, insisting on no equivocation.

Annette protests against her treatment after revealing a secret. Montoni arrives and dismisses her from the room, causing her to tremble with anxiety about the fate of her information. Emily attempts to leave but her aunt requests that she remain present, noting that Montoni has already made her a witness to their numerous conflicts.

Madame Montoni demands immediate answers about the armed men she has heard about and why the castle has been fortified. Montoni responds only with contempt and demands that she surrender her estates without further dispute. She defiantly refuses, declaring the estates shall never support his wild schemes. Montoni warns that he has immediate need for what he demands.

Madame Montoni continues pressing for answers, asking if the castle expects to be attacked or if enemies are approaching. She demands to know whether she will be shut up and killed in a siege. Montoni refuses to explain and threatens she shall not quit the castle until she yields to his demands. She bursts into lamentation but then controls herself, suspecting his assertions may be mere artifices to extort her consent.

Madame Montoni accuses Montoni of designs not honorable enough to serve the state and believes he has become a banditti captain. Montoni regards her with stern countenance, causing Emily to tremble while his wife fears she has said too much. He threatens to remove her that very night to the east turret, where she may understand the danger of offending a man with unlimited power over her.

Emily falls at Montoni's feet and supplicates for her aunt, but he violently tears away from her, leaving his cloak in her hand, and she falls to the floor with a severe blow to her forehead. Madame Montoni, still unmoved in her chair, suddenly utters a deep groan, her features convulsing. Emily brings water and supports her head, but the convulsions increase until she must call for assistance. Old Carlo and Annette help lift Madame Montoni onto the bed, where they must hold her down as the convulsions continue until they finally cease.

Carlo and Annette notice blood streaming from Emily's forehead, but she has felt no pain due to her preoccupation with her aunt's condition. She dismisses the wound as trifling, having received it from her fall. Carlo leaves with concern for her condition. Emily watches over her aunt with Annette, answering questions and quieting Annette's fears about Ludovico's secret.

Emily, unable to sleep, walks the wide and lonely galleries of the castle, feeling forlorn and apprehensive. Remembering a disturbing incident from the previous night, a dread seizes her. She hesitates at a door from which low sounds emerge, believing she hears a human voice within.

The door opens and Emily sees Montoni, who instantly starts back and closes it. However, she glimpses by candlelight another person sitting in a melancholy attitude by the fire in the mysterious locked chamber. Astonished by this discovery of Montoni visiting someone secretly at midnight in an apartment long shut up, she watches from an obscure corner of the corridor.

Emily observes Montoni emerge again, look cautiously around without perceiving her, then close the door and leave the corridor. She hears the door being fastened from the inside and withdraws to her chamber, wondering at what she has witnessed.

At midnight, Emily hears footsteps on the terrace below and sees several persons passing beneath her window. She hears the clink of arms and the watchword, realizing these men are relieving guard for the first time in the castle. Having overheard Montoni's command earlier, she understands the night watch has begun.

Lament for the Dead The chapter opens with an epigraph from Sayers mourning a deceased person, asking if no song of death will soothe their parted soul or wet their grave, establishing a somber, foreboding tone for the tragic events that follow.

Morning Consultation The morning after Montoni's ultimatum, Emily visits Madame Montoni's apartment and finds her mostly recovered, with her resolve to oppose Montoni's demands returned though still struggling with fear. Emily tries to strengthen her aunt's resolve, but remembers Madame Montoni has a long-ingrained habit of denying unpleasant truths by manufacturing false arguments rather than evaluating their validity, a trait she is not conscious of. Emily's remonstrances only rouse Madame Montoni's pride rather than convincing her judgment. Madame Montoni shares her plan: if she can escape the castle, she can defy Montoni's power, secure a formal separation, and live comfortably on her remaining estates. Emily agrees with the desire for freedom but insists escaping the heavily guarded, secured gates is impossible, and trusting a servant with the plan is far too risky, as Montoni would enact brutal vengeance if the plot was discovered; she urges her aunt to relinquish her settlement to avoid further violence.

Escape Schemes Still torn between conflicting impulses, Madame Montoni continues to dwell on plans to escape Montoni's castle: she believes fleeing the grounds will let her defy his power, secure a formal separation, and live comfortably on her remaining estates, though she has not yet devised a feasible plan to bypass the castle's secured gates and guarded exits.

Montoni's Ultimatum Montoni enters the room to deliver his final demand: Madame Montoni must consent to his terms by evening or be immediately confined to the east turret. He additionally announces a party of cavaliers will dine at the castle that day, and both she and Emily are required to attend, with Madame Montoni seated at the head of the table. Madame Montoni nearly refuses outright but chooses to feign compliance to retain limited mobility during the dinner to further her escape plans.

The Forced Dress When Emily goes to prepare for the dinner, she chooses a simple dress to avoid drawing attention, but Montoni intercepts her and demands she wear the lavish gown originally made for her planned wedding to Count Morano, which Madame Montoni brought from Venice. Crafted in the Neapolitan style to flatter the wearer's figure, with Emily's chestnut hair bound loosely with pearls, the dress is deeply upsetting to her as a reminder of the unwanted betrothal, but she is forced to comply with Montoni's absolute command.

The Dinner Guests Emily arrives late to the dinner hall, where Montoni and his guests are already seated. Montoni has two cavaliers seat her between them: the first is a tall man with sharp Italian features, an aquiline nose, fiery dark eyes, a long narrow face, and a sickly yellow complexion; the second is a subtler man of around forty with small, hollow dark grey eyes, a sunburnt brown complexion, and an irregular, ill-formed oval face. The remaining eight uniformed guests all bear expressions of wild fierceness, cunning, or licentiousness, leading Emily to compare them to the banditti she encountered earlier, and to feel acute grief for her lost peaceful home and simple, kind friends.

The Gothic Hall The dinner is held in a vast, gloomy ancient hall lit only by a single gothic window and open doors looking out to the Apennine mountains and the west rampart. The hall's central compartment has a vaulted fretwork roof supported on three sides by marble pillars, with long colonnades receding into gloomy twilight; the soft echoes of servants' footsteps and half-visible distant figures seen through the dusk heighten Emily's fear and imagination. As she looks between Montoni, his guests, and the hall, she is flooded with grief for her native province, her pleasant home, and the friends she has lost.

The Poisoned Wine After the meal, the cavaliers fill their goblets from gilded wine ewers and toast "Success to our exploits!" As Montoni lifts his own goblet to drink, the wine hisses, rises to the brim, and the glass shatters into a thousand pieces—a known trait of the specialized Venice glass he uses that signals it has held poisoned liquid. Convinced one of his guests is attempting to kill him, Montoni orders the castle gates sealed, draws his sword, and accuses the group of harboring a traitor.

Treachery Suspected The cavaliers draw their swords in indignation at the accusation, and Madame Montoni attempts to flee the hall before Montoni commands her to stay. Once the shouting dies down, Montoni has all castle servants brought before him; though they deny any involvement in the plot, he insists only his wine was poisoned, meaning the servant who managed the ewers had to be complicit.

Servants Imprisoned Montoni identifies two servants as suspects in the poisoning plot: one whose expression betrays guilt or fear of punishment, and the servant responsible for tending the wine ewers. He orders both men chained immediately and locked in a strong former prison chamber within the castle, while he refrains from imprisoning his guests to avoid provoking open conflict.

The Accusation Half an hour after the dinner incident, Montoni arrives at Madame Montoni's dressing room, his face dark and lip trembling with rage, and accuses Madame Montoni of plotting to poison him, claiming he has proof of her guilt and that her accomplice has already confessed. He tells her her only chance of mercy is a full confession, while Madame Montoni trembles, her complexion shifting between livid paleness and a crimson flush, as she struggles to respond.

East Turret Threat Montoni reiterates his threat to have Madame Montoni confined to the castle's east turret if she refuses to confess, cutting her off before she can speak. Madame Montoni dismisses the accusation as a transparent excuse for Montoni's cruelty and declines to engage with the charge, noting he does not actually believe she is guilty of the crime.

Emily's Defense Emily steps forward to defend her aunt, solemnly swearing the accusation is false and that Montoni has been wickedly deceived by someone seeking to ruin Madame Montoni. Montoni cuts her off, warning her to stay silent or he will interpret her defense as proof of her own guilt, and threatens her with punishment if she continues to speak. Emily, resigned, raises her eyes to heaven and laments there is no hope left for them.

Confinement As Madame Montoni regains her composure and angrily protests the false accusation, Montoni's rage intensifies. Emily throws herself between them, clutching Montoni's knees and pleading with him in silence, but he is unmoved by her distress. He is called out of the room mid-menace, and as he leaves he locks the door and takes the key, trapping Emily and Madame Montoni inside. Emily realizes Montoni's cruelty is so extreme he is willing to act on unproven suspicions to satisfy his desire for vengeance, regardless of justice or humanity.

The Tumult After being locked in, Madame Montoni and Emily discuss escape, but conclude the castle's fortified gates and vigilant guards make flight impossible, and they cannot even contact potential allies like the compassionate but overly loyal servant Carlo, the inexperienced Annette, or the unfamiliar Ludovico, as they are trapped in their room. From their room they hear ongoing tumult in the hall, and Emily fears the dispute between Montoni and his guests will end in open, fatal violence.

Annette's Warning A knock at the door reveals Annette, who begs to be let in to share urgent news. She reveals Ludovico is fighting alongside the cavaliers in the hall, and confirms that Montoni, the guests, and numerous other men are engaged in a violent clash. As she reports wounded men bleeding in the hall, she hears the combatants approaching the room and flees in terror, leaving Emily and Madame Montoni trapped.

Madame Montoni's Arrest The sound of approaching footsteps signals the arrival of Montoni and three rough men at the door. Montoni enters and orders the men to carry out his commands, pointing to his wife; Madame Montoni shrieks as she is seized and dragged from the room. Emily faints on a nearby couch, and when she regains consciousness she is alone, with only fragmented memories of the event, and is overwhelmed by terror for her aunt's fate.

Emily's Distress After regaining consciousness, Emily first focuses on finding her aunt rather than her own safety. She finds her door unlocked and ventures into the gallery, where she encounters rough, violent figures moving through the passages that terrify her. She reaches the empty, silent lesser hall, but soon hears wounded men being carried in; shaken, she hurries back to her chamber, taking hidden passageways to avoid the conflict, and locks the corridor door to feel safe. Gazing out at the peaceful mountain landscape from her window, she is struck by the contrast between the calm outside and the savage violence inside the castle, and struggles to calm her anxiety as she listens for any sign of her aunt or approaching danger.

The Castle Passages To avoid encountering the violent combatants roaming the main castle corridors, Emily takes a series of obscure, little-used rooms and hallways on her way back to her chamber, successfully evading the groups of armed men moving through the building.

The Wounded Men While Emily is in the lesser hall, four men carry a badly wounded person into the space, their passing groans shaking Emily and leaving her too weak and terrified to move or look at the injured party until they depart, leaving her shaken by the sight of the violence from the ongoing conflict.

Chamber of Refuge Emily reaches her chamber, locks the corridor door behind her, and finds temporary refuge from the surrounding violence. From her window she looks out over the tranquil Apennine mountains, the stark contrast between the peaceful landscape and the chaos of the castle sharpening her distress as she waits in anxious uncertainty.

Evening Vigil Emily spends the evening in solitary, silent vigil in her chamber, no one disturbing her or even acknowledging her presence, which gives her small comfort. Unable to distract herself with reading, drawing, or music, she passes the hours in anxious speculation about her aunt's fate, as the sun sets behind the western mountains and purple dusk falls over the countryside.

Sentinels on the Rampart As dusk fully settles, the castle sentinels are seen passing along the rampart to begin their night watch, confirming the castle's grounds are now under formal guard for the evening.

Emily stands at her casement as twilight descends, contemplating the terror of crossing the castle to obtain a light. The darkness makes solitude and silence unbearable, yet she dares not venture forth. Her imagination conjures visions of ruffians discovering her secret staircase and entering her chamber. She considers her mysterious neighbor in the adjacent apartment, noting that Montoni did not fasten the door and that this unknown person can come and go at will. Remembering the chamber where the veil once revealed a dreadful spectacle, she fears some passage may connect it to her insecure door.

Having kindled a fire to light her lamp, Emily barricades her door with furniture and experiences the particular oppression that idleness brings upon the afflicted mind. At midnight, she ventures into the corridor and sees a light flash upon the walls. Shrinking back, she conjectures it may be Montoni visiting his unknown neighbor. When she finally ventures out, she hears a voice of complaint and follows the sounds to a chamber where Annette weeps and calls for Ludovico. Emily speaks through the door, but Annette, scarcely audible in her sobs, can only repeatedly cry out for her beloved Ludovico.

Emily learns that Ludovico himself locked Annette in this chamber for her protection when she fled from the dressing-room door earlier that day. He promised to return when all was quiet but has not appeared through the long hours. Annette believes they have murdered him, and Emily suddenly remembers the wounded person borne into the servants' hall—confirming her fears that Ludovico lies injured or dead. She conceals this knowledge from Annette and, after comforting her, seeks direction to the turret.

Emily navigates intricate passages toward the south side of the castle, pausing frequently to listen to wind murmurs and peer into the gloom. At the staircase, she faces uncertainty between two passages and proceeds by chance. As she passes through a wide gallery, her own footsteps echo terribly. She then reaches the winding stairs of the east turret, where a door opens upon the east rampart, revealing only the faint outline of walls and towers beneath heavy clouds. A distant footstep reminds her that men on watch might observe her, so she closes the door and continues upward with trembling steps.

The turret seems to Emily a place of death, its chilling silence confirming its character. As she climbs through darkness, she imagines her aunt murdered by Montoni's hand. She pauses to gather courage, and then discovers a track of blood upon the stairs. The wall and several steps are stained, the lamp nearly falls from her trembling hand. Though a thousand times she wishes herself back in her chamber, her sense of duty compels her onward. She continues ascending about halfway up, where another door leads to a chamber appearing deserted with only dew-stained walls.

In an obscure corner of the chamber, Emily perceives something lying and approaches with horrible conviction. She discovers only an old soldier's uniform covering a heap of pikes and arms. The relief that her aunt is not there comforts her, and she determines to descend. However, noticing blood upon steps on the second flight, she remembers there is yet another chamber to explore and follows the winding ascent, the track of blood glaring upon the stairs.

The blood trail leads Emily to a door on the landing-place at the top of the stairs. She dreads what awaits and cannot summon sufficient fortitude to speak or attempt opening it. Listening for sounds within, she hears only silence. At length, she touches the lock, finds it fastened, and calls upon Madame Montoni. Only a chilling silence answers her desperate plea.

"She is dead!" Emily cries, convinced of murder. Her terror becomes so great that she grows faint, can support herself no longer, and must set down her lamp and sit upon the stairs. When her senses return, she speaks again at the door and attempts to open it, but receives no answer and hears no sound. Unable to bear the uncertainty, she descends the turret and hurries to her own apartment with all the swiftness her feebleness permits.

As Emily turns into the corridor, a chamber door opens and Montoni emerges—the same chamber she had formerly observed. Terrified to encounter him, she shrinks back into the passage and escapes notice. She listens to his departing footsteps until they fade into distance, then ventures to her apartment.

Emily secures her chamber door once more and retires to bed, leaving her lamp burning on the hearth. Sleep refuses to come; only images of horror occupy her harassed mind. She endeavors to convince herself that perhaps Madame Montoni was not taken to the turret, but the memory of Montoni's former menaces, his spirit of vengeance, and the written traces of blood upon the stairs confirm her worst fears.

Emily cannot doubt that her aunt was carried to the turret, and she can scarcely hope that the purpose was anything other than murder. The written traces on the stairs, the looks of the men who forced Madame Montoni from her apartment, and Montoni's general character all point to a terrible conclusion. Her night passes in restless anguish.

