ed
over her with a look of benignity, that might have characterized the
countenance of a guardian angel. Emily, when she became tranquil, was
encouraged to speak without reserve, and to mention the motive, that
made her unwilling to quit the cottage, which the abbess did not oppose
even by a hint; but praised the filial piety of her conduct, and added a
hope, that she would pass a few days at the convent, before she returned
to La Vallee. 'You must allow yourself a little time to recover from
your first shock, my daughter, before you encounter a second; I will not
affect to conceal from you how much I know your heart must suffer, on
returning to the scene of your former happiness. Here, you will have
all, that quiet and sympathy and religion can give, to restore your
spirits. But come,' added she, observing the tears swell in Emily's
eyes, 'we will go to the chapel.'

Emily followed to the parlour, where the nuns were assembled, to whom
the abbess committed her, saying, 'This is a daughter, for whom I have
much esteem; be sisters to her.'

They passed on in a train to the chapel, where the solemn devotion, with
which the service was performed, elevated her mind, and brought to it
the comforts of faith and resignation.

Twilight came on, before the abbess's kindness would suffer Emily to
depart, when she left the convent, with a heart much lighter than she
had entered it, and was reconducted by La Voisin through the woods, the
pensive gloom of which was in unison with the temper of her mind; and
she pursued the little wild path, in musing silence, till her guide
suddenly stopped, looked round, and then struck out of the path into the
high grass, saying he had mistaken the road. He now walked on quickly,
and Emily, proceeding with difficulty over the obscured and uneven
ground, was left at some distance, till her voice arrested him, who
seemed unwilling to stop, and still hurried on. 'If you are in doubt
about the way,' said Emily, 'had we not better enquire it at the chateau
yonder, between the trees?'

'No,' replied La Voisin, 'there is no occasion. When we reach that
brook, ma'amselle, (you see the light upon the water there, beyond the
woods) when we reach that brook, we shall be at home presently. I don't
know how I happened to mistake the path; I seldom come this way after
sun-set.'

'It is solitary enough,' said Emily, 'but you have no banditti here.'

'No, ma'amselle--no banditti.'

'What are you afraid o