which now mingled with her
emotions. She walked slowly to the chair, and seated herself in it;
there was a reading-desk before it, on which lay a book open, as it
had been left by her father. It was some moments before she recovered
courage enough to examine it; and, when she looked at the open page,
she immediately recollected, that St. Aubert, on the evening before his
departure from the chateau, had read to her some passages from this
his favourite author. The circumstance now affected her extremely; she
looked at the page, wept, and looked again. To her the book appeared
sacred and invaluable, and she would not have moved it, or closed the
page, which he had left open, for the treasures of the Indies. Still
she sat before the desk, and could not resolve to quit it, though the
increasing gloom, and the profound silence of the apartment, revived
a degree of painful awe. Her thoughts dwelt on the probable state of
departed spirits, and she remembered the affecting conversation, which
had passed between St. Aubert and La Voisin, on the night preceding his
death.

As she mused she saw the door slowly open, and a rustling sound in a
remote part of the room startled her. Through the dusk she thought she
perceived something move. The subject she had been considering, and the
present tone of her spirits, which made her imagination respond to
every impression of her senses, gave her a sudden terror of something
supernatural. She sat for a moment motionless, and then, her dissipated
reason returning, 'What should I fear?' said she. 'If the spirits of
those we love ever return to us, it is in kindness.'

The silence, which again reigned, made her ashamed of her late fears,
and she believed, that her imagination had deluded her, or that she had
heard one of those unaccountable noises, which sometimes occur in old
houses. The same sound, however, returned; and, distinguishing something
moving towards her, and in the next instant press beside her into the
chair, she shrieked; but her fleeting senses were instantly recalled,
on perceiving that it was Manchon who sat by her, and who now licked her
hands affectionately.

Perceiving her spirits unequal to the task she had assigned herself of
visiting the deserted rooms of the chateau this night, when she left
the library, she walked into the garden, and down to the terrace, that
overhung the river. The sun was now set; but, under the dark branches
of the almond trees, was seen the