Pity for her aunt and anxiety for herself
alternately swayed her determination, and night came, before she
had decided upon her conduct. She heard the castle clock strike
eleven--twelve--and yet her mind wavered. The time, however, was now
come, when she could hesitate no longer: and then the interest she felt
for her aunt overcame other considerations, and, bidding Annette follow
her to the outer door of the vaulted gallery, and there await her
return, she descended from her chamber. The castle was perfectly
still, and the great hall, where so lately she had witnessed a scene of
dreadful contention, now returned only the whispering footsteps of the
two solitary figures gliding fearfully between the pillars, and gleamed
only to the feeble lamp they carried.
Emily, deceived by the long
shadows of the pillars and by the catching lights between, often
stopped, imagining she saw some person, moving in the distant obscurity
of the perspective; and, as she passed these pillars, she feared to turn
her eyes toward them, almost expecting to see a figure start out from
behind their broad shaft. She reached, however, the vaulted gallery,
without interruption, but unclosed its outer door with a trembling hand,
and, charging Annette not to quit it and to keep it a little open, that
she might be heard if she called, she delivered to her the lamp, which
she did not dare to take herself because of the men on watch, and,
alone, stepped out upon the dark terrace. Every thing was so still,
that she feared, lest her own light steps should be heard by the distant
sentinels, and she walked cautiously towards the spot, where she had
before met Barnardine, listening for a sound, and looking onward through
the gloom in search of him.
At length, she was startled by a deep voice,
that spoke near her, and she paused, uncertain whether it was his, till
it spoke again, and she then recognized the hollow tones of Barnardine,
who had been punctual to the moment, and was at the appointed place,
resting on the rampart wall. After chiding her for not coming sooner,
and saying, that he had been waiting nearly half an hour, he desired
Emily, who made no reply, to follow him to the door, through which he
had entered the terrace.
While he unlocked it, she looked back to that she had left, and,
observing the rays of the lamp stream through a small opening, was
certain, that Annette was still there. But her remote situation could
little befriend Emily, after she had quitted the terrace; and, when
Barnardine unclosed the gate, the dismal aspect of the passage beyond,
shewn by a torch burning on the pavement, made her shrink from following
him alone, and she refused to go, unless Annette might accompany her.
This, however, Barnardine absolutely refused to permit, mingling at the
same time with his refusal such artful circumstances to heighten the
pity and curiosity of Emily towards her aunt, that she, at length,
consented to follow him alone to the portal.