e carriage, which was to take Emily and Madame
Cheron to Tholouse, appeared at the door of the chateau, and Madame was
already in the breakfast-room, when her niece entered it. The repast
was silent and melancholy on the part of Emily; and Madame Cheron, whose
vanity was piqued on observing her dejection, reproved her in a manner
that did not contribute to remove it. It was with much reluctance, that
Emily's request to take with her the dog, which had been a favourite
of her father, was granted. Her aunt, impatient to be gone, ordered the
carriage to draw up; and, while she passed to the hall door, Emily gave
another look into the library, and another farewell glance over the
garden, and then followed. Old Theresa stood at the door to take leave
of her young lady. 'God for ever keep you, ma'amselle!' said she, while
Emily gave her hand in silence, and could answer only with a pressure of
her hand, and a forced smile.

At the gate, which led out of the grounds, several of her father's
pensioners were assembled to bid her farewell, to whom she would have
spoken, if her aunt would have suffered the driver to stop; and, having
distributed to them almost all the money she had about her, she sunk
back in the carriage, yielding to the melancholy of her heart. Soon
after, she caught, between the steep banks of the road, another view of
the chateau, peeping from among the high trees, and surrounded by green
slopes and tufted groves, the Garonne winding its way beneath their
shades, sometimes lost among the vineyards, and then rising in greater
majesty in the distant pastures. The towering precipices of the
Pyrenees, that rose to the south, gave Emily a thousand interesting
recollections of her late journey; and these objects of her former
enthusiastic admiration, now excited only sorrow and regret. Having
gazed on the chateau and its lovely scenery, till the banks again closed
upon them, her mind became too much occupied by mournful reflections, to
permit her to attend to the conversation, which Madame Cheron had begun
on some trivial topic, so that they soon travelled in profound silence.

Valancourt, mean while, was returned to Estuviere, his heart occupied
with the image of Emily; sometimes indulging in reveries of future
happiness, but more frequently shrinking with dread of the opposition
he might encounter from her family. He was the younger son of an ancient
family of Gascony; and, having lost his parents at an early peri