The grey of morning dawns through Emily's casements before she finally closes her eyes in exhausted sleep. Wearied nature alone grants her a brief respite from suffering.

Emily passes another day in awful expectation, her mind disturbed by the approaching night. The language of shadows and graves, drawn from the Miltonic epigraph, foreshadows the chapter's revelations about death, confinement, and the macabre secrets lurking within Udolpho.

The second part of the banditti returns from their mountain excursion, entering the castle courts with loud shouts and exultation. Emily, hearing these sounds from her remote chamber, compares their revelry to the orgies of furies. Annette reassures her that they merely celebrate their plunder, confirming her suspicion that Montoni has become a captain of banditti—a figure perfectly suited to his unprincipled, dauntless, and cruel character, operating from an armed fortress remote among solitary mountains.

Emily's natural fears about Montoni's criminal enterprise are heightened by memories of her aunt's fate. Imagining she has seen a supernatural figure, she trembles and struggles between curiosity and terror, eventually resolving not to speak to any mysterious apparition should it return.

The narrative digresses to explain the historical context of mercenary soldiers in Italy. When wars concluded, disbanded soldiers often failed to return to peaceful occupations. Instead, they formed bands of robbers occupying remote fortresses, or attached themselves to popular chiefs as mercenaries known as Condottieri—a term signifying hired soldiers of formidable reputation. These warriors valued personal courage and bold first movements over tactical skill, their characters marked by a mixture of intrepidity and profligacy that awed even their employers. Montoni had encountered such figures in Venetian gaming parties, inspiring his present criminal designs.

Emily resumes her vigil at the casement on another moonlit night, hoping the mysterious figure might return. She wavers between curiosity and fear, imagining the form she saw must be supernatural given the lamentations and music she witnessed. She watches the terrace below where lonely sentinels pass their watchwords, pikes glittering in the moonbeam. Wearied by watching yet too perturbed for sleep, she eventually withdraws, though the impression left by the music and complaining figure convinces her to repeat the watch the following night.

When Montoni takes no notice of her scheduled visit, Emily sends Annette to inquire, receiving permission to meet him at eleven. She finds him with officers in the cedar room, but they withdraw to a private chamber. Trembling at his dark countenance, she requests permission to return to France. When Montoni refuses and demands the reason, her emotion nearly overwhelms her. She challenges his right to detain her, but he declares his will sufficient. Upon mentioning her aunt, Montoni reveals that Madame Montoni lies in the east turret, neither confirming nor denying her death. The interview ends inconclusively as Montoni departs.

Montoni converses with Orsino and Verezzi about an expedition. Verezzi criticizes Orsino's caution as cowardice, while Orsino responds with silent hatred that manifests in a livid pallor. When Verezziaccuses him openly of cowardice, Orsino draws a stiletto to stab him from behind, but Montoni prevents the assault. Verezzi then confronts Montoni directly, accusing him of keeping cowards while sending brave men on expeditions. Orsino attempts another stabbing, again prevented. Montoni and Verezzi draw swords, and after combat and separation, the dispute is eventually reconciled. Montoni then retires privately with Orsino for extended consultation.

Driven by duty to her aunt, Emily determines to visit the turret despite Annette's protests. Ascending the familiar staircase, she observes the track of blood she previously noticed and nearly turns back, but recovers her resolution. Finding the chamber door unfastened, she enters the dusky room where a hollow voice speaks—it resembles Madame Montoni. Rushing to the bed, Emily discovers her aunt alive though pale, emaciated, and gravely ill. Madame Montoni reveals she is dying, her condition caused by Montoni's confinement in the turret under suspicion of attempting his life. He had ordered secrecy and allowed her to suffer neglected through a raging fever. The track of blood had come from a wounded guard during the affray. The supposed corpse Emily witnessed in the portal-chamber was actually a dying man later removed to the vault beneath the chapel.

Emily questions her aunt extensively before seeking Montoni to petition for her removal to more comfortable quarters. She reproaches him for his cruelty, warning of future conscience pangs, but he dismisses her and commands her to leave. Emily nonetheless humbles herself to persuade him, and despite his resistance, pity in her eyes eventually moves him to consent that his wife may be removed to her own apartment with Emily attending her. Emily acts with dispatch, preparing the bed and administering cordials. Scarcely has Madame Montoni arrived when Montoni orders her return to the turret, but Emily warns that a second removal would prove instantly fatal. Montoni relents, allowing his wife to remain in her current location.

Throughout the day, Emily never leaves Madame Montoni except to prepare small quantities of nourishing food. Madame receives these offerings with quiet acquiescence, though she appears conscious that such care cannot prevent her approaching death and seems scarcely to wish for life itself. Emily regards her aunt not as the imperious woman she once knew, but as her late beloved father's sister, deserving of compassion in her final hours. When night arrives, Emily intends to sit vigil with her aunt, but Madame positively commands her to retire to rest, permitting only Annette to remain in her chamber. Though Emily's exhausted frame and wearied spirits demand rest after the day's exertions, she refuses to depart until the turn of midnight, the period physicians once deemed so critical.

After twelve o'clock, Emily enjoins Annette to be wakeful and to summon her should any change for the worse occur. She then sorrowfully bids Madame Montoni goodnight and withdraws to her chamber. Her spirits are more than usually depressed by the piteous condition of her aunt, whose recovery she scarcely dares hope for. She sees no end to her own misfortunes, enclosed as she is in a remote castle beyond the reach of any friends and beyond even the pity of strangers, while she knows herself to be entirely in the power of a man capable of any action his interest or ambition might suggest.

Occupied by melancholy reflections and equally sad anticipations, Emily does not retire immediately to rest. Instead, she leans thoughtfully on her open casement. The scene before her of woods and mountains reposing in the moonlight forms a regretted contrast with her troubled mind, yet the lonely murmur of these woods and the view of the sleeping landscape gradually soothe her emotions and soften her to tears. She weeps for some time, lost to everything but a gentle sense of her misfortunes.

When Emily at last removes the handkerchief from her eyes, she perceives on the terrace below, immediately opposite her casement, the figure she had formerly observed, standing fixed and silent. She starts back in terror, and for some time fear overcomes curiosity. Eventually she returns to the casement and observes the figure, but finds herself utterly unable to speak as she had formerly intended. The moon shines with clear light, and it is perhaps her agitation that prevents her from distinguishing the form with any accuracy. The figure remains stationary, and she begins to doubt whether it is truly animated.

Her scattered thoughts return enough to remind her that her light exposes her to dangerous observation. As she steps back to remove it, she perceives the figure move and wave what seems to be its arm, as if beckoning her. While she gazes, fixed in fear, it repeats the action. She attempts to speak, but the words die on her lips. As she removes her light, she hears from without a faint groan. Listening but not daring to return to the casement, she presently hears it repeated. She exclaims, "Good God!—what can this mean!" After a long silence, she recovers courage enough to approach the casement, where she again sees the same appearance. It beckons again and again utters a low sound. "That groan was surely human!" she declares. "I will speak." She cries out in a faint voice, "Who is it, that wanders at this late hour?" The figure raises its head but suddenly starts away and glides down the terrace. She watches it for a long while, passing swiftly in the moonlight, but hears no footstep.

A sentinel from the other extremity of the rampart walks slowly along and stops under her window. Looking up, he calls her by name. She is retreating precipitately, but a second summons induces her to reply, and the soldier respectfully asks if she has seen anything pass. On her affirmative answer, he says no more but walks away down the terrace, Emily following him with her eyes until he is lost in the distance. Knowing he cannot go beyond the rampart while on guard, she resolves to await his return. Soon his voice is heard at a distance, calling loudly, and a more distant voice answers. The watchword is given and passed along the terrace. As the soldiers move hastily under the casement, she calls to inquire what has happened, but they pass without regarding her.

Emily reflects that the figure cannot be a person with designs upon the castle, for such a one would not venture where sentinels watch, nor fix himself opposite a window where he must be observed, nor beckon or utter sounds of complaint. Nor can it be a prisoner, for how could he obtain such opportunity to wander? Were she subject to vanity, she might suppose this figure to be some castle inhabitant hoping to declare his admiration, but this opinion never occurs to her, especially since the figure remained silent when given the opportunity to speak and abruptly fled when she called out. While she muses, two sentinels approach in earnest conversation, and she catches a few words revealing that one of their comrades has fallen down senseless. Three other soldiers appear slowly advancing from the bottom of the terrace, supported by his comrades. She calls to inquire what has happened, and they stop to tell her that Roberto has been seized with a fit, and his cry as he fell caused a false alarm. When she asks if he is subject to fits, Roberto confirms it but insists that what he saw was enough to have frightened the Pope himself. She asks what it was, and he replies that he cannot tell what it was, what he saw, or how it vanished. When Emily asks if the figure he followed down the rampart caused his alarm, he exclaims, "It was the devil, and this is not the first time I have seen him!" His comrades laugh and assure him it will not be the last. Emily then hears Sebastian mention that Launcelot was also terrified and unable to give the watchword until the man was gone. Launcelot standing nearby insists it was the devil himself, arguing that no outsider could get within the castle walls at midnight, and no insider would be afraid to be seen.

When Emily asks Sebastian where they saw the figure before, he describes an event from about a week ago on the rampart, higher up. When she asks if they pursued it, he explains that he and Launcelot were on watch together when everything was so still one could have heard a mouse stir. Launcelot suddenly whispered to him to look yonder by the last cannon. Sebastian thought he saw something move, but with only starlight he could not be certain. They stood silently watching and presently saw something pass along the castle wall opposite them. They did not seize it because it stole by so quickly that surprise prevented reaction, and though they kept constant watch all that night, it appeared no more. When Emily asks where Roberto lost sight of the figure, he explains that after leaving her, he went down the rampart until reaching the east terrace, where he saw something like a shadow flitting before him at some distance. When he turned the corner of the east tower where he had seen the figure not a moment before, it was gone. As he stood looking through the old arch leading to the east rampart, where he was certain the figure had passed, he suddenly heard a sound unlike any groan, cry, shout, or anything he had ever heard. He heard it only once, and that was enough—for he knows nothing that happened after until he found his comrades about him.

Emily's curiosity will not permit her to end the conversation, and she half smiles as she asks when they saw the figure before. Sebastian takes up the story, describing how he and Launcelot were on watch together when everything was so still one might have heard a mouse stir. Launcelot suddenly whispered to him, "Sebastian! do you see nothing?" He turned his head a little to the left, but said he saw nothing. Launcelot hushed him and said, "Look yonder—just by the last cannon on the rampart!" He looked and thought he did see something move, but there being no light but what the stars gave, he could not be certain. They stood quite silent to watch it, and presently saw something pass along the castle wall just opposite to them. When another soldier asks why they did not seize it, Sebastian replies that they would have needed someone like Roberto there to be bold enough to take it by the throat, even if it had been the devil himself. He continues describing how it stole by so quickly that they had no time to recover from surprise before it was gone, and they knew it was vain to follow. They kept constant watch all that night but saw it no more. Next morning they told some comrades on other parts of the ramparts, but those men had seen nothing and laughed at them. It was not until tonight that the same figure walked again.

When the soldiers bid her goodnight and depart to their posts as the moon is setting, Emily closes her casement and retires to reflect upon the strange circumstance that has just occurred. She connects what happened tonight with what occurred on former nights and endeavors to derive something more positive than mere conjecture from the whole. But her imagination is inflamed while her judgment remains unenlightened, and the terrors of superstition again pervade her mind.

The chapter opens with an epitaph from Mason describing the tolling of a death bell at midnight, its sounds rising and falling like a solemn knell heard across the land.

Upon learning of his wife's death and her failure to provide the signature he desired, Montoni expresses his resentment without any restraint of decency. He avoids the chamber where his wife's remains lie and the adjacent parts of the castle as though death itself might be contagious. He offers no orders concerning the funeral arrangements.

Emily keeps watch by her late aunt's corpse for two days and nights with little interruption. Deeply affected by her aunt's unhappy fate, she forgets all the woman's faults and unjust conduct, remembering only her suffering and feeling tender compassion. She muses upon the strange circumstances that brought her into this unfortunate marriage with Montoni, reflecting more in sorrow than in anger.

Emily learns from Annette that the burial will occur that very night. Determined to ensure her aunt receives proper funeral rites despite Montoni's likely absence, she assists Annette in preparing the corpse—wrapping it in cerements and covering it with a winding-sheet. They watch beside the body until past midnight when the bearers approach.

The solemn procession begins as the door opens to reveal men with gloomy countenances holding torches. Two of them lift the body onto their shoulders while a third carries the light ahead. Emily follows, crossing two courts toward the east wing adjoining the ruined chapel. She barely notices the hooting of night-birds or the bats flitting about as her mind remains occupied with mournful thoughts. The bearers stop at steps leading down to a low arched door, and Emily watches with terror as they descend into the gloomy abyss beyond.

Emily lingers at the summit of the steps, overcome by grief and terror, watching the torchlight fade against the chapel pillars. Eventually overcoming her reluctance through a sense of duty, she descends into the vaults following the echo of footsteps and faint ray of light. A harsh grating of a distant door being opened to receive the corpse further alarms her.

The men lay the body near an open grave where a priest awaits. The friar's solemn, affecting voice performs the burial service. The scene is described with painterly detail—the fierce features of the condottieri contrasted against the venerable monk in his black garments with his pale face marked by lines of affliction softened by piety. Emily stands beside him, her mild countenance fixed in solemn grief as she commits her last relative and friend to the earth.

After the service, the friar regards Emily with attention and surprise, seeming to wish to speak with her but restrained by the presence of the condottieri. Upon reaching the court, he gives Emily his blessing and departs. Annette later informs Emily that the friar belongs to a monastery among the mountains nearby, whose Superior had sent him despite his aversion and terror of Montoni and his associates.

Emily spends several days in total seclusion, experiencing both terror for herself and grief for the departed. She finally resolves to make new efforts to secure Montoni's permission for her return to France. Remembering that the disputed estates now belong to her, she fears Montoni may use some stratagem to obtain them. Rather than succumbing to despair, she determines to preserve these estates for Valancourt's sake, knowing they will provide the competency for their future lives together.

Emily meets Montoni at the appointed hour alongside Orsino and another officer standing near a table covered with papers. Montoni informs her he has summoned her to witness business with his friend Orsino, requesting only that she sign a particular paper. Emily takes the pen and begins to sign when suddenly she perceives Montoni's design like a flash of lightning. She trembles, drops the pen, and refuses to sign a document she has not read.

Montoni first attempts to ridicule her scruples, then changes tactics when she persists. He claims that as the husband of the late Signora Montoni, he is the heir to all she possessed, and the estates she refused him during her lifetime can no longer be withheld. He flatters Emily, praising her understanding as superior to that of most women, before presenting the ultimatum: she may have safe passage to France if she acknowledges his claim, or remain his prisoner until convinced otherwise. Emily firmly declares that she knows the law grants her these estates, and she will never betray her own right.

While Emily sits musing, she observes three ladies in Venetian gala dress walking below with several gentlemen. She recognizes Signora Livona, whose charming manners had impressed her in Venice. This discovery brings mixed emotions—comfort in knowing someone gentle is near, yet painful suspicion about why such a person would willingly be at this castle. Annette later reports that these visitors came freely from Venice, not as prisoners, and hints at rumors regarding Montoni's improper attachment to one of them.

Annette expresses her longing for France, exclaiming that they shall never see it again. She weeps for Ludovico, the man she loves who remains in France, and declares that had he been there, she would never have left. Emily tries to comfort her with hope, and Annette departs on her errands, promising to learn more about the Venetian visitors.

Emily attempts to lose herself in the verses of poetry but finds that the passages that once gave her exquisite delight now appear cold and dim. She reflects that the fire of the poet is vain if the mind of the reader is not tempered to appreciate it, and acknowledges that thought cannot always be controlled by will. Her thoughts inevitably return to her own perilous situation.

