The Mysteries of Udolpho

'Yes,' replied the nun, 'this is nothing new; nay, I have sometimes

known her argue not only with method, but with acuteness, and then, in a

moment, start off into madness.' 'Her conscience seems afflicted,' said Emily, 'did you ever hear what

circumstance reduced her to this deplorable condition?'

'I have,' replied the nun, who said no more till Emily repeated the

question, when she added in a low voice, and looking significantly

towards the other boarders, 'I cannot tell you now, but, if you think it

worth your while, come to my cell, to-night, when our sisterhood are at

rest, and you shall hear more; but remember we rise to midnight prayers,

and come either before, or after midnight.'

Emily promised to remember, and, the abbess soon after appearing, they

spoke no more of the unhappy nun.

The Count meanwhile, on his return home, had found M. Du Pont in one

of those fits of despondency, which his attachment to Emily frequently

occasioned him, an attachment, that had subsisted too long to be easily

subdued, and which had already outlived the opposition of his friends.

M. Du Pont had first seen Emily in Gascony, during the lifetime of his

parent, who, on discovering his son's partiality for Mademoiselle St.

Aubert, his inferior in point of fortune, forbade him to declare it to

her family, or to think of her more. During the life of his father, he

had observed the first command, but had found it impracticable to obey

the second, and had, sometimes, soothed his passion by visiting her

favourite haunts, among which was the fishing-house, where, once or

twice, he addressed her in verse, concealing his name, in obedience to

the promise he had given his father. There too he played the pathetic

air, to which she had listened with such surprise and admiration; and

there he found the miniature, that had since cherished a passion fatal

to his repose.

During his expedition into Italy, his father died; but

he received his liberty at a moment, when he was the least enabled to

profit by it, since the object, that rendered it most valuable, was

no longer within the reach of his vows. By what accident he discovered

Emily, and assisted to release her from a terrible imprisonment, has

already appeared, and also the unavailing hope, with which he then

encouraged his love, and the fruitless efforts, that he had since made

to overcome it.

The Count still endeavoured, with friendly zeal, to sooth him with a

belief, that patience, perseverance and prudence would finally obtain

for him happiness and Emily: 'Time,' said he, 'will wear away the

melancholy impression, which disappointment has left on her mind, and

she will be sensible of your merit. Your services have already awakened

her gratitude, and your sufferings her pity; and trust me, my friend, in

a heart so sensible as hers, gratitude and pity lead to love. When

her imagination is rescued from its present delusion, she will readily

accept the homage of a mind like yours.'