The Mysteries of Udolpho

Before them, extended the valley they had quitted; its rocks, and woods

to the left, just silvered by the rays, formed a contrast to the deep

shadow, that involved the opposite cliffs, whose fringed summits only

were tipped with light; while the distant perspective of the valley was

lost in the yellow mist of moon-light. The travellers sat for some time

wrapt in the complacency which such scenes inspire.

'These scenes,' said Valancourt, at length, 'soften the heart, like the

notes of sweet music, and inspire that delicious melancholy which no

person, who had felt it once, would resign for the gayest pleasures.

They waken our best and purest feelings, disposing us to benevolence,

pity, and friendship. Those whom I love--I always seem to love more in

such an hour as this.' His voice trembled, and he paused.

St. Aubert was silent; Emily perceived a warm tear fall upon the hand he

held; she knew the object of his thoughts; hers too had, for some time,

been occupied by the remembrance of her mother. He seemed by an effort

to rouse himself. 'Yes,' said he, with an half-suppressed sigh, 'the

memory of those we love--of times for ever past! in such an hour as this

steals upon the mind, like a strain of distant music in the stillness

of night;--all tender and harmonious as this landscape, sleeping in the

mellow moon-light.' After the pause of a moment, St. Aubert added, 'I

have always fancied, that I thought with more clearness, and precision,

at such an hour than at any other, and that heart must be insensible

in a great degree, that does not soften to its influence. But many such

there are.' Valancourt sighed. 'Are there, indeed, many such?' said Emily.

'A few years hence, my Emily,' replied St. Aubert, 'and you may smile at

the recollection of that question--if you do not weep to it. But come, I

am somewhat refreshed, let us proceed.'

Having emerged from the woods, they saw, upon a turfy hillock above, the

convent of which they were in search. A high wall, that surrounded it,

led them to an ancient gate, at which they knocked; and the poor monk,

who opened it, conducted them into a small adjoining room, where he

desired they would wait while he informed the superior of their request.

In this interval, several friars came in separately to look at them;

and at length the first monk returned, and they followed him to a room,

where the superior was sitting in an arm-chair, with a large folio

volume, printed in black letter, open on a desk before him. He received

them with courtesy, though he did not rise from his seat; and, having

asked them a few questions, granted their request. After a short

conversation, formal and solemn on the part of the superior, they

withdrew to the apartment where they were to sup, and Valancourt, whom

one of the inferior friars civilly desired to accompany, went to seek

Michael and his mules. They had not descended half way down the cliffs,

before they heard the voice of the muleteer echoing far and wide.