In the evening, Emily walks in the gallery adjoining her chamber rather than risk encountering Montoni's associates on the ramparts. She hears distant sounds of merriment and laughter—wild uproar rather than temperate mirth—mingled with female voices, confirming her worst suspicions about the character of the Venetian visitors. The sounds shock her sensibilities, occurring so soon after her aunt's death. She contemplates the horrors Montoni may be preparing for her and briefly considers yielding the estates to regain safety. Yet the remembrance of Valancourt undermines any such wavering, plunging her into fresh doubt as she continues walking through the gallery as evening twilight deepens the gloom around her.

Unwilling to return to her desolate, unoccupied chamber, Emily paces the remote vaulted gallery of the castle, where faint peals of laughter echoing from lower halls only serve to heighten the dreariness of the space.

As Emily passes the door of the apartment where she once lifted a veil revealing an unspeakably horrifying spectacle, the traumatic memory returns with intensified force, amplified by Montoni’s recent cruel conduct, and she hurries to quit the gallery.

As Emily attempts to leave the gallery, she hears a sudden step behind her; turning in fear, she sees a tall figure following her through the gloom, and all the horrors of the veil chamber rush back into her mind.

Before Emily can escape, she is seized in the arms of an unknown person, who murmurs to her; when she demands his identity, he reveals himself as one of the officers accompanying Montoni, and refuses to release her.

The officer urges Emily to abandon her solitude and join the merry party in the cedar parlour, flattering her as the fairest ornament of the gathering, and demands a reward for releasing her before he will grant her liberty.

Emily disdains the officer’s advances and struggles to free herself; when he attempts to kiss her hand, her indignation gives her the strength to break free, and she flees toward her chamber, closing the door behind her before he can reach it.

Collapsed in terror and exhaustion after her flight, Emily remembers the private staircase leading to her chamber is only fastened on the opposite side, so she forces herself to secure the door against the officer’s potential entry.

Convinced Montoni has begun his scheme of vengeance against her by withdrawing his protection, Emily concludes retaining her late aunt’s estates is impossible, and resolves to surrender all claims to them the next day if Montoni will allow her to depart Udolpho.

Emily sits in darkness for hours waiting for Annette, who does not appear, and grows increasingly anxious about her servant’s absence, though she dares not venture down into the castle to investigate. She listens repeatedly at the staircase door for approaching footsteps, then returns to her couch to weep as she thinks of her deceased parents and the absent Valancourt.

While Emily sits in anxious stillness, she suddenly hears the notes of distant music, which she recognizes as the same instrument she previously heard playing at midnight in the castle.

The soft melody is accompanied by a voice full of genuine pathos, singing a popular air from Emily’s native Gascony province, a tune she often heard as a child and which her father frequently repeated.

The familiar song floods Emily with vivid memories of her peaceful childhood in Gascony, the tenderness of her parents, and the simple happiness of her former life, a sharp, painful contrast to the danger and desolation of her current situation at Udolpho.

The music shifts to a second air that Emily immediately recognizes as the same melody she heard in the fishing house in Gascony; the manner of singing convinces her it is the same voice she heard there, stirring a deep, unaccountable impression on her memory.

The familiar song leads Emily to suspect the musician may be Valancourt, as he had told her the fishing house was his favourite haunt before they met, and she had long believed he was the author of the sonnets she found there; the thought revives her hope, though she dares not fully trust it.

Overcome with alternating hope and fear, Emily leans from the casement to catch the music, softly calls out to ask if the song is from Gascony, but receives no reply, and fears the singer has retreated before he could hear her.

Emily’s hope turns to terror when she considers that if Valancourt is in the castle, he may be a prisoner, captured while fighting in the Italian wars or intercepted while trying to reach her, and would have stayed silent to avoid attracting his guards’ attention.

Emily spends the rest of the night in agonizing suspense, torn between hope that Valancourt is near and fear for his safety, rising repeatedly from her couch to listen at the casement or pace the room before collapsing back in despair.

As morning approaches, the air freshens and the eastern mountains begin to glimmer with dawn, but Emily remains too distraught with anxiety and conflicting emotions to sleep, still waiting for news of Annette and uncertain of Valancourt’s fate.

An epigraph from Milton's *Comus* evokes pastoral imagery of folded flocks, village sounds, and the comforting presence of nature—contrasting sharply with the dark imprisonment Emily endures in the castle's "dungeon of innumerable boughs."

Emily is relieved when Annette arrives early in the morning. Annette eagerly recounts the previous night's events at the castle, beginning with the dramatic disturbances that kept her confined.

Annette explains that Ludovico locked her in his hall for her own protection, preventing her from navigating the castle's corridors where drunken Signors roamed. She describes her attempt to argue her way out, then reluctantly accepting her confinement, though she witnessed Verezzi mistaking doors and calling for wine through the keyhole.

Annette reports that every Signor and noble lady at last night's gathering was intoxicated. She recalls Ludovico's protective reasoning—that escorting her through the castle risked fresh wounds from any confrontations with these "noble cavaliers."

Emily asks Annette whether any prisoners are held in the castle and where they might be confined. Annette admits uncertainty, mentioning that one party returned from the mountains while another remains absent and is expected soon.

Annette teasingly guesses that Emily's curiosity about prisoners stems from thoughts of Valancourt, wondering if he might have been captured among soldiers from their country. Emily reproves her for wishing someone she likes to be a prisoner, and Annette describes dreaming of Valancourt arriving in grand style.

Annette recounts servants' tales of an apparition appearing on the ramparts like a flash of fire, frightening sentinels into fits. Emily questions these superstitious stories, though Annette insists on their truth and mentions Montoni's furious response to such "nonsense," threatening to dungeon anyone who repeats it.

Annette reveals that Signora Livona, whom Montoni once introduced to Emily's aunt at Venice, is now his mistress—brought to Udolpho to improve her reputation. The other two women are mistresses of Verezzi and Bertolini. Yesterday Montoni hosted them with wine and revelry, prompting Annette to reflect sadly on her late lady's likely disapproval.

Montoni summons Emily to demand she sign papers ceding the Languedoc estates, invoking her aunt's fate as warning against further resistance. Emily refuses, questioning why documents matter if Montoni truly owns the lands by law. Enraged, Montoni threatens vengeance and hints at unspecified punishment that very night.

During Emily and Montoni's confrontation, groans rise from beneath the chamber floor. Montoni appears both enraged and briefly fearful, yet dismisses the sounds and orders Emily to leave. She cannot rise from weakness, and when she asks if he heard the groaning, he claims to hear only his own voice.

Emily observes Montoni's troops on a distant mountain and later hears cavalry approaching. Annette arrives with news that the absent party has returned with intelligence that enemies are advancing toward the castle—likely officers of justice. Emily's spirits lift at the prospect of potential rescue.

Emily sends Annette to seek Ludovico's help, revealing Montoni's threats and her desperate wish to escape. She emphasizes secrecy and speed, trusting that Ludovico might enable their flight—perhaps when the castle gates open to admit approaching forces.

Montoni's Raiders Montoni's soldiers had not only plundered helpless travellers but attacked and ransacked several villas among the solitary mountain recesses. Though the disguised men were sometimes mistaken for common robbers or foreign invaders, they had successfully pillaged multiple mansions. However, when they attempted to approach one particular castle with allied troops, they were vigorously repulsed and pursued by enemies who had leagued with the besieged. The raiders fled precipitately toward Udolpho, closely tracked over the mountains until they reached heights near the castle and saw the enemy winding among the cliffs below, less than a league distant.

The Summons While Emily anxiously awaits intelligence, old Carlo arrives at her chamber with orders from Montoni—she must depart immediately as the castle faces siege, with mules preparing to convey her to safety. Emily questions why Montoni shows such consideration for her, receiving no answer. She experiences conflicting emotions: joy at potentially escaping, grief, distrust, and apprehension that Montoni's true purpose involves the scheme of vengeance he had previously threatened. She particularly fears that Valancourt remains trapped within the castle walls.

The Tuscany Plan Emily asks Carlo where she will go, and after hesitation he reveals she is to be carried into Tuscany, to a cottage on the borders at the foot of the Apennines—less than a day's journey distant. With trembling hands, Emily prepares a small package for departure while waiting for Annette's return from her failed errand.

Annette's Petition Annette returns from her failed attempt to reach Ludovico, explaining that the new porter Barnardine is even more watchful than his predecessor. Upon hearing of Emily's summons to depart, Annette pleads with Emily to take her along. Emily agrees willingly if Montoni permits, and Annette rushes to find him on the terrace surrounded by officers. Montoni sharply refuses her request, and when she persists in pleading for both herself and Ludovico, he orders his men to remove her from his presence.

The Farewell In agony of disappointment, Annette returns to Emily, who receives a summons to repair to the great court where mules and guides wait. Emily tries in vain to comfort the weeping Annette, who fears she will never see her beloved young lady again. Emily restrains her own sorrow and bids farewell, but Annette follows her to the crowded courts alive with preparation for the enemy. After watching Emily mount her mule and depart through the portal, Annette returns to the castle and weeps.

The Departure As Emily passes under the huge portcullis and sees no walls confining her steps, she experiences the sudden joy of a prisoner unexpectedly freed. The gloomy castle courts now resound with noise and crowd with soldiers preparing for defense. Despite dangers awaiting her—hostile mountains and men of unfavorable countenance—she rejoices at liberation from the walls she entered with such dismal forebodings. She remembers the superstitious presentiment that had seized her then and smiles at its impression upon her mind.

The Prisoner Inquiry Emily watches the turrets of Udolpho rise above the woods as she departs, and the thought of a stranger she believes confined there troubles her—concern that this prisoner might be Valancourt. She recalls every circumstance since first hearing his music, circumstances that have never provided conviction but prompt her to believe Valancourt is a prisoner at Udolpho. Hoping her conductors might provide information, she watches for an opportunity to question them separately. One guide named Ugo reveals there are several prisoners but claims not to recall their persons or arrival times. His manner is surly and unlikely to satisfy her enquiries even if he could.

The Attack Signal A trumpet echoes faintly from a distance, and the guides stop to observe. One rides to an eminence to scout while Emily questions Ugo about the prisoner. When Bertrand returns, Emily sees Udolpho's grey walls and towers crowded with archers and soldiers preparing cannon as the sun's rays glance upon the edifice. She gazes through tears upon walls that perhaps confine Valancourt. A distant cannon roar signals the enemy has reached the castle, and Emily's anxiety for Valancourt intensifies as mountains conceal the castle from view. Ugo shows eager frustration at being sent away from the fight.

The Savage Glen After hours of profound solitude, the party winds down precipices black with forests into a glen so savage and secluded that Emily imagines it perfectly suited for banditti. The guides propose to alight as wolves will make stopping dangerous after nightfall. Emily shudders at the thought of being left in these wilds at midnight with such men and suspects dark hints of Montoni's purpose. As evening approaches, they stop under a cliff overhung with cedars. Emily lifts her spirits and asks questions about Orsino, whose name the men mention. As twilight draws over the scene, Emily's anxiety about the prisoner at Udolpho leads her to question Bertrand despite Ugo's presence.

Orsino's Tale The men recount how Signor Orsino resolved to kill a Milanese cavaliero who married a lady he desired. Orsino's men ambushed the couple on their journey to Padua, attacking them between mountains where woods prevented servants from seeing. They shot the husband, striking him with three stilettos in the back as he turned to call his people. The lady escaped when servants arrived upon hearing the gunfire. Bertrand inadvertently reveals his complicity by repeatedly mentioning his own name in the account. Emily turns pale with horror at this conversation, suspecting the men may have been commissioned by Montoni to execute similar "justice" against her.

Emily struggled to breathe and could barely support herself as Montoni's men escorted her through desolate mountains at nightfall. Having witnessed one of them betray himself as a murderer, she feared Montoni had delivered her to them for execution, likely to secure her estates without further opposition. Yet the distance from the castle seemed unnecessary for such a purpose. Emily concealed her terror from her companions, trembling at the sound of their voices and finding their menacing countenances confirmed her worst apprehensions.

The sun had set, leaving heavy clouds tinged with sulphureous crimson in the west. The pine forests emitted solemn sounds as the breeze rolled over them. Before Emily stretched a landscape of shaded mountains in twilight, a gleaming torrent roaring hoarsely, black forests, and a deep glen broken into rocky recesses overshadowed by cypress and sycamore, winding into long obscurity. No hamlet, cottage, or even distant bark of a watch-dog offered comfort.

When Emily inquired how far they had to travel, her guides ignored her question. After finishing their supper, they proceeded in gloomy silence through the winding glen. She contemplated Montoni's motives—whether to destroy her immediately or reserve her for some more terrible design involving his avarice and deep revenge. The memory of Signor Brochio's behavior strengthened the latter possibility. Her fear of what awaited became so excessive it threatened her senses. She thought of her late father and how he would have suffered, could he have foreseen these strange events. Her situation seemed so improbable that she might have believed herself the victim of frightful visions.

As darkness fell and the travelers proceeded slowly, Emily noticed a thin tapering flame appearing at the point of Bertrand's pike—similar to what she had observed on a sentinel's lance the night Madame Montoni died, which he had claimed was an omen. Ugo dismissed her superstitious concern, explaining he had often seen such flames before thunderstorms. He was proven correct as clouds charged with thunder passed slowly overhead, with trembling stars appearing at intervals.

With the torch finally lit, the party dismounted and led the mules toward the woods, over broken ground interrupted by brush-wood and wild plants. Emily experienced heightened danger as they entered the woods, whose deep silence and impenetrable glooms, shown partially by torchlight, renewed her terrible apprehensions. She believed the guides' countenances displayed fierceness mingled with lurking exultation, and feared they were leading her to complete Montoni's will through her murder. When she demanded they continue along the open glen instead, Bertrand insisted they knew best and that the woods would shelter them from enemy patrols.

The men's disagreement intensified as Bertrand, shaken by the approaching thunder, declared he did not like such jesting. A violent altercation ensued, silenced only when thunder burst over their heads with sounds seeming to shake the earth. Lightning flashed between the trees while the mountains appeared clothed in livid flame. The men sheltered under a chestnut tree, and Bertrand expressed wishes to return to Montoni's castle, even contemplating becoming a priest. Ugo contemptuously declared he carried a sword, not rosaries. Another peal reverberated in tremendous echoes before Ugo proposed continuing onward.

After traveling through the woods for nearly an hour, the storm drove away and the travelers emerged onto a mountain brow overlooking a wide valley extending in misty moonlight. Emily's spirits revived as she considered that if these men had orders to destroy her, they would likely have executed their purpose in the solitary wild they had just left, rather than bring her this far. Surveying the sleeping beauty of the vale with its woods, pastures, and sloping grounds, screened by the Apennines to the north and east, she felt momentary pleasure. Bertrand pointed out the distant sea to the west. The air became perfumed by nameless flowers called forth by the late rain, and Emily could almost fancy herself back at La Vallée, wondering why Montoni had selected so enchanting a spot for any cruel design.

Ugo indicated they were nearly at their destination—a wood of chestnuts in the valley by a sparkling brook. They reached the entrance where Emily perceived light streaming from a distant cottage window. Following the brook to where the trees excluded the moonbeams, a line of light from the cottage played upon the dark tremulous water. Bertrand knocked loudly at the door while Emily observed the small upper casement unclosed by a man who descended to let them in.

The peasant who admitted them was tall but not robust, with a sallow complexion, shrewd eye, and countenance not calculated to win ready confidence. His wife, Dorina, was called to set refreshments. The peasant explained he had Montoni's letter three hours prior and had given up expecting them. The guides demanded wine and food, and he provided all his cottage afforded—ham, wine, figs, and grapes of remarkable size and flavor. Emily was then shown to a little bed-chamber by Dorina, who gave reserved answers when questioned about Montoni, pretending ignorance of his intentions while acknowledging her husband had been apprized of the circumstance.

