uld possibly be for the worse. She
had scarcely thrown her books and clothes into her travelling
trunk, when, receiving a second summons, she went down to her aunt's
dressing-room, where she found Montoni impatiently reproving his wife
for delay. He went out, soon after, to give some further orders to his
people, and Emily then enquired the occasion of this hasty journey; but
her aunt appeared to be as ignorant as herself, and to undertake the
journey with more reluctance.

The family at length embarked, but neither Count Morano, nor Cavigni,
was of the party. Somewhat revived by observing this, Emily, when the
gondolieri dashed their oars in the water, and put off from the steps
of the portico, felt like a criminal, who receives a short reprieve. Her
heart beat yet lighter, when they emerged from the canal into the ocean,
and lighter still, when they skimmed past the walls of St. Mark, without
having stopped to take up Count Morano.

The dawn now began to tint the horizon, and to break upon the shores of
the Adriatic. Emily did not venture to ask any questions of Montoni, who
sat, for some time, in gloomy silence, and then rolled himself up in his
cloak, as if to sleep, while Madame Montoni did the same; but Emily, who
could not sleep, undrew one of the little curtains of the gondola,
and looked out upon the sea. The rising dawn now enlightened the
mountain-tops of Friuli, but their lower sides, and the distant waves,
that rolled at their feet, were still in deep shadow. Emily, sunk in
tranquil melancholy, watched the strengthening light spreading upon the
ocean, shewing successively Venice and her islets, and the shores of
Italy, along which boats, with their pointed latin sails, began to move.

The gondolieri were frequently hailed, at this early hour, by the
market-people, as they glided by towards Venice, and the lagune
soon displayed a gay scene of innumerable little barks, passing from
terra-firma with provisions. Emily gave a last look to that splendid
city, but her mind was then occupied by considering the probable events,
that awaited her, in the scenes, to which she was removing, and with
conjectures, concerning the motive of this sudden journey. It appeared,
upon calmer consideration, that Montoni was removing her to his secluded
castle, because he could there, with more probability of success,
attempt to terrify her into obedience; or, that, should its gloomy and
sequestered scenes fail of this effect, he