“In spite of Montoni!” cried Emily eagerly: “what is it I hear?”
“You hear, that Montoni is a villain,” exclaimed Morano with vehemence,—“a villain who would have sold you to my love!—Who—”
“And is he less, who would have bought me?” said Emily, fixing on the Count an eye of calm contempt. “Leave the room, sir, instantly,” she continued in a voice, trembling between joy and fear, “or I will alarm the family, and you may receive that from Signor Montoni’s vengeance, which I have vainly supplicated from his pity.” But Emily knew, that she was beyond the hearing of those, who might protect her.
“You can never hope anything from his pity,” said Morano, “he has used me infamously, and my vengeance shall pursue him. And for you, Emily, for you, he has new plans more profitable than the last, no doubt.” The gleam of hope, which the Count’s former speech had revived, was now nearly extinguished by the latter; and, while Emily’s countenance betrayed the emotions of her mind, he endeavoured to take advantage of the discovery.
“I lose time,” said he: “I came not to exclaim against Montoni; I came to solicit, to plead—to Emily; to tell her all I suffer, to entreat her to save me from despair, and herself from destruction. Emily! the schemes of Montoni are insearchable, but, I warn you, they are terrible; he has no principle, when interest, or ambition leads. Can I love you, and abandon you to his power? Fly, then, fly from this gloomy prison, with a lover, who adores you! I have bribed a servant of the castle to open the gates, and, before tomorrow’s dawn, you shall be far on the way to Venice.”
Emily, overcome by the sudden shock she had received, at the moment, too, when she had begun to hope for better days, now thought she saw destruction surround her on every side. Unable to reply, and almost to think, she threw herself into a chair, pale and breathless. That Montoni had formerly sold her to Morano, was very probable; that he had now withdrawn his consent to the marriage, was evident from the Count’s present conduct; and it was nearly certain, that a scheme of stronger interest only could have induced the selfish Montoni to forego a plan, which he had hitherto so strenuously pursued. These reflections made her tremble at the hints, which Morano had just given, which she no longer hesitated to believe; and, while she shrunk from the new scenes of misery and oppression, that might await her in the castle of Udolpho, she was compelled to observe, that almost her only means of escaping them was by submitting herself to the protection of this man, with whom evils more certain and not less terrible appeared,—evils, upon which she could not endure to pause for an instant.
Her silence, though it was that of agony, encouraged the hopes of Morano, who watched her countenance with impatience, took again the resisting hand she had withdrawn, and, as he pressed it to his heart, again conjured her to determine immediately. “Every moment we lose, will make our departure more dangerous,” said he: “these few moments lost may enable Montoni to overtake us.”
“I beseech you, sir, be silent,” said Emily faintly: “I am indeed very wretched, and wretched I must remain. Leave me—I command you, leave me to my fate.”
“Never!” cried the Count vehemently: “let me perish first! But forgive my violence! the thought of losing you is madness. You cannot be ignorant of Montoni’s character, you may be ignorant of his schemes—nay, you must be so, or you would not hesitate between my love and his power.”
“Nor do I hesitate,” said Emily.