Emily dismissed Dorina and retired to rest, but the busy scenes of her past and anticipated scenes of the future came to her anxious mind. The sense of her new situation conspired to banish sleep entirely.

The opening section establishes the chapter's somber tone through its epigraph from Shakespeare's Richard II, signaling the telling of a "heavier tale." This prepares the reader for the sequence of misfortunes, imprisonments, and Emily's renewed trials that follow in the chapter's unfolding events.

Count Morano, arriving in Venice, is suddenly arrested by order of the Senate. Despite his most strenuous efforts, his friends cannot trace him to his place of confinement. Though he cannot definitively identify his enemy, suspicion falls upon Montoni, whom Morano had wronged in the affair of the poisoned cup. Unable to prove Morano's guilty intention legally, Montoni sought other means of revenge, setting in motion the terrible machinery of Venetian state suspicion.

Montoni employed a trusted agent to drop an accusation into the Denunzie secrete—the "lion's mouths" fixed in the Doge's palace gallery—receptacles for anonymous information against those disaffected toward the state. Because accusers are never confronted with the accused, Montoni could falsely impeach his enemy and accomplish unjust revenge without fear of punishment or detection. In his letter, he accused Morano of designs against the state, presenting his charges with plausible simplicity.

The Senate, for whom suspicion at that time was nearly equivalent to proof, arrested Count Morano based on Montoni's accusation. Without revealing his crime, they threw him into one of Venice's secret prisons—dungeons that were the terror of the Venetians, where prisoners often languished and sometimes died without their friends ever discovering their fate. Morano's personal resentments with members of the state, his obnoxious habits, and his ambitious public rivalry ensured no mercy would soften his enemies' enforcement of the rigorous law.

While Morano suffered in Venetian confinement, Montoni faced dangers of another kind. His castle was besieged by troops who seemed willing to dare everything and endure hardships in pursuit of victory. The fortress's strength withstood their attack, and combined with the vigorous defense of the garrison and the scarcity of provisions in those wild mountains, the assailants were soon compelled to raise the siege, leaving Udolpho once more under Montoni's quiet possession.

With tranquility restored to Udolpho, Montoni dispatched Ugo to Tuscany to recall Emily, whom he had earlier sent to a place of greater safety while the castle was under siege. Now impatient to secure her again under his roof, he commissioned Ugo and Bertrand to escort her back. Emily bade farewell to the kind Maddelina with regret. After a fortnight's stay in Tuscany—where she had experienced quiet absolutely necessary to sustain her long-harassed spirits—she began ascending the Apennines once more, casting sorrowful looks toward the beautiful country below and the distant Mediterranean.

It was noon when Emily left the cottage, but evening closed before she came within the neighborhood of Udolpho. Though there was a moon, it shone only at intervals through cloudy skies. Lighted by Ugo's torch, the travelers paced silently along—Emily musing on her situation while Bertrand and Ugo anticipated wine and warm fires. Emily was roused from her reverie by the distant sound of the castle clock, its notes rolling away on the breeze like a knell measuring out some fateful period. Bertrand noted that neither the cannon nor the siege had silenced the old clock, which had "crowed as loud as the best of them" during the hottest fire.

As the road wound round the mountain's base, the castle appeared momentarily in a gleam of moonshine before vanishing in shade. The moonlight revealed the siege's ravages—broken walls, shattered battlements, and massy fragments rolled down among the woods. The woods themselves had suffered greatly from the batteries above, where the enemy had tried to screen themselves from the ramparts' fire. Many noble trees lay leveled, others stripped of their upper branches. The travelers dismounted to lead the mules up the hill, and the torch illuminated a grim scene: broken arrows, shattered armor, and eventually a bloodied steel breastplate pierced through and stained with blood. At an opening in the woods, they found a spot particularly fatal to the besiegers, strewn with broken arms and torn soldier's vestments beneath trees destroyed by the hottest fire of the garrison.

The castle clock struck twelve, followed by a trumpet signaling the changing of the watch—a custom revived during wartime. A sentinel called out, demanding who approached, and Bertrand's joyful shout identified the party to their comrades. They emerged from the woods onto the broken road leading to the castle gates, where the ground bore the marks of fierce fighting. Ugo recounted the furious attack on the great gates, where cannon and archers on the round towers had showered destruction upon the enemy. One of the towers lay damaged, its battlements nearly demolished. A light glimmered through a lower loop-hole, and through the broken wall Emily saw a soldier ascending the narrow staircase—the same stair she had climbed on the night Barnardine had deluded her. At the gates, the heavy chain fell and the postern door opened, admitting Emily once more beneath the gloomy arch, the door closing behind her as if shutting her from the world forever.

Emily found herself in the first court of the castle, surveying the spacious and solitary area with a kind of calm despair. The dead hour of night, the gothic gloom of the surrounding buildings, and the hollow echoes from Ugo and the soldier's conversation deepened her melancholy forebodings. They passed on to the second court, where distant sounds of revelry and laughter broke upon the silence—voices that were to Emily far other than sounds of joy. The soldier explained that Montoni and the Signors were carousing, having passed nights in good cheer since the siege ended, unlike the watchmen who paced the cold ramparts without such comfort.

The uproar within the castle grew so loud that Ugo's knocking at the hall door went unheard by the servants. Emily considered how to avoid seeing Montoni and retire unnoticed to her former apartment, shrinking from encountering him or his companions at this late hour. When Carlo finally opened the door, Emily requested he send Annette immediately with a light to the great gallery, then passed toward the staircase with hasty steps, while Bertrand and Ugo followed old Carlo to the servants' hall. Emily navigated the hall by the feeble lamp rays, expecting every instant to see Montoni's door open and his companions emerge.

Reaching the staircase, Emily seated herself on the last stair to await Annette, deterred by the gallery's profound darkness from proceeding farther. She heard only distant revelry rising in sullen echoes. Once she thought she heard a low sound from the dark gallery behind her and glimpsed something luminous moving within it, but the voices below overcame every other sound. Soon after, she heard Montoni and his companions burst into the hall, speaking as if intoxicated and advancing toward the staircase. Remembering they must pass this way to their chambers, Emily forgot all terrors of the gallery and hurried toward it, intending to secrete herself in some passage and wait until the Signors retired before finding her way to her own room or Annette's chamber.

Emily's desperate flight from the approaching revelers marks the chapter's climax of tension. Her fear compounds as she imagines Montoni's possible vengeance—detention or worse—should she relinquish her Languedoc estates. The melancholy fate of Madame Montoni appears to foretell her own doom, and she contemplates that Montoni's fear of justice might urge him to terrible action. The chapter ends with Emily's frantic attempt to hide, having overheard the intoxicated Montoni and his companions advancing toward the staircase where she must pass to reach the gallery.

Emily crept along the dark gallery with extended arms, hearing voices below that belonged to Verezzi and Bertolini, who seemed to be disputing about her. Montoni appeared inclined to appease them and return to wine, but Verezzi demanded to know where she was. Hearing their footsteps on the staircase, Emily ran along the gallery with great speed until light flashed upon the walls. Both men pursued her, but Bertolini stumbled and fell, extinguishing the lamp. Emily turned into a passage, which brought her to the corridor near her chamber.

From the gallery below, Emily overheard Verezzi and Bertolini arguing over promises Montoni had made to each of them regarding herself. Montoni, somewhat intoxicated, told them he did not know where she was but that she was most probably in her apartment. When Verezzi demanded to know her location, Montoni claimed ignorance. The conversation revealed that both men were competing for her, and Emily realized she was in significant danger from Montoni's associates.

Verezzi pursued Emily through the dark passage, while she heard his steps behind her. A faint ray of light glimmered under a door of a mysterious chamber she knew held something horrible. Verezzi's voice nearby made her freeze until he moved away toward her apartment. Emily then glided into another passage but was alarmed to see another light approaching—it was Annette, who rushed toward her with joyful screams that Emily quickly silenced. They hurried toward Annette's distant chamber in the castle to escape their pursuers.

In Annette's chamber, Emily learned that Valancourt's fate was unknown, though several prisoners were confined in the castle. Annette then recounted her terrors during the recent siege, describing how she was locked away by Ludovico for safety. She witnessed the enemy retreating from the ramparts, saw the destruction below, and noted that the rampart walls were in ruins. Since the siege ended, the Signors had done nothing but drink and gamble among themselves, with Verezzi always losing to Orsino, causing fierce quarrels.

Ludovico came to Annette's door, concerned for Emily's safety. She entreated his protection should Verezzi find her, and he agreed to spend the night in an adjoining chamber to defend them. Emily was much soothed by this arrangement. Ludovico later informed Emily of circumstances concerning the castle and hinted at Montoni's designs, which considerably increased her alarms. When Emily expressed surprise that he continued in such an evil situation, Ludovico revealed it was not his intention to remain and promised to assist her escape from the castle, though he strongly represented the difficulty and danger of the enterprise.

Emily confided in Ludovico about Valancourt and begged him to enquire whether such a person was among the prisoners. This faint hope caused her to recede from her previous resolution to immediately compromise with Montoni. She determined to delay signing anything until she heard further from Ludovico. Ludovico promised to be watchful of every circumstance that might contribute to the success of the attempt and to devise some plan of departure. Emily's chief hope now rested with Ludovico, who seemed zealous in her cause despite almost despairing of success.

Emily was summoned to Montoni, who demanded to know why she was not in her chamber the previous night. She related her alarm and entreated his protection. When she demanded whether he would permit her immediate departure if she gave up her claim to the contested estates, Montoni solemnly assured her that he would and laid before her a paper to transfer the rights to himself. For a considerable time, Emily was unable to sign it, her heart torn with contending interests as she resigned the hope that had sustained her through so many hours of adversity. She finally put her hand to the paper, then fell back in her chair.

Montoni smiled and revealed his deception: "It was necessary to deceive you—there was no other way of making you act reasonably; you shall go, but it must not be at present. I must first secure these estates by possession: when that is done, you may return to France if you will." The deliberate villainy with which he violated his solemn engagement shocked Emily as much as the certainty that she had made a fruitless sacrifice and must remain his prisoner. She had no words to express what she felt. Montoni told her to withdraw to her apartment and assured her she would be sent back to France, though she dared not go where she would be liable to Verezzi's intrusion.

Emily returned to her apartment and sat by the casement, trying to believe that Montoni truly intended to permit her return to France once he had secured her property. Her chief hope rested with Ludovico, and she rejoiced that her prudence had saved her from mentioning Valancourt's name to Montoni, which would have endangered him further had Montoni's jealous fears learned of his connection to her. Thus passed the melancholy day as she struggled against misfortune that had so long harassed and oppressed her spirits.

When night drew on, Emily remained in her chamber despite her fears, determined to watch for the music she had formerly heard. Though its sounds might not enable her to positively determine whether Valancourt was among the prisoners, they might strengthen her hope that he was and impart the comfort so necessary to her present support. She waited with impatient expectation for the approaching hour, hardly daring to consider what would happen if all should be silent.

Emily endures a tempestuous night at the castle, where doubled sentinels pace the shattered battlements while she listens intently for the lute music she once heard in Gascony, now convinced it signals that Valancourt remains imprisoned somewhere in the fortress. During a lull in the howling wind, she distinctly catches the sweet notes of a lute and a plaintive French voice—the same melody she had heard before—and Annette's identification of it as a song from their homeland leads them both to call out his name, but the music stops abruptly and no answer comes despite their repeated attempts through the night. When silence and the grey light of dawn replace the storm, Emily discovers that her mysterious nocturnal musician still inhabits the castle, and she resolves to question Ludovico more urgently about his whereabouts, though she also notices a heavy locked chest she had never examined and a renewed awareness of the danger posed by Signor Verezzi.

Emily endures a night of storm and doubled guard, waiting anxiously for the music she once heard to return. When the lute and a melancholy voice finally sound again, she and Annette recognize a French ballad and Emily's own name repeated in the song, leading Emily to believe the musician is Valancourt, but the howling wind and the deep‑set casements prevent them from exchanging words. As dawn breaks and the storm subsides, Emily turns her attention to a heavy, locked chest in her chamber and resolves to question Ludovico about the stranger's location, while the threat of Signor Verezzi still hangs over her.

Emily passes a stormy night at her casement, listening to lute music and a plaintive voice rising from an apartment below the castle walls. Despite the tempest that repeatedly drowns out the sound and the great depth of the casements that prevents her from hearing articulated words, she believes the musician may be Valancourt, and this hope mingles with her fear of Verezzi and the guards. Annette recognizes the music as a French song and calls out Valancourt's name, causing the lute to fall suddenly silent; the ensuing silence brings Emily to a state of anxious joy as she paces the room and listens for any response, until dawn breaks and the wind subsides into calm, revealing the wearied soldiers on the walls below.

On a stormy night at the castle, Emily hears mysterious music drifting up from below—a lute and a plaintive voice she suspects belongs to Valancourt. She and Annette attempt to communicate with the musician through the deep casement windows, but the wind and the thickness of the castle walls distort their calls, and their voices go unanswered. Annette recognizes a French song and grows convinced the singer is Valancourt, but Emily remains uncertain, remembering how the wind carried her own voice away to the far end of the terrace. When they hear Emily's name sung clearly, she sinks into a chair trembling with hope, and calls out again, receiving only faint, indistinguishable accents in return. After repeated failed attempts to establish contact, Emily insists they stop for the night, though she resolves to question Ludovico about the stranger's whereabouts in the morning. As dawn breaks over the mountains, she and Annette try to move a heavy, locked chest against the staircase door for protection, but find it immovable, and Emily finally retires to rest as the storm calms.

As the fierce storm raged through the night, Emily observed the doubled watch on the shattered castle walls and listened for the musicians she had once heard from her casement, soon perceiving the tender notes of a lute and a plaintive voice that she believed might belong to Valancourt, despite the wind often carrying away the sounds before she could fully distinguish them. She and Annette attempted to communicate with the unseen singer by calling from the window, but the deep casements and gusting wind prevented any clear exchange, though Emily took hope from the fact that her own voice alone had drawn an answer, and she determined to question Ludovico in the morning about the stranger still confined somewhere in the castle. When the music ceased after Annette's loud calls, Emily paced the room in anxious anticipation while Annette worried about Verezzi's potential intrusion, yet as the night gradually yielded to dawn, the wind subsided into calm and the first light appeared over the eastern mountains, revealing the woods motionless after the storm and soldiers wearied from their watch.

On a tempestuous night at the castle, Emily endeavors to secure her chamber against the threat of Verezzi by attempting to barricade the staircase door with furniture, though her efforts seem woefully inadequate to the danger she fears. Her attention turns repeatedly to a large, heavy chest in the chamber, which she and Annette wish they possessed sufficient strength to move, and this physical obstacle becomes a symbol of her vulnerability as she waits alone for the promised music that may signal Valancourt's presence. While the storm rages and the sentinels keep their doubled watch upon the shattered walls, Emily hears the strains of a lute and a plaintive voice from an apartment below, which Annette identifies as a French song and believes to belong to Valancourt, prompting Emily to call out to the mysterious musician in hopes of confirming his identity. The deep-set casements of the castle prove an impediment to both hearing and being heard, for though Emily distinguishes her own name in the song and believes herself answered by a familiar voice, the articulation of words remains impossible against the wind. After the music ceases and no reply comes to her desperate inquiries, Emily and Annette turn their attention to the chest that has so occupied Emily's thoughts, yet despite their combined efforts, the heavy chest refuses to budge from the floor, its lid secured by a peculiar lock that would require a key or spring to open. As dawn breaks and the wind subsides into stillness, Emily must finally rest, having learned nothing certain of Valancourt's whereabouts, her door unbarred by the immovable chest she had so wished to employ against the dangers of the night.

