The Mysteries of Udolpho

They retired early to their chamber on the night before their departure;

but Emily had a few books and other things to collect, and the clock had

struck twelve before she had finished, or had remembered that some of

her drawing instruments, which she meant to take with her, were in the

parlour below. As she went to fetch these, she passed her father's

room, and, perceiving the door half open, concluded that he was in his

study--for, since the death of Madame St. Aubert, it had been frequently

his custom to rise from his restless bed, and go thither to compose his

mind. When she was below stairs she looked into this room, but without

finding him; and as she returned to her chamber, she tapped at his door,

and receiving no answer, stepped softly in, to be certain whether he was

there. The room was dark, but a light glimmered through some panes of glass

that were placed in the upper part of a closet-door. Emily believed her

father to be in the closet, and, surprised that he was up at so late

an hour, apprehended he was unwell, and was going to enquire; but,

considering that her sudden appearance at this hour might alarm him,

she removed her light to the stair-case, and then stepped softly to the

closet. On looking through the panes of glass, she saw him seated at a

small table, with papers before him, some of which he was reading with

deep attention and interest, during which he often wept and sobbed

aloud. Emily, who had come to the door to learn whether her father was

ill, was now detained there by a mixture of curiosity and tenderness.

She could not witness his sorrow, without being anxious to know the

subject of; and she therefore continued to observe him in silence,

concluding that those papers were letters of her late mother. Presently

he knelt down, and with a look so solemn as she had seldom seen him

assume, and which was mingled with a certain wild expression, that

partook more of horror than of any other character, he prayed silently

for a considerable time.

When he rose, a ghastly paleness was on his countenance. Emily was

hastily retiring; but she saw him turn again to the papers, and she

stopped. He took from among them a small case, and from thence a

miniature picture. The rays of light fell strongly upon it, and she

perceived it to be that of a lady, but not of her mother.

St. Aubert gazed earnestly and tenderly upon his portrait, put it to his

lips, and then to his heart, and sighed with a convulsive force. Emily

could scarcely believe what she saw to be real. She never knew till now

that he had a picture of any other lady than her mother, much less

that he had one which he evidently valued so highly; but having looked

repeatedly, to be certain that it was not the resemblance of Madame St.

Aubert, she became entirely convinced that it was designed for that of

some other person. At length St. Aubert returned the picture to its case; and Emily,

recollecting that she was intruding upon his private sorrows, softly

withdrew from the chamber.