he had been sitting, while he went thither for water. But again he was
perplexed, for he had nothing near him, in which water could be brought;
but while, with increased anxiety, he watched her, he thought he
perceived in her countenance symptoms of returning life.

It was long, however, before she revived, and then she found herself
supported--not by the Count, but by Valancourt, who was observing her
with looks of earnest apprehension, and who now spoke to her in a tone,
tremulous with his anxiety. At the sound of his well-known voice, she
raised her eyes, but presently closed them, and a faintness again came
over her.

The Count, with a look somewhat stern, waved him to withdraw; but he
only sighed heavily, and called on the name of Emily, as he again held
the water, that had been brought, to her lips. On the Count's repeating
his action, and accompanying it with words, Valancourt answered him
with a look of deep resentment, and refused to leave the place, till she
should revive, or to resign her for a moment to the care of any person.
In the next instant, his conscience seemed to inform him of what had
been the subject of the Count's conversation with Emily, and indignation
flashed in his eyes; but it was quickly repressed, and succeeded by an
expression of serious anguish, that induced the Count to regard him with
more pity than resentment, and the view of which so much affected Emily,
when she again revived, that she yielded to the weakness of tears.
But she soon restrained them, and, exerting her resolution to appear
recovered, she rose, thanked the Count and Henri, with whom Valancourt
had entered the garden, for their care, and moved towards the chateau,
without noticing Valancourt, who, heart-struck by her manner, exclaimed
in a low voice--'Good God! how have I deserved this?--what has been
said, to occasion this change?'

Emily, without replying, but with increased emotion, quickened her
steps. 'What has thus disordered you, Emily?' said he, as he still
walked by her side: 'give me a few moments' conversation, I entreat
you;--I am very miserable!'

Though this was spoken in a low voice, it was overheard by the Count,
who immediately replied, that Mademoiselle St. Aubert was then too much
indisposed, to attend to any conversation, but that he would venture
to promise she would see Monsieur Valancourt on the morrow, if she was
better.

Valancourt's cheek was crimsoned: he looked haughtily at the Count,
an