Emily passes a tense, stormy night in the castle, straining to hear music she hopes will confirm that Valancourt remains nearby. She hears the lute and a plaintive voice through the tempest, and though the deep-set windows prevent clear communication, Annette recognizes a French ballad and concludes the singer must be Valancourt. When Emily hears her own name in the song, she gives herself up to hopeful anticipation, but their attempts to call out are swallowed by the wind, and the mysterious musician falls silent. Dawn reveals the storm has abated, and Emily retires to rest with renewed hope, though she and Annette were unable to move a heavy locked chest they wished to place against the staircase door against the threat of Verezzi.

Lapponian Spring The chapter opens with an epigraph depicting the arrival of spring in Lapland after a harsh winter, where melting torrents bring life to the landscape and fill the peasant's heart with wonder and joy.

The Suspenseful Interval Emily spends several days in suspense, confined to her apartment to avoid Bertolini and Verezzi, while relying on Montoni's protection. She waits for news about Valancourt without any prospect of escape.

Ludovico's Prison Visit Ludovico manages to visit the prisoner, a Frenchman captured in a skirmish, and confirms that he is Valancourt. He briefly speaks to him, mentioning Emily's name, and returns with hope.

Valancourt's Miniature Ludovico brings Emily a miniature portrait of herself, which Valancourt had kept close to his heart as his only solace. Valancourt sends it as a pledge of his enduring affection and expresses a desire to meet her.

Emily's Joyful Waiting Emily and Ludovico arrange a secret meeting with Valancourt in the corridor. She spends the following week in anxious hope and joy, watching for the night signal and anticipating their reunion, despite ongoing dangers.

The Mistaken Stranger At midnight, Emily hears a lute and goes to meet Valancourt, but instead embraces a stranger. She faints upon realizing he is not Valancourt.

Du Pont's Explanation The stranger, Du Pont, reveals he is a Frenchman from Emily's native province of Gascony and has long admired her. He confesses to stealing the portrait of Emily and explains his presence in the castle as a prisoner. He offers his services to help her escape.

Verezzi's Assault Verezzi bursts into the corridor and attacks Du Pont with a stiletto. Du Pont disarms him, and they struggle until Verezzi is knocked down. Emily pleads with them to stop, and Du Pont refuses to abandon her.

The Castle Flight Ludovico arrives and urges them to flee immediately. Emily, Du Pont, and Annette follow Ludovico down a staircase and into a vaulted passage, hoping to escape through the gates while Montoni's people are distracted by newcomers.

Escape Through the Passages The group continues through dark passages, with Ludovico leading. They encounter a sentinel, and Du Pont quiets Emily's dog to avoid detection. Ludovico distracts the sentinel to keep the gates open as they prepare to slip out of the castle.

Ludovico cunningly engages the sentinel in conversation near the castle gates, distracting him with talk of wine and sharing plunder. The soldier departs to claim his share, leaving Ludovico in charge of the watch. Ludovico cleverly borrows the sentinel's trombone (a blunderbuss), claiming he needs it to defend the pass in case of attack, while secretly planning the escape.

With the court temporarily clear due to the soldiers' distraction with wine, Ludovico signals to Emily, Du Pont, and Annette to follow. They hurry to the gates where Ludovico has already seized two horses that had strayed from the inner court. The party mounts and departs swiftly into the surrounding woods, guided by moonlight filtering through the foliage.

The escapees travel on foot and horseback through wooded roads as Emily struggles to believe her sudden freedom is real. Their doubts prove founded when shouts echo through the wind and lights appear moving near the castle above. Du Pont urges his horse forward, and Ludovico reports lights pursuing them. They gallop until the pursuit lights fade and voices fall silent.

After escaping their pursuers, the travelers pause to plan their route. They determine to descend into Tuscany and make for the Mediterranean, where they can embark for France. Du Pont intends to accompany Emily if his regiment has returned to their native country.

Ludovico, the only one familiar with the mountain passes, guides the party along a branching by-road that leads down into Tuscany. He mentions a small town a few leagues distant where they can obtain supplies. The travelers discuss the threat of bandit parties, though Ludovico feels confidence in his newly acquired trombone.

Traveling silently through lonely wilds and dusky valleys for over an hour, the party hears the distant tinkling of a sheep-bell and bleating of flocks, indicating nearby human habitation. The road has grown overgrown with tall grass, showing how rarely travelers pass this way. The narrow pass opens upon a pastoral valley of the Apennines, described as a scene of Arcadian beauty.

Dawn light reveals a small town on a nearby hillside, which the travelers soon reach after some difficulty finding shelter. Emily's appearance draws attention—she wears only a veil, having fled the castle without a hat. The landlord, upon learning they are prisoners escaped from Montoni, agrees to assist them, though he is too poor to lend money. He provides fresh horses to carry them to the next town.

The travelers lament their poverty until Ludovico returns from the stable, ecstatic with discovery. Beneath one horse's saddle, he found a small bag containing treasure—apparently the booty of a condottiero who had been plundering. Du Pont counts the money and finds it sufficient to carry them all to France, where he now decides to accompany Emily regardless of news about his regiment.

Emily purchases a peasant girl's straw hat and necessary supplies for the journey. The travelers exchange their tired horses for fresher ones and set off as the sun rises. They discuss their destination, choosing Leghorn (Livorno) as the nearest significant port, from which vessels of all nations depart regularly.

After hours of travel through romantic Tuscan countryside, the party descends into the Vale of Arno. Emily admires the sylvan and pastoral landscape adorned with elegant villas of Florentine nobles. In the distance, she sees Florence rising on the horizon, its towers and luxuriant plain spread before the Apennines. To the west, the Mediterranean appears as a distant bluish line. Emily thinks of Valancourt and France with hope tinged by sorrow at her lack of family and uncertain reunion.

During a rest in the pine grove, Emily inquires how Du Pont became Montoni's prisoner. He explains that he came to Italy in military service and was captured when his party engaged Montoni's bands. Recognizing Montoni's name as Emily's aunt's husband, Du Pont gained certain privileges from a sympathetic sentinel, including walks on the castle terrace.

Du Pont describes how a compassionate (or possibly avaricious) guard allowed him to walk on the terrace and revealed a hidden door leading through passages within the castle walls to the eastern rampart. In midnight wanderings, Du Pont glimpsed light in a casement he believed was Emily's window.

Du Pont explains that he often stood opposite Emily's window, sometimes lamenting aloud until she appeared. He waved to her once, and when she disappeared, he yielded to lamentation, prompting her to appear again and speak—though the sound of approaching soldiers cut short their silent communion. He later used a lute to serenade through the night air, hoping she might hear him. Emily confirms she called to him in the wind just a few evenings before.

As the group continues their journey, Emily reflects on France with mixed emotions. While longing to return to her native country, she knows she has no home waiting and no parents to welcome her—only the grave of her late father. She also worries about reunion with Valancourt, who may be stationed elsewhere in France.

The travelers seek shelter from noon heat in a thick pine grove with a spring and wild fruit. They enjoy a simple meal while viewing the landscape stretching to the sea. Ludovico keeps watch while Emily and Annette rest, and upon waking, Emily finds Du Pont lost in melancholy thought. The narrative continues with Du Pont's account of overhearing Montoni's conversation about his mysterious predecessor in the castle.

Du Pont reveals to Emily that he deliberately joined Montoni's ghost story in a disguised, hollow voice to frighten the assembled guests and avert the danger he sensed threatened her. He explains he was unafraid of detection because Montoni clearly did not know the secret passage that led from Du Pont's prison to the room where the company gathered. The ruse succeeded in alarming Montoni's people enough that they fled and ordered a search, though Du Pont had already retreated to his distant cell. Emily recalls the incident spreading widespread terror among Montoni's household, confessing she was weak enough to share in the general fear.

Emily confides to Du Pont her plan to withdraw to a convent in Languedoc, where she had previously received kind treatment, from which she intends to write to her relative Monsieur Quesnel explaining her conduct. She hopes eventually to return to La Vallée when circumstances permit, and Du Pont assures her that Montoni's attempt to defraud her of her aunt's estates is not irreversible. The possibility of recovering the property for Valancourt and herself fills Emily with joy she struggles to conceal from Du Pont, whose own romantic hopes she cannot reciprocate.

Du Pont, Emily, and Ludovico set out as the sun declines, descending the valley slopes to the Arno River. They journey along its pastoral banks through classic Tuscan scenery, enchanted by the countryside and the associations its waters evoke. The sounds of peasants' songs drift from vineyards as sunset gilds the waves and twilight deepens into purple mountains and then night. Tuscan fireflies flash among the foliage while cicadas fill the air with their shrill chorus. They cross the Arno by moonlight at a ferry and, learning Pisa lies a few miles downstream, push onward on weary horses to reach the city.

Approaching Pisa, the valley opens into a plain of vineyards, corn, olives, and mulberry groves. Upon entering the gates, Emily is surprised to hear bustling footsteps, musical sounds, and lively groups filling the streets, reminiscent of Venice but lacking its moonlit canals and Palladian grandeur. The Arno flows through the town, but instead of balcony music, only busy sailors' voices and the melancholy anchor-heaving of vessels from the Mediterranean reach the shore. Du Pont proceeds to the quay to inquire about vessels sailing to France, but despite extensive efforts, finds no bark bound immediately for that country, nor any news of his regiment's location.

The travellers depart Pisa early without pausing to view its celebrated antiquities or the famous leaning tower. Passing through a charming landscape of wine, grain, and olive cultivation, they descend the gentler Apennines toward Leghorn. The mountains soften into sylvan and pastoral beauty as Emily looks down upon the city, its spacious bay filled with shipping and framed by beautiful surrounding hills. Upon entering Leghorn, Emily finds the town crowded with people in the costumes of all nations, a scene like a Venetian masquerade, though one of bustle without gaiety and noise replacing music, with elegance residing only in the waving outlines of the hills.

Upon arriving at Leghorn, Du Pont immediately goes to the quay where he learns of several French vessels, including one sailing in a few days for Marseilles, from where another vessel can easily take them across the Gulf of Lyons toward Narbonne, near which the convent Emily seeks is located. Du Pont secures passage to Marseilles, and Emily is delighted that her journey to France is secured. The relief from fear of pursuit and the hope of returning to her native country, where Valancourt awaits, restores a degree of cheerfulness she has not known since her father's death. Du Pont also learns his regiment has already embarked for France, allowing him to accompany Emily without conscience or duty concerns. During these days he carefully refrains from pressing his suit, though Emily can only esteem and pity him.

After witnessing an emotional farewell between departing travellers, Emily composes "The Mariner," a poem in twelve stanzas depicting Henry's departure from his bride Ellen. The verses trace the tender parting at the ship's deck, Henry's lingering farewell as the vessel sails away, and his subsequent night view of the receding coastline from the mast. The poem darkens to a violent storm that drives the ship upon rocks, ending with Henry's drowning cry of farewell and subsequent visions of Ellen mourning his grave, while lovers' spirits are said to guard the sacred mourning ground.

The poem, composed by Lady Blanche while observing a butterfly, takes the form of an address from the butterfly to his beloved, whom he has watched and waited for in a lily's bell. He inquires what bowery dell tempts her to stay, noting how he once found the lily's cell sweeter than any fountain, grove, meadow, or blossomed tree. He describes his annual wanderings through spring meadows and forest retreats, sporting on sunbeams over hills and vales, courting every blushing flower. He promises to guide her through jasmine, may-flowers, and rose-buds, and to scale mountain summits where wild-thyme blooms in honeyed fragrance. Yet his beloved does not appear, and he speculates that she has been sent on an errand by the tiny queen of fairy-land—to gather nectar from Indian roses, collect may-dews for love's sorrows, or deliver a message to fairy love. Finally, he sees her sailing low upon the gale, recognizes her blue and jet coat and gold and purple wings, welcomes her home to the lily's cell, and promises they shall live in glee together, ranging over the mountains.

The discourse is cut short by tremendous thunder, and the monastery bell summons the inhabitants to prayer. As Blanche passes the window, she sees by the lightning flash a vessel she had observed earlier, struggling amid a sea of foam and breaking billows, its mast bowing to the waves.

She sighs fervently as she gazes upon the vessel, observing how the mast alternately bows to the waves and rises high in air. She then follows the Lady Abbess and the Countess to the chapel.

Meanwhile, some of the Count's servants had gone by land to the château for carriages. They return soon after vespers conclude, and when the storm somewhat abates, the Count and his family proceed home.

Upon arrival at the château, Blanche is surprised to discover how much the windings of the shore had deceived her concerning the actual distance between the monastery and the château. She recalls hearing the vesper bell from the windows of the west saloon on the preceding evening, and reflects that she would have seen the monastery towers from there had twilight not veiled them.

The Countess, affecting more fatigue than she truly feels, withdraws to her apartment. The Count, with Blanche and Henri, proceed to the supper-room.

They had scarcely settled when they hear, in a pause of the gust, the firing of guns. The Count recognizes these as distress signals from some vessel in the storm and goes to a window opening toward the Mediterranean. The sea is involved in utter darkness, and the tempest's howling overcomes every other sound. Blanche, remembering the bark she had seen earlier, joins her father with trembling anxiety.

A second report of guns borne on the wind is followed by a tremendous thunder burst. In the preceding flash, a vessel is seen tossing amid white foam at some distance from the shore. The Count perceives that no boat could survive the storm, so he orders his servants to carry torches out upon the cliffs to serve as a beacon for the vessel and warn the crew of approaching rocks.

Henri goes out to direct where the torches should appear on the cliffs. Blanche remains at the window with her father, catching glimpses of the vessel whenever the lightning flashes. She sees with reviving hope the torches flaming against the blackness of night, their red gleam casting across the grasping billows.

When the firing of guns is repeated, the torches are tossed high in the air as if answering the signal, and the firing is redoubled. Though the wind carries the sound away, Blanche fancies that the vessel is much nearer the shore as the lightnings glance.

The Count's servants run to and fro on the rocks, some venturing almost to the crag points and holding out torches fastened to long poles. Others descend the steep and dangerous path to the sea's margin, hailing the mariners with loud halloos. The mariners' shrill whistles and feeble voices are heard at intervals, mingling with the storm. Sudden shouts from the rocks increase Blanche's anxiety, until Henri runs breathless into the room with news that the vessel has anchored in the bay below but is so shattered that it is feared she will part before the crew can disembark.

The Count immediately gives orders for his own boats to assist in bringing the crew to shore, and commands that any strangers unable to be accommodated in the adjacent hamlet should be entertained at the château.

The shipwrecked party consists of Emily St. Aubert, Monsieur Du Pont, Ludovico, and Annette. They had embarked at Leghorn and reached Marseilles, and were crossing the Gulf of Lyons when this storm overtook them.

The Count receives the survivors with his usual benignity. He discovers that Du Pont is an old acquaintance, and much joy passes between them. Emily, who had wished to proceed immediately to the monastery of St. Claire, is persuaded not to leave that night, as the terror and fatigue she has suffered would scarcely permit her to travel farther. Emily is introduced by name to the Count's family, whose hospitable benevolence dissipates her embarrassment. The party soon sits at the supper-table, where Blanche's unaffected kindness and lively joy gradually revive Emily's languid spirits.

In the servants' hall, Annette tells of all the dangers she has encountered and congratulates herself on her own and Ludovico's escape and present comforts. Her laughter often rings through that part of the château, though Ludovico tries in vain to restrain her. Her merriment ascends to the Lady's chamber, who sends to enquire the cause of the uproar and commands silence.

Emily withdraws early to seek much-needed rest, but her pillow is long sleepless. On returning to her native country, many interesting remembrances are awakened. All the events and sufferings she has experienced since leaving France come in long succession to her fancy, chased only by the image of Valancourt. To believe herself once more in the same land as him, after such long and distant separation, gives her indescribable joy, which later yields to anxiety when she considers the long period since any letter has passed between them and how much may have happened to affect her future peace. The thought that Valancourt might be no more, or might have forgotten her, is so terrible that she scarcely permits herself to consider it. She determines to inform him of her arrival in France the following day, and after soothing her spirits with hope of hearing that he is well and unchanged, she at length sinks to repose.

