The Mysteries of Udolpho

The innocent countenance of the woman, and the simplicity of her manner

in relating her grievance, inclined St. Aubert to believe her story; and

Valancourt, convinced that it was true, asked eagerly what was the value

of the stolen sheep; on hearing which he turned away with a look of

disappointment. St. Aubert put some money into her hand, Emily too gave

something from her little purse, and they walked towards the cliff; but

Valancourt lingered behind, and spoke to the shepherd's wife, who was

now weeping with gratitude and surprise. He enquired how much money was

yet wanting to replace the stolen sheep, and found, that it was a

sum very little short of all he had about him. He was perplexed and

distressed. 'This sum then,' said he to himself, 'would make this poor

family completely happy--it is in my power to give it--to make them

completely happy! But what is to become of me?--how shall I contrive

to reach home with the little money that will remain?' For a moment he

stood, unwilling to forego the luxury of raising a family from ruin to

happiness, yet considering the difficulties of pursuing his journey with

so small a sum as would be left.

While he was in this state of perplexity, the shepherd himself appeared:

his children ran to meet him; he took one of them in his arms, and, with

the other clinging to his coat, came forward with a loitering step. His

forlorn and melancholy look determined Valancourt at once; he threw down

all the money he had, except a very few louis, and bounded away

after St. Aubert and Emily, who were proceeding slowly up the steep.

Valancourt had seldom felt his heart so light as at this moment; his

gay spirits danced with pleasure; every object around him appeared more

interesting, or beautiful, than before. St. Aubert observed the uncommon

vivacity of his countenance: 'What has pleased you so much?' said he.

'O what a lovely day,' replied Valancourt, 'how brightly the sun

shines, how pure is this air, what enchanting scenery!' 'It is indeed

enchanting,' said St. Aubert, whom early experience had taught to

understand the nature of Valancourt's present feelings. 'What pity that

the wealthy, who can command such sunshine, should ever pass their days

in gloom--in the cold shade of selfishness! For you, my young friend,

may the sun always shine as brightly as at this moment; may your own

conduct always give you the sunshine of benevolence and reason united!'

Valancourt, highly flattered by this compliment, could make no reply but

by a smile of gratitude.