The Mysteries of Udolpho

St. Aubert could not reply: he caught Emily to his bosom, their tears

flowed together, but--they were not tears of sorrow. After this language

of the heart, all other would have been feeble, and they remained silent

for some time. Then, St. Aubert conversed as before; for, if his mind

had not recovered its natural tranquillity, it at least assumed the

appearance of it.

They reached the romantic town of Leucate early in the day, but St.

Aubert was weary, and they determined to pass the night there. In the

evening, he exerted himself so far as to walk with his daughter to view

the environs that overlook the lake of Leucate, the Mediterranean, part