The chapter opens with an epigraph excerpted from Pope’s translation of Homer, depicting a violent storm at sea that batters a ship, terrifies its sailors, and threatens instant death on every wave.

Left with no companion to share her admiration of the beautiful local scenery, Lady Blanche grows spiritless and pensive, missing the friend whose happiness reflected her own. Emily, meanwhile, is weighed down by Valancourt’s extended silence—far longer than the period in which a letter should have arrived from Estuvière—which fills her with severe anxiety and makes her wish to delay her visit to Château-le-Blanc until her spirits are restored.

The Count observes Blanche’s dissatisfaction and reminds Emily of her promised visit, while the Count and his family also press for her arrival. As Emily cannot explain the personal cause of her low spirits without risking offense to friends whose esteem she values, she agrees to return to Château-le-Blanc for a second stay, despite her wish for solitude.

Encouraged by Count De Villefort’s friendly, open manner, Emily confides in him about her situation regarding the estates of her late aunt, and asks for his advice on how to recover them. He assures her the law will likely rule in her favour, advises her to pursue legal action, and offers to write to a trusted advocate in Avignon on her behalf, an offer Emily gratefully accepts.

Emily is soothed by the daily courtesy she experiences at the château, though she cannot be fully happy without assurance of Valancourt’s welfare and unchanged affection. The Countess is portrayed as a woman of flawed character: she has discarded modesty for brash assurance, lacks the gentle sweetness that makes female character appealing, affects elegant languor when reading fictitious sorrow but shows no compassion for real suffering, and has never known the joy of benevolent action that brings comfort to those in misery.

After more than a week at the château with no word from Valancourt, Emily’s doubts and fears destroy her peace, even though she knows a letter may not have reached him if he was away from his brother’s residence. She sometimes finds the company of even Blanche intolerably oppressive, and sits alone in her apartment for hours when family engagements allow, without discourtesy.

In one of these solitary hours, Emily unlocks a small box holding Valancourt’s letters and sketches she made during her stay in Tuscany, intending to revisit his tender words to comfort herself. The letters’ effect has changed, however: the affection they express only highlights her fear that his love has faded with time and absence, and even his handwriting recalls too many painful memories. She is unable to read the first letter, and sits musing with tears streaming down her face when Dorothée enters the room.

Dorothée enters to inform Emily dinner will be ready an hour early, and immediately notices her agitation and tears. She asks if Emily has a serious cause for sorrow, and Emily tries to smile but is unable to speak, brushing off her worries as trivial. Dorothée, unconvinced, expresses sympathy for the young woman’s distress.

Dorothée bends to pick up an item that fell from Emily’s papers, and gasps when she sees it is a miniature portrait of the late Marchioness de Villeroi, which she recognizes instantly as her former mistress. She trembles as she describes the portrait’s features: the Marchioness’s signature blue eyes, her meek and resigned expression when lost in thought, and the quiet tears she would never complain of. Emily, who had found the portrait among her father’s hidden papers and watched him shed tears over it, is deeply shaken by the recognition.

Emily is powerfully curious about the Marchioness’s story, recalling the perplexing details of her father’s conduct around the hidden papers and portrait, and the terrible words she once saw in those papers that she can never forget. After weighing her scruple against violating her father’s apparent wish for secrecy, she concludes that the simple details Dorothée knows are not the ones her father intended to conceal, so she resolves to ask Dorothée for the full story of the Marchioness.

Emily solemnly promises Dorothée she will never reveal any of the Marchioness’s story without Dorothée’s consent, and Dorothée agrees to share the details, though she worries others will become curious if they see her spending time in Emily’s room. She says she will come to Emily when the family is asleep, though she notes the vintage dance that evening will keep the servants up late, so she may not be able to come that night.

That evening, the Count and his family (except the Countess and Mademoiselle Bearn) go to a woodland glade to witness the peasants’ vintage dance celebration. The glade is decorated with festoons of grapevines loaded with ripe clusters, tables of fruit, wine, cheese and other rural fare, and seating for the family and elder peasants. Musicians play flutes and long guitars on the grass, while a boy flourishes a tambourine and dances among the revelers, heightening the lively, joyful rustic atmosphere as the sun sets and peasants of all ages dance together.

Too depressed by memories of her father to join the dancing, Emily leaves the glade and walks slowly into the woods, where the distant soft music and calm moonlit air soothe her melancholy. She wanders without noticing her path until the sounds of the dance fade into silence, interrupted only by nightingales, and she finds herself near the desolate avenue where she and her father had arrived the year prior, stirring up painful memories of his final illness and the terrifying figure she and Michael had seen there.

As Emily stands by the avenue remembering that night, she hears footsteps approaching from the avenue and, fearing bandits, quickens her pace toward the dancers. She realizes the followers are Henri and his companion, and is shocked to hear Valancourt’s voice—the two share an emotional reunion after their long separation, with Henri as a silent, astonished witness to their joy.

Valancourt explains that Emily’s letter was forwarded to him in Paris, but he had already left for Gascony, so the letter followed him there and prompted him to set out for Languedoc immediately. He had arrived at the monastery Emily had written from too late to enter for the night, and was returning to his inn to write to her when Henri, an acquaintance from Paris, found him and brought him to the dance. When they sit to talk, Emily notices Valancourt’s countenance has lost some of its former simplicity and open benevolence, and he appears anxious and melancholy at intervals. When Emily tells him of her sufferings at Montoni’s hands, Valancourt is overcome with self-accusation and grief, eventually telling her he is unworthy of her, though he refuses to explain further that evening, asking only that she not forget their happy journey together in the Pyrenees.

Emily and Valancourt both recall their journey through the Pyrenees, which Valancourt calls the happiest period of his life, when he loved all that was truly great and good and had an uncorrupted heart. Emily is deeply moved by his distress, and promises she will not forget that journey, which brings him some calm, though he remains unwilling to explain the cause of his anguish or his claim of unworthiness that evening.

Emily forgives Valancourt for the uneasiness he has caused her, telling him she will believe he deserves her esteem until given reason to think otherwise. They then join Lady Blanche and proceed to the banquet.

The party sits down beneath a gay awning with the Count, his son Henri, and the Chevalier Du Pont. Several venerable tenants join them, creating a festive atmosphere for all except Emily and Valancourt. When the Count retires, he does not invite Valancourt to accompany him, so Valancourt takes his leave and returns to his inn while Emily withdraws to her apartment.

Emily muses deeply on Valancourt's behaviour and the Count's reception of him, so preoccupied that she forgets her appointment with Dorothée until morning is far advanced.

The following day, the Count joins Emily in one of the walks and mentions Valancourt, noting he was introduced to him at Paris and was much pleased with him initially. He asks Emily how long she has known Valancourt, and when she requests his reason for the question, he explains that he perceives Valancourt admires her and fears he is a "favoured admirer."

The Count tells Emily he thinks Valancourt is not worthy of her favour. He assures her that nothing but a strong interest in her welfare could induce him to make such an assertion. He pauses under the trees where Emily has grown pale and fatigued, then proceeds to warn her.

The Count explains that Valancourt was introduced to his son at an officer's table, but later associated with men "a disgrace to their species, who live by plunder." He lost large sums at the gaming-table, became infatuated with play, and was ruined. His friends remonstrated with him to no avail. The Count further reveals that Valancourt was initiated into the secrets of the cheaters' trade, sharing in their profits.

Emily struggles to believe these reports, but the Count insists his information comes from credible sources. He then reveals that Valancourt's extravagance brought him twice into the prisons of Paris, from which he was extricated by a well-known Parisian Countess with whom he continued to reside.

Upon hearing of Valancourt's double imprisonment and dependence on this Countess, Emily's countenance changes and she faints from her seat. The Count catches her but cannot leave to seek assistance, so he goes to a nearby fountain for water. Emily remains unconscious for some time before showing signs of returning life.

When Emily revives, she finds herself supported not by the Count, but by Valancourt, who has entered the garden with Henri and observed her with earnest apprehension. She closes her eyes again and faintness returns. The Count motions Valancourt to withdraw, but he refuses to leave until she revives or to resign her to another's care. When Emily revives again, she yields to tears.

The Count tells Valancourt that Emily is too indisposed to converse and promises she will see him the next day. Valancourt looks haughtily at the Count, then at Emily with expressions of surprise, grief, and supplication. Emily says she will be better tomorrow and will see him then if he accepts the Count's permission. Valancourt declares he will come and accept the Count's permission.

When they reach the château door, Valancourt lingers with a look expressing tenderness and grief. He bids Emily good morning and disappears after bowing to the Count.

Emily withdraws to her apartment and tries to recollect all the Count has told her. She wavers between the conviction that Valancourt is no longer the virtuous man she loved and the hope that he has been misrepresented. Unable to believe the Count treacherous, and knowing the Count spoke from personal observation and his son's experience, she concludes she must part from Valancourt forever. Yet she cannot resolve to dismiss him without further proof, and determines to judge by his manner when confronted.

Emily secretly resolves to go to her convent in a day or two, finding the company of the Countess and Mademoiselle Béarn intolerable in her current state. She hopes in the retirement of the convent to recover her composure and find resignation to what she perceives is approaching.

A note arrives from Valancourt, written in evident distraction, entreating Emily to permit him to see her that evening rather than the following morning. The request agitates her so much she is unable to answer it.

Emily sends to request a conversation with the Count in his library, where she delivers Valancourt's note and asks his advice. After reading it, the Count advises that if she believes herself well enough, the interview should take place that evening for the relief of both parties. Emily replies to Valancourt that she will see him, and exerts herself to find the fortitude to bear the approaching scene.

Epigraph The chapter opens with an epigraph from Thomson: "Ye gods of quiet, and of sleep profound! / Whose soft dominion o'er this castle sways, / And all the widely-silent places round, / Forgive me, if my trembling pen displays / What never yet was sung in mortal lays."

The Count's Commands The Count orders the north apartments to be opened and prepared for Ludovico's reception. Dorothée remembers what she witnessed there and fears to obey, and no other servants dare venture there, leaving the rooms shut until Ludovico is to retire for the night—an hour the entire household awaits with impatience.

Dorothée's Fear Dorothée, recalling her recent experience in the north apartments, is too frightened to obey the Count's orders. None of the other servants will go near those rooms, creating tension as the household waits for Ludovico's confrontation with whatever haunts the northern wing.

The Sword After supper, Ludovico meets with the Count in his closet, where they remain alone for half an hour. Upon leaving, the Count presents Ludovico with a sword, saying jocosely that it has seen service in mortal quarrels and he will use it honourably in a spiritual one. Ludovico promises that no spectre shall disturb the château after this night.

The North Staircase Ludovico leads the way to the back staircase, followed by most of the household. Several servants shrink back and refuse to continue, but others follow him to the broad landing-place at the top, watching him with eager curiosity as he approaches the door, as if he were performing some magical rite.

The Lock and the Scream Ludovico, unaccustomed to the lock, cannot turn it. Dorothée, who had lingered far behind, is called forward, and under her hand the door opens slowly. Her eye glancing into the dusky chamber, she utters a sudden shriek and retreats. Most of the crowd hurries down the stairs in alarm, leaving only the Count, Henri, and Ludovico to pursue the investigation.

The State Saloon They enter the spacious state saloon, once magnificent with sumptuous tapestry, velvet sofás, inlaid marble floors, painted glass casements, and large Venetian mirrors. The Count reflects on how the scene has changed since his youth, when the Marchioness held brilliant assemblies there. He muses on mortality and the passage of time, noting that those who once sang and danced in this gay apartment forgot that every step carried them nearer to their graves.

The Marchioness's Bedroom Entering the bedroom, the Count is struck by the funereal appearance—the dark arras and bed covered with a pall of black velvet. Ludovico explains he has heard the Lady Marchioness de Villeroi died in this chamber. The Count asks if Ludovico's courage will sustain him through the night, offering to release him from his engagement. Ludovico's pride overcomes his fear, and he declares he will see the matter through.

The Spirit Debate Back in the supper-room, the Count and Baron debate whether spirits, after quitting the body, are permitted to revisit the earth and become visible. The Baron believes the first is probable and the last possible, citing ancient and modern authorities. The Count is decidedly against him, but the Baron wins more adherents due to the human love of wonder and astonishment. Emily listens with deep attention, frequently chilled with awe, but refrains from mentioning what she witnessed in the Marchioness's apartment.

Midnight Music When the Count retires to his dressing-room, he suddenly hears music and asks his valet Pierre who plays at such a late hour. Pierre reveals that music often goes about the house at midnight, seeming to come from the woods, and with it a voice that many claim to have heard. The Count is moved by the melody, describing it as something more than mortal, with delicate touch and dying cadences. Pierre confirms the household believes the music is nothing mortal.

Ludovico's Vigil Ludovico, alone in his remote chamber, hears the distant clock strike twelve and looks suspiciously around. He tends to his fire, drinks wine, and takes up a book of old Provençal tales that Dorothée had lent him. The tales are drawn from Arabian legends and crusader adventures, some splendid and some simple in structure. As he reads, he believes he hears a noise and glances around the chamber, then returns to the story of the Breton Baron and the mysterious stranger.

The Provençal Tale Ludovico reads of a noble Breton Baron famous for his magnificence and courtly hospitalities. One night, a stranger of noble air but sorrowful countenance appears in the Baron's chamber, claiming to bear a terrible secret. The stranger insists the Baron follow him to the forest edge, promising to disclose something of great importance concerning the Baron and his house. The Baron eventually consents, and as he studies the knight, he perceives his countenance assume a singular solemnity.

The Baron Weighs the Stranger's Request** The Baron paces silently in his apartment, deeply troubled by the stranger's extraordinary demand. He fears both granting and refusing the request. Finally, he addresses the unknown knight, questioning the wisdom of trusting himself alone with a stranger in a solitary forest at this late hour. The Baron insists the knight at least identify himself and explain how he came to be secreted in the chamber.

The Baron Questions the Stranger Knight** The knight frowns at the Baron's inquiries and remains silent momentarily. When he does respond, his expression is somewhat stern. The Baron presses further, demanding to know why the knight did not arrive through proper channels, why no herald announced him, and why he chose to hide within the castle rather than appearing openly at the banquet where his presence would have been welcome.

Sir Bevys of Lancaster Reveals His Identity** The stranger knight declares that he is an English knight called Sir Bevys of Lancaster. He states that his deeds are known at the Holy City, from which he was returning to his native land when he became benighted in the neighboring forest. The Baron acknowledges that the knight's name is not unknown to fame, causing the knight to look haughtily upon hearing this.

The Baron Questions the Knight's Secret Arrival** The Baron repeats his earlier questions, unwilling to let the matter pass. He emphasizes that his castle is known to entertain all true knights, so there was no need for secrecy. The stranger frowns and turns away in silence, but the Baron persists with his interrogation about the improper manner of the knight's arrival.

The Knight Demands the Baron Accompany Him** The knight declares that he has come not to answer enquiries but to reveal facts. He tells the Baron that if he wishes to know more, he must follow. The knight pledges on his honor as a Knight that the Baron shall return safely. He insists the Baron be quick in his determination, as he must depart immediately.

They Traverse the Castle's Secret Passages** After further hesitation, the Baron decides to follow the stranger, drawing his sword and taking up a lamp. The knight leads him through an ante-room where all the pages have fallen asleep. The Baron restrains his impulse to reprimand them at the knight's expressive gesture. Descending a staircase, the knight opens a secret door that the Baron believed was known only to himself. They proceed through narrow, winding passages until they reach a small gate beyond the castle walls.

