ioned this
paroxysm of frenzy. When she is better, we will leave her to repose.'

Emily very readily consented, but, though she could now give little
assistance, she was unwilling to quit the chamber, while any might be
necessary.

When Agnes recovered her senses, she again fixed her eyes on Emily, but
their wild expression was gone, and a gloomy melancholy had succeeded.
It was some moments before she recovered sufficient spirits to speak;
she then said feebly--'The likeness is wonderful!--surely it must
be something more than fancy. Tell me, I conjure you,' she added,
addressing Emily, 'though your name is St. Aubert, are you not the
daughter of the Marchioness?'

'What Marchioness?' said Emily, in extreme surprise; for she had
imagined, from the calmness of Agnes's manner, that her intellects were
restored. The abbess gave her a significant glance, but she repeated the
question.

'What Marchioness?' exclaimed Agnes, 'I know but of one--the Marchioness
de Villeroi.'

Emily, remembering the emotion of her late father, upon the unexpected
mention of this lady, and his request to be laid near to the tomb of
the Villerois, now felt greatly interested, and she entreated Agnes to
explain the reason of her question. The abbess would now have withdrawn
Emily from the room, who being, however, detained by a strong interest,
repeated her entreaties.

'Bring me that casket, sister,' said Agnes; 'I will shew her to you; yet
you need only look in that mirror, and you will behold her; you surely
are her daughter: such striking resemblance is never found but among
near relations.'

The nun brought the casket, and Agnes, having directed her how to unlock
it, she took thence a miniature, in which Emily perceived the exact
resemblance of the picture, which she had found among her late father's
papers. Agnes held out her hand to receive it; gazed upon it earnestly
for some moments in silence; and then, with a countenance of deep
despair, threw up her eyes to Heaven, and prayed inwardly. When she had
finished, she returned the miniature to Emily. 'Keep it,' said she,
'I bequeath it to you, for I must believe it is your right. I have
frequently observed the resemblance between you; but never, till this
day, did it strike upon my conscience so powerfully! Stay, sister, do
not remove the casket--there is another picture I would shew.'

Emily trembled with expectation, and the abbess again would have
withdrawn her. 'Agnes is still