of the Deity, whose works filled her mind
with adoration.

Emily gazed long on the plane-tree, and then seated herself, for the
last time, on the bench under its shade, where she had so often sat with
her parents, and where, only a few hours before, she had conversed
with Valancourt, at the remembrance of whom, thus revived, a mingled
sensation of esteem, tenderness and anxiety rose in her breast. With
this remembrance occurred a recollection of his late confession--that he
had often wandered near her habitation in the night, having even passed
the boundary of the garden, and it immediately occurred to her, that
he might be at this moment in the grounds. The fear of meeting him,
particularly after the declaration he had made, and of incurring a
censure, which her aunt might so reasonably bestow, if it was known,
that she was met by her lover, at this hour, made her instantly leave
her beloved plane-tree, and walk towards the chateau. She cast an
anxious eye around, and often stopped for a moment to examine the
shadowy scene before she ventured to proceed, but she passed on without
perceiving any person, till, having reached a clump of almond trees, not
far from the house, she rested to take a retrospect of the garden, and
to sigh forth another adieu. As her eyes wandered over the landscape she
thought she perceived a person emerge from the groves, and pass slowly
along a moon-light alley that led between them; but the distance, and
the imperfect light would not suffer her to judge with any degree of
certainty whether this was fancy or reality. She continued to gaze for
some time on the spot, till on the dead stillness of the air she heard
a sudden sound, and in the next instant fancied she distinguished
footsteps near her. Wasting not another moment in conjecture, she
hurried to the chateau, and, having reached it, retired to her chamber,
where, as she closed her window she looked upon the garden, and then
again thought she distinguished a figure, gliding between the almond
trees she had just left. She immediately withdrew from the casement,
and, though much agitated, sought in sleep the refreshment of a short
oblivion.

CHAPTER XI

I leave that flowery path for eye
Of childhood, where I sported many a day,
Warbling and sauntering carelessly along;
Where every face was innocent and gay,
Each vale romantic, tuneful every tongue,
Sweet, wild, and artless all.
THE MINSTREL

At an early hour, th