The Pair Heads to the Forest Edge** Emerging onto the heathy platform before the castle's great gates, the Baron looks up to see lights in the guests' windows as they retire for the night. He shivers in the cold blast while contemplating the warm comforts of his chamber. The knight leads on, often sighing but speaking nothing. The Baron anxiously watches his lamp, which wavers in the wind but does not extinguish.

The Knight Leads the Baron Through the Dark Forest** At the forest's borders, the knight turns as if to speak but closes his lips in silence and continues walking. Upon entering beneath the dark, spreading boughs, the Baron hesitates, affected by the solemnity of the scene. He demands to know how much further they must travel, but the knight only gestures for him to continue. The Baron follows reluctantly through an obscure, intricate path until he again demands to know their destination and refuses to proceed further without information.

They Discover the Murdered Knight's Body** The knight finally assures the Baron they are nearly there and that no evil shall befall him, having sworn it on knightly honor. They arrive at a deep recess where dark chestnut trees exclude all sky and undergrowth makes progress difficult. The knight sighs deeply as he passes. Reaching a spot where trees crowd together, the knight points to the ground with a terrific look. The Baron sees a man's body stretched out, weltering in blood, with a ghastly wound on the forehead. Death has already begun to contract the features.

The Ghost of Sir Bevys Appears and Issues a Warning** When the Baron holds the lamp near the corpse's features, he discovers the body bears an exact resemblance to his conductor. Looking up at the knight in astonishment, he watches as the knight's countenance changes and fades until his entire form gradually vanishes. A voice then declares that this is the body of Sir Bevys of Lancaster, murdered that night on his journey from the Holy City. The voice commands the Baron to bury the body in Christian ground and punish the murderers, warning that doing so will bring peace, while neglect will bring war and misery upon his house forever.

Ludovico Pauses to Stir His Fire** As Ludovico reads this passage, he pauses and looks at his own fire. He gives it a brightening stir before continuing with the story. The narrator's intrusion reminds readers that this tale is being read aloud in another setting entirely.

Ludovico Hallucinates a Phantom Voice** At the moment the Baron stands fixed in horror, Ludovico starts and lays down the book, believing he hears a voice in his chamber. He looks toward the bed, seeing only dark curtains and a pall. He listens intently, scarcely daring to breathe, hearing only the distant sea in the storm and wind against the windows. Concluding he was deceived by the wind's sighings, he takes up his book to finish the story.

Ludovico Finishes Reading the Story** The Baron recovers from his awe and astonishment, returns to his castle, and has Sir Bevys's body removed and interred with the honors of knighthood in the castle chapel. All the noble knights and ladies attending the court of Baron de Brunne are present at the funeral. Having finished reading this tale, Ludovico lays aside the book, feeling drowsy. He adds more wood to his fire, takes another glass of wine, and reposes himself in the arm-chair by the hearth.

Ludovico Falls Into a Fitful Sleep** In his dreams, Ludovico continues to see the chamber where he actually lies. Once or twice he starts from imperfect slumber, imagining he sees a man's face looking over the high back of his arm-chair. The idea so impresses him that when he raises his eyes, he almost expects to meet other eyes fixed upon his own. He leaves his seat and looks behind the chair before becoming convinced that no one is there. Thus closes the hour.

The opening verses describe the transition from day to night: "Light thickens, and the crow / Makes wing to the rooky wood: / Good things of day begin to droop, and drowse; / While night's black agents to their preys do rouse." This passage from Macbeth sets the tone for the chapter's exploration of darkness, night, and the terrors and beauties that emerge when day ends and twilight's uncertain forms invite both fear and sublime pleasure.

When bats begin flitting across the mountain path, Blanche recalls verses that Emily had given her. The poem "To the Bat" celebrates this creature of twilight that shrouds itself from day's obtrusive glare in ruined towers or shadowy glens where Horror lurks. The bat appears at the sweet silent evening hour when flowers sleep, sporting wantonly through the twilight air, its elastic flight mocking the eye that would pursue its course. The poem concludes by suggesting the bat comes from Indian isles with Summer's car, claiming twilight as its love and the beaming star as its guide. These verses inspire contemplation of how dubious forms half-veiled in darkness can afford higher delight than distinct sunlit scenery, refining the mind to subtlest feeling and bidding tears of rapture to roll.

As St. Foix watches the moon rise over the eastern summits from embattled clouds, he contemplates the sublime scene with a passage of verse: "What dreadful pleasure! there to stand sublime, / Like shipwreck'd mariner on desert coast, / And view th'enormous waste of vapour, toss'd / In billows length'ning to th'horizon round!" This moment marks the awakening from romantic reverie when the guides call his name, the sound reverberating from cliff to cliff. The moon reveals the grandeur of vaporous heavens, mountains, and the abyss below—the Minstrel's imagination capturing the awe of standing upon sublime precipices while storms gather and light plays upon the landscape.

The Count explains to Blanche that the mountains serve as refuge for French and Spanish smugglers who transport contraband goods across the borders. He notes that these desperate adventurers travel in large, well-armed parties and are willing to face cruel death rather than surrender their cargo. The Count observes that both smugglers and soldiers reluctant to engage in combat, making actual battles rare but extremely violent when they occur. He notices Blanche's inattention and draws her gaze to a distant edifice illuminated by moonlight, warning that a storm approaches.

Blanche perceives they stand at the foot of a cliff crowned by a building, though no light emerges from within. The dog that had guided them has fallen silent, causing the guides to question whether this is their intended destination. The structure appears larger than a watchtower when viewed from a distance, but the cliff's steep walls offer no obvious path upward. While the guides investigate the cliff face, the Count remains with Blanche and St. Foix beneath the woods, attempting conversation while anxiety troubles Blanche's mind.

The Count consults privately with St. Foix about the wisdom of approaching a structure that might shelter bandits. They weigh the dangers of remaining exposed to the elements against the risks of entering an unknown edifice. After considering the strength and armament of their own party, they decide to seek admittance regardless of what inhabitants they might encounter. A shout from the guides signals discovery of a pathway, and the travelers ascend a narrow, winding passage carved into the rock through thick undergrowth, finally reaching the summit where ruined towers surrounded by massive walls emerge in the moonlight.

The party observes several decaying towers rising from within a massy wall, their grey stone construction displaying heavy Saxon-Gothic architecture with enormous round towers and substantial buttresses. Despite the ruins, many portions remain intact, and the large round gate opening into the hall suggests this was once a fortress of considerable strength. The courtyard contains a gigantic oak tree, leafless and moss-covered, that appears to have flourished alongside the structure it once protected. The Count surveys the scene with melancholy, struck by the contrast between the fortress's former power and its present abandonment.

The Count leads his party silently along the fortress perimeter toward the remote section from which distant voices seemed to emanate. No lights are visible from the main front, and the silence surrounding the edifice contradicts the probability of habitation. A terrace extending from the entrance court runs along the brow of a precipice, where remains of cannon are still visible embedded in the thick walls. The Count pauses at this point when a dog begins barking from within, confirming the fortress is inhabited after all.

The Count returns to confer with St. Foix about seeking admittance, his earlier resolution somewhat shaken by the wild aspect of the place. A light appears briefly in a tower's loop-hole, then vanishes when he approaches to investigate. He calls loudly but receives no response, then strikes the gate with his climbing pole. The renewed barking of multiple dogs is the only answer, followed by profound silence when the echoes cease. The Count interprets this caution favorably as a sign of sensible inhabitants. He calls out that they seek shelter from the night, and after a moment, footsteps approach and a voice demands to know who calls. The Count is told there is no cabin within several leagues, and the gate begins closing until another voice from above invites them to remain.

A man armed with a hunting spear appears at the gate, questioning what they want at such an hour. The Count claims to have lost his way and asks for directions, which the man cannot provide. Just as the Count turns away in disappointment, a face appears at the portal grate offering guidance. The man explains they are fellow hunters who have lost their way, and the gate opens to admit several men in hunting dress who welcome the party to rest for the night and share their modest fare. The Count, noting their weapons and the late hour, accepts despite some lingering suspicion.

The strangers lead the Count, Lady Blanche, and St. Foix into a large, rude hall illuminated by a blazing fire at one end. Four men in hunters' dress sit around the hearth where several dogs lie sleeping, and a large table dominates the center of the room with animal meat boiling above the fire. The men rise to greet their guests, and the dogs observe the newcomers with fierce expressions before their masters' voices reassure them. Blanche examines the gloomy, spacious hall while her father addresses the hunters with cheerful conversation about their hospitable hearth and hunting success.

The Count observes his hosts carefully while conversing, noting that one man sits silently by the fire gazing steadily and earnestly at St. Foix. When questioned about their success, the hosts claim to kill game with tolerable certainty and explain they live at the fortress only during summer and autumn months, departing when winter brings flooding torrents. The Count expresses admiration for their life of liberty and enjoyment. A man standing behind the Count mentions delicious birds from the valleys, suggesting a brace hung in the stone gallery be fetched for preparation.

A horn sounds at the gate, causing Blanche to look timidly at her father, whose countenance betrays mounting anxiety despite continued conversation about the hunt. Two men enter with guns and pistols, greeting their companions in bad Spanish and immediately questioning whether the new arrivals come from France or Spain. They throw down a knapsack containing several brace of birds, and the glitter of bright metal catches the Count's eye as he surveys the taller, robust man with short black hair, hard countenance, and faded military uniform instead of hunting dress. The Count notices another figure in the hall's obscure corner intently observing St. Foix, then redirecting the same steady gaze toward himself. Both men soon disappear from the hall.

Jacques returns announcing a fire has been lit in the stone gallery, where the table is prepared as a warmer alternative to the hall. The hosts press their guests to follow, but Blanche appears distressed and remains seated while St. Foix looks to the Count, who initially prefers the comfortable fire. However, the hunters' continued insistence with such courtesy eventually overcomes the Count's reluctance. As thunder crashes overhead, making shelter essential, the party follows their conductors through long, ruinous passages lit by a lamp.

As they pass through the dark passage, Blanche's dress catches on a nail in the wall. She stops to disengage it while the Count and St. Foix, conversing and unaware of her situation, round an abrupt corner with their guide. The thunder prevents her cries from being heard, but she quickly follows what she believes to be their path toward a glimmering light. She pauses near an open door where lamp-lit voices reach her ears, and by the light within, observes four men seated around a table in apparent consultation, including the man she had noticed studying St. Foix with such deep attention.

Blanche overhears the men debating their scheme, with one urging that they secure the travelers while dismissing the servants as easy prey. Another argues against bloodshed when it can be avoided, proposing they simply dispatch the Count and St. Foix. The first speaker responds with a terrible oath, warning that surviving witnesses would inform the king's troops and bring execution upon them. The discussion turns to the value of their potential victims, with one noting the Count's party includes enough wealth to sustain them for a considerable time. They dispute whether the Count is actually the Baron they once attacked, and one man claims he recognized St. Foix immediately despite not being recognized in return.

The bandits debate how to proceed with their murderous scheme, with one impatiently noting that their additional men have failed to arrive and their numbers are insufficient to overpower the enemy's servants. Another proposes dispatching the two Chevaliers silently, after which mastering the rest would prove easy. The first speaker responds with scorn, demanding to know how they might accomplish such silent dispatching, and receives the answer: poison. The speaker approves this method, declaring it will give a lingering death sufficient to satisfy his vengeance against the barons.

One of the bandits claims he recognized St. Foix on sight though St. Foix does not remember him, while the Count has become almost forgotten. Another maintains skepticism about the Count's true identity, insisting he was present when they previously attacked the Baron and is equally qualified to judge. The discussion turns to the booty they might seize, contrasting the meager profits from smuggling tobacco and robbing fellow smugglers or pilgrims against the rich prizes before them. One bandit points out that the man they call the Baron wore a diamond ring, which he has since removed after noticing the thief's attention to it.

The ruffians discuss their plans for robbery, noting that Blanche wears a valuable diamond miniature at her neck. They debate the best method to overcome her group of nine or ten armed companions—considering poison versus open force due to their small numbers.

Blanche listens to the ruffians' conspiracy in agony. Unable to hear their lowered voices any longer, she hopes to warn her friends and gathers strength to find the gallery, but terror and darkness work against her.

Blanche falls over a step in the dark passage. The noise alerts the banditti, who rush to investigate. They discover and seize her before she can rise, dragging her back to their chamber while she screams.

The ruffians demand what Blanche overheard. She surrenders her diamond miniature, which they examine with delight, recognizing it as a portrait of the young Chevalier St. Foix. Her terror and confusion betray that she heard their plans. A distant noise causes the ruffians to prepare for potential comrades returning.

When Blanche regains consciousness, she discovers St. Foix lying wounded and speechless on the pavement. Ludovico enters, binds his wounds, and fetches water. The Chevalier has likely fainted from blood loss.

Count De Villefort appears, calling for his daughter. Blanche runs to his arms as he embraces her with joy, though he bears a wound to his left arm. With Ludovico's assistance, St. Foix revives enough to inquire about Blanche.

Ludovico warns that the remaining banditti will soon return, having understood the significance of the shrill horn signal heard outside the fortress. The Count's servants gather except for two keeping watch, and they must quickly remove St. Foix, who cannot ride.

Ludovico improvises a stretcher using a bear's skin and long poles, padding it with goat skins. The now-revived St. Foix is gently lifted onto this carrier while some servants, though wounded, follow along. The party passes through the hall where noise from bandits in the dungeon causes alarm before Ludovico assures them the iron door holds secure.

The party mounts their mules at the gate, with Ludovico leading them into the glen via an easier path. Dawn breaks over the mountains as they enter a narrow valley stretching northwest, enjoying views of verdant hillsides and sparkling rocks in the morning sun. St. Foix's fever intensifies, requiring a brief rest where Spanish wine from the fort provides temporary relief.

The Count commands Ludovico to explain how he escaped the north apartment, came into the bandits' possession, and contributed so essentially to their deliverance. Ludovico is about to obey when a distant pistol shot echoes from the path behind them, causing the party to rise in alarm.

The chapter opens with a Macbeth epigraph: *"Unnatural deeds Do breed unnatural troubles: infected minds To their deaf pillows will discharge their secrets. More needs she the divine, than the physician."* This quotation sets the thematic tone for the chapter, which will explore guilt, confession, and the consequences of wrongdoing. Emily and Lady Blanche extend their walk to the monastery, drawn by concern for the dying nun whose condition had deeply affected Emily previously.

Upon arriving at the monastery, Emily and Blanche notice a carriage at the gate, its horses still warm from recent arrival. An unusual stillness pervades the cloisters. A nun informs Emily that Sister Agnes remains alive but is not expected to survive the night. In the parlour, Emily reunites with former fellow boarders who share news from the convent during her absence. The atmosphere is one of anticipation and dread as they await developments.

The abbess enters with solemn demeanor and expresses satisfaction at seeing Emily. She begins to speak of the house as "a house of mourning" and reflects on Agnes's impending death as "a great and awful lesson." She counsels Emily on preserving peace of conscience in youth so it may comfort in old age. The abbess reveals that Agnes has been exemplary in her final days, and that she hopes these suffering moments will secure Agnes's peace in the afterlife. She mentions that Agnes is currently with her confessor and a gentleman who has just arrived from Paris.

The abbess delivers a moral lesson about the vanity of good deeds in later years if earlier life was marked by evil. She reveals that during Agnes's illness, the dying nun has sometimes spoken of Emily, and the abbess suggests that a visit might comfort her. She acknowledges the scene will be melancholy but frames such painful experiences as salutary to the soul. This conversation triggers Emily's painful recollection of her father's final moments at this same monastery—his emotion upon returning to the neighborhood, his request to be buried in a specific spot, and his solemn charge to Emily to destroy certain papers without examining them.

The reverie is interrupted by the entrance of Monsieur Bonnac, who has just left Agnes's chamber. His countenance shows more horror than grief. He converses privately with the abbess, speaking with caution and evident interest. After his conference with the abbess, he departs without addressing the others. The abbess then proposes visiting Agnes's chamber, and Emily, though reluctant, agrees to accompany her while Lady Blanche remains below with the other boarders.

