said she, 'let me not forget the lessons he has taught me! How often he has pointed out the necessity of resisting even virtuous sorrow;how often we have admired together the greatness of a mind, that can at once suffer and reason! O my father! if you are permitted to look down upon your child, it will please you to see, that she remembers, and endeavours to practise, the precepts you have given her.'
A turn on the road now allowed a nearer view of the chateau, the chimneys, tipped with light, rising from behind St.Aubert's favourite oaks, whose foliage partly concealed the lower part of the building.Emily could not suppress a heavy sigh.'This, too, was his favourite hour,' said she, as she gazed upon the long evening shadows, stretched athwart the landscape.'How deep the repose, how lovely the scene! lovely and tranquil as in former days!'
Again she resisted the pressure of sorrow, till her ear caught the gay melody of the dance, which she had so often listened to, as she walked with St.Aubert, on the margin of the Garonne, when all her fortitude forsook her, and she continued to weep, till the carriage stopped at the little gate, that opened upon what was now her own territory.She raised her eyes on the sudden stopping of the carriage, and saw her father's old housekeeper coming to open the gate.Manchon also came running, and barking before her; and when his young mistress alighted, fawned, and played round her, gasping with joy.
'Dear ma'amselle!' said Theresa, and paused, and looked as if she would have offered something of condolement to Emily, whose tears now prevented reply.The dog still fawned and ran round her, and then flew towards the carriage, with a short quick bark.'Ah, ma'amselle!--my poor master!' said Theresa, whose feelings were more awakened than her delicacy, 'Manchon's gone to look for him.' Emily sobbed aloud; and, on looking towards the carriage, which still stood with the door open, saw the animal spring into it, and instantly leap out, and then with his nose on the ground run round the horses.
'Don't cry so, ma'amselle,' said Theresa, 'it breaks my heart to see you.' The dog now came running to Emily, then returned to the carriage, and then back again to her, whining and discontented.
'Poor rogue!' said Theresa, 'thou hast lost thy master, thou mayst well cry! But come, my dear young lady, be comforted.What shall Iget to refresh you?' Emily gave her hand to the old servant, and tried to restrain her grief, while she made some kind enquiries concerning her health.But she still lingered in the walk which led to the chateau, for within was no person to meet her with the kiss of affection; her own heart no longer palpitated with impatient joy to meet again the well-known smile, and she dreaded to see objects, which would recall the full remembrance of her former happiness.She moved slowly towards the door, paused, went on, and paused again.
How silent, how forsaken, how forlorn did the chateau appear!
Trembling to enter it, yet blaming herself for delaying what she could not avoid, she, at length, passed into the hall; crossed it with a hurried step, as if afraid to look round, and opened the door of that room, which she was wont to call her own.The gloom of evening gave solemnity to its silent and deserted air.The chairs, the tables, every article of furniture, so familiar to her in happier times, spoke eloquently to her heart.She seated herself, without immediately observing it, in a window, which opened upon the garden, and where St.Aubert had often sat with her, watching the sun retire from the rich and extensive prospect, that appeared beyond the groves.
Having indulged her tears for some time, she became more composed;and, when Theresa, after seeing the baggage deposited in her lady's room, again appeared, she had so far recovered her spirits, as to be able to converse with her.
'I have made up the green bed for you, ma'amselle,' said Theresa, as she set the coffee upon the table.'I thought you would like it better than your own now; but I little thought this day month, that you would come back alone.A-well-a-day! the news almost broke my heart, when it did come.Who would have believed, that my poor master, when he went from home, would never return again!' Emily hid her face with her handkerchief, and waved her hand.
'Do taste the coffee,' said Theresa.'My dear young lady, be comforted--we must all die.My dear master is a saint above.' Emily took the handkerchief from her face, and raised her eyes full of tears towards heaven; soon after she dried them, and, in a calm, but tremulous voice, began to enquire concerning some of her late father's pensioners.
'Alas-a-day!' said Theresa, as she poured out the coffee, and handed it to her mistress, 'all that could come, have been here every day to enquire after you and my master.' She then proceeded to tell, that some were dead whom they had left well; and others, who were ill, had recovered.'And see, ma'amselle,' added Theresa, 'there is old Mary coming up the garden now; she has looked every day these three years as if she would die, yet she is alive still.She has seen the chaise at the door, and knows you are come home.'
The sight of this poor old woman would have been too much for Emily, and she begged Theresa would go and tell her, that she was too ill to see any person that night.'To-morrow I shall be better, perhaps;but give her this token of my remembrance.'