At the chamber door, Emily encounters the same confessor who attended her dying father. He passes without acknowledging her. Inside, Agnes lies on a mattress, her face ghastly and marked by gloomy horror. Her eyes, dim and hollow, fix upon a crucifix. She remains unaware of the visitors until they stand at her bedside. Then, with wild horror, she fixes her eyes upon Emily and screams: *"Ah! that vision comes upon me in my dying hours!"*

Agnes mistakes Emily for someone else, exclaiming about the likeness and "fascination" that "proved my destruction." She speaks of years passing since she last saw this person, declaring her crime is "but as yesterday" while acknowledging she has grown old beneath it. Emily is shocked and would leave, but the abbess supports her and asks her to remain until Agnes becomes calm. Agnes continues her delirium, screaming about murder and demanding where "he" is, seeing specters in the air. She sinks down, apparently lifeless, while Emily, unable to support herself, leans against the bed. The abbess administers remedies, explaining the delirium is passing. When Agnes recovers, her wild expression has yielded to gloomy melancholy.

Agnes, now rational, again fixes her eyes on Emily and remarks on the "wonderful" likeness between them, asking if Emily is not the daughter of "the Marchioness." When Emily expresses surprise, Agnes specifies: "the Marchioness de Villeroi." This name triggers Emily's memory of her father's emotion upon hearing it mentioned previously. Agnes requests a casket and directs that a secret drawer be opened, from which she retrieves a miniature. Emily recognizes it as resembling a picture found among her father's papers. Agnes bequeaths it to Emily, declaring she "must believe it is your right" and that she has long observed the resemblance between them.

Agnes reveals there is another picture she wishes to show Emily. She produces another miniature and challenges Emily to compare "what I was" with "what I am." Emily recognizes the portrait as resembling Signora Laurentini—the lady who disappeared mysteriously from the Castle of Udolpho and whom Montoni was suspected of murdering. Agnes, now identified as Laurentini herself, confirms this resemblance and delivers a passionate warning about the dangers of passion: *"Beware of the first indulgence of the passions; beware of the first! Their course, if not checked then, is rapid—their force is uncontrollable—they lead us we know not whither."* She speaks of the "torture of conscience" that follows when passion's purpose is accomplished, and confesses that the sweetness of revenge was "transient" compared to the lasting anguish of guilt. She enjoins Emily to remember that passions are "the seeds of vices as well as of virtues."

Emily questions Laurentini about her "sudden departure from Udolpho" and mentions "the reports that followed it"—specifically "the west chamber—the mournful veil—the object it conceals!" upon which Laurentini shrieks in convulsions, mistaking these words for the presence of specters. Emily, unable to endure the horror of the scene, flees the room and summons nuns to assist the abbess. The Lady Blanche and the boarders gather around Emily, alarmed by her terror. She explains only that she believes Agnes is dying. After waiting, she learns that Laurentini is reviving, and Emily and Blanche depart as the abbess promises to speak with Emily on the following day about something of consequence.

Emily and Lady Blanche return through the woods toward the château. The deep gloom of the woods and surrounding stillness render Lady Blanche fearful despite the presence of a servant. Emily remains too absorbed in the horrors she has witnessed to be affected by the solemnity of the shades, her mind occupied by gloomy reverie. Lady Blanche eventually points out two persons approaching in the dusky path.

The approaching persons include Mons. Du Pont and the gentleman from the monastery (Monsieur Bonnac), who was conversing so earnestly that he did not immediately perceive the ladies. Upon joining them, Du Pont's companion takes his leave, and they proceed to the château. The Count, upon hearing of Mons. Bonnac, claims him as an acquaintance and learns the melancholy occasion of his visit to Languedoc. He requests Du Pont to invite Bonnac to the château, an invitation that is accepted after some hesitation on Bonnac's part.

At the château, the Count and his son work to dispel the gloom overshadowing their guest. Mons. Bonnac is described as an officer in the French service, about fifty years old, with a tall and commanding figure and polished manners. Over features that "in youth...must have been remarkably handsome" is spread a melancholy that seems the effect of long misfortune rather than constitution. His conversation during supper is evidently an effort of politeness, with intervals of silence and abstraction from which the Count sometimes withdraws him with delicate benevolence—conduct that reminds Emily strongly of her late father.

After the party separates at an early hour, Emily retires to her apartment where the scenes she has witnessed return to her mind with "dreadful energy." Her discovery that the dying nun is Signora Laurentini—who instead of being murdered by Montoni appears to be guilty of some dreadful crime—fills her with horror and surprise. The hints Laurentini dropped about the Marchioness de Villeroi's marriage and her questions about Emily's birth also interest Emily greatly. She considers that the story Sister Frances formerly related was erroneous, likely fabricated to conceal the true story. Most of all, Emily ponders the relation between the Marchioness de Villeroi's story and her father's story, for the grief he showed upon hearing the Marchioness named, his request to be buried near her, and her picture found among his papers all suggest some connection between them.

Emily considers whether her father might have been the lover to whom the Marchioness was said to have been attached before being compelled to marry the Marquis de Villeroi. She cannot bring herself to believe he would have cherished such a passion afterward, given her confidence in his integrity. She reflects that the papers her father so solemnly enjoined her to destroy might have related to this connection, and wishes more earnestly than ever to understand why he considered it necessary to destroy them without examination—though had her faith in his principles been less, she might have suspected a mystery in her birth dishonourable to her parents.

The text reveals Emily's growing certainty that Laurentini is implicated in some murder. Her recognition of the miniature's resemblance to the portrait at Udolpho, combined with Laurentini's own words about "years of prayer and penitence" being insufficient to wash out the "foulness of murder," leads Emily to conclude she is looking upon a murderer. The mention of "the west chamber" and "the mournful veil" in the Castle of Udolpho, where Montoni was suspected of having caused Signora Laurentini's death, now takes on new and terrible meaning as Emily begins to piece together the truth of what really happened there.

Emily becomes increasingly interested in the Marchioness de Villeroi and her connection to both Laurentini and possibly her own father. Laurentini hints that the Marchioness was attached to a gentleman of Gascony at the time she accepted the Marquis's hand by her father's command, a circumstance Emily connects to her father's evident emotion upon hearing the Marchioness's name. Laurentini's assertion that Emily bears a family resemblance to the Marchioness and her pointed question about Emily's birth raise disturbing possibilities about Emily's true parentage that she struggles to reconcile with her understanding of her father's character.

From the casket Agnes directs the nun to open, she retrieves two miniatures. The first miniature, depicting the Marchioness de Villeroi, is bequeathed to Emily. The second miniature, showing Signora Laurentini's former self, is shown to Emily with Laurentini's bitter commentary about the difference between "what I was, and what I am." The secret drawer within the casket becomes the means by which Emily gains visual evidence connecting her own family history to the Marchioness and to the mysterious lady of Udolpho.

Laurentini delivers an impassioned monologue on the torments of conscience, confessing that she once believed she had suffered "the most agonizing pangs of human nature, in love, jealousy, and despair—but these pangs were ease, compared with the stings of conscience." She describes having tasted the "sweet of revenge," only to find it "transient" and expiring with the object that provoked it. Her warning to Emily emphasizes that the passions are "the seeds of vices as well as of virtues," and that those "who have never been taught the art to govern them" are indeed unhappy. The abbess echoes this sentiment, lamenting Laurentini's unhappiness and her being "ill-informed of our holy religion."

Lady Blanche accompanies Emily to the monastery, extending their walk from the original plan because of Emily's concern for the dying nun. After the terrifying scene with Laurentini, Lady Blanche and the boarders in the parlour gather around Emily, alarmed by her manner and affrighted countenance. During their return through the woods, Lady Blanche points out the approaching strangers, and she expresses concern about the late hour and the darkness, though a servant accompanies them. Her reactions throughout the chapter provide contrast to Emily's increasingly grave contemplations.

The chapter opens with the Macbeth epigraph: *"Unnatural deeds Do breed unnatural troubles: infected minds To their deaf pillows will discharge their secrets. More needs she the divine, than the physician."* This quotation from Macbeth Act V establishes the chapter's thematic focus on the psychological and moral consequences of wrongdoing. The "infected minds" reference applies to Laurentini's tortured conscience, while the line "More needs she the divine, than the physician" anticipates the dying Agnes's need for spiritual rather than medical intervention. The opening establishes that this chapter will explore the nature and consequences of crimes against conscience.

Agnes is dying, and a nun informs Emily that Sister Agnes is still living and sensible but not expected to survive the night. Her countenance has changed so much that Emily would scarcely recognize her; it is ghastly and overspread with gloomy horror. Her dim and hollow eyes are fixed on a crucifix, and she is so engaged in thought that she does not perceive visitors until they stand at her bedside. Her condition worsens after the arrival of Monsieur Bonnac, whom she had long wished to see. The visit triggers a "paroxysm of frenzy," and she falls into convulsions, appearing lifeless before the usual remedies restore her. Eventually, she recovers her senses and demonstrates both lucidity and continued awareness of her impending death.

Monsieur Bonnac arrives at the monastery in a carriage that has "just arrived," and his entrance interrupts Emily's reverie with the abbess. He appears "much disturbed," and Emily observes that his countenance "had more the expression of horror, than of grief." He draws the abbess aside for a private conversation, speaking with "caution, and a more than common degree of interest." After concluding his discussion, he bows silently to the company and departs. He later accompanies Mons. Du Pont to the château, where his melancholy demeanor and long intervals of silence suggest he carries a burden of sorrow or guilt—possibly connected to what he learned in Agnes's chamber.

Laurentini confesses her sins in two senses: first, through the raving delirium that appears to accuse herself of "the most horrible crimes," and second, through her lucid confession to Emily about the nature of guilt and passion. She speaks of "the commission of crimes, for which whole years of prayer and penitence cannot atone" and describes how a single passion can "overcome every other, and sear up every other approach to the heart." Her confession suggests she was led to commit a terrible deed—possibly the murder referenced in her delirium—through uncontrolled passion, and she has lived in torment ever since. The confessor in attendance, the same who attended Emily's father, suggests the gravity of her spiritual state.

Emily passes a sleepless night, and when she falls into slumber, it is only to behold "a vision of the dying nun, and to awaken in horrors, like those she had witnessed." Her reflections engage her mind "during the greater part of the night" as she struggles to process the revelations about Laurentini's true identity and her hints about the Marchioness de Villeroi. The questions surrounding Emily's own birth, her father's mysterious papers, and the true fate of Signora Laurentini at the Castle of Udolpho combine with her discovery of what appears to be a murder confession to fill her with a "labyrinth of perplexities." The chapter concludes with Emily unable to find peace even in sleep, her mind haunted by the scenes and secrets of the monastery.

On the morning following Emily's appointment with the abbess, she was too ill to attend, and before the day ended, news arrived that Sister Agnes had passed away. Mons. Bonnac received this intelligence with concern, though Emily observed he appeared less affected than the previous evening, possibly because the confession he had witnessed was more distressing to him than the nun's death. However, he was consoled somewhat by knowledge of a legacy bequeathed to him, as his large family had been experiencing great distress due to the extravagance of some members, which had even resulted in imprisonment.

Mons. Bonnac's dejection of countenance had stemmed from the wild career of a favorite son, along with the consequent financial anxieties. When he recounted his troubles to his friend Mons. Du Pont, it emerged that he had been confined for several months in one of the prisons of Paris, with little hope of release. His wife had been absent in the country, vainly trying to procure assistance from friends. When she finally obtained an order for admittance, she was so shocked by the change that long confinement and sorrow had wrought in his appearance that she suffered fits that threatened her life.

Their situation affected those who witnessed it, and one generous friend, who had been in confinement at the same time, employed the first moments of his liberty in efforts to obtain Mons. Bonnac's release. He succeeded—the heavy debt oppressing Bonnac was discharged—but when Bonnac attempted to express his gratitude, his benefactor had fled from his search. Bonnac had reason to believe this kind stranger had returned to the state of confinement from which he had released Bonnac, and every enquiry after him proved unsuccessful. "Amiable and unfortunate Valancourt!" Bonnac exclaimed.

When Du Pont heard the name Valancourt, he exclaimed in surprise and asked about his family. Learning that he was of the Counts Duvarney, Du Pont's emotion at discovering his rival to be his friend's generous benefactor can only be imagined. Overcoming his surprise, he dissipated Bonnac's fears by informing him that Valancourt was at liberty and had recently been in Languedoc. Du Pont's affection for Emily then prompted him to make enquiries about his rival's conduct during his stay in Paris, from which he became convinced that Valancourt had been much misrepresented.

The painful revelation prompted Du Pont to make a significant sacrifice. Convinced that Valancourt was not unworthy of Emily's regard, he formed the just design of relinquishing his pursuit of her to this rival. Though the sacrifice was painful given his love, Du Pont determined to step aside for the man who had proven himself through such noble actions.

Mons. Bonnac's conversation revealed that after Valancourt's arrival in Paris, he had been drawn into snares spread by determined vice. His hours were divided between the parties of the captivating Marchioness and gaming assemblies, to which the envy or avarice of his brother officers had enticed him. He lost large sums trying to recover smaller ones, with Count De Villefort and Mons. Henri often witnessing these losses. When his resources were exhausted, his brother refused to continue supplying his expensive lifestyle. Accumulated debts eventually led to Valancourt's imprisonment, where his brother left him in hopes that punishment might reform conduct not yet confirmed by long habit.

In the solitude of his prison, Valancourt had leisure for reflection and cause for repentance. The image of Emily, which had been obscured but never obliterated from his heart during his dissipation, revived with all the charms of innocence and beauty to reproach him for sacrificing his happiness and debasing his talents. Though his passions had been seduced, his heart was not depraved, and he retained the energy of will necessary to burst his chains. He eventually emancipated himself from the bondage of vice, though not without much effort and severe suffering.

Being released by his brother from the prison where he had witnessed the affecting meeting between Mons. Bonnac and his wife, Valancourt used nearly all the money his brother had given him to attempt one final gamble—not for his own benefit, but for the chance of restoring his friend to freedom and his afflicted family. Fortunate in this stake, he made a solemn vow never again to yield to the destructive vice of gaming. After restoring the venerable Mons. Bonnac to his rejoicing family, Valancourt hurried to Estuvière, finding delight in having made the wretched happy.

Count De Villefort had received various scandals about Valancourt from sources he had no reason to doubt, and Valancourt's own imprudent conduct had made him readily believe them. These included accusations of receiving pecuniary obligations from the Marchioness Chamfort or other ladies of intrigue, or being engaged in the depredating schemes of gamesters—though to these ignominies Valancourt had never submitted. When Valancourt confessed himself unworthy of Emily's esteem, he little suspected he was confirming the most dreadful calumnies against himself. The mistake had been mutual, and it remained so until Mons. Bonnac explained to Du Pont his generous friend's conduct. Du Pont, with severe justice, determined not only to undeceive the Count but to resign all hope of Emily. Count De Villefort, when informed of his error, was extremely shocked at the consequence of his credulity. Bonnac's account convinced him that Valancourt had been entrapped by scheming young men rather than by inclination to vice. Charmed by the humanity and noble, though rash, generosity Valancourt had displayed, the Count forgave his transient errors and restored him to the high esteem he had held for him during their early acquaintance.

As the least reparation Villefort could make, he wrote immediately to request Valancourt's forgiveness for the unintentional injury he had done him and to invite him to Château-le-Blanc. Motives of delicacy withheld the Count from informing Emily of this letter and the discovery regarding Valancourt until his arrival, so as to spare her from possible anxiety about the outcome. This precaution spared her even severer inquietude than the Count had foreseen, since he was ignorant of the symptoms of despair that Valancourt's conduct had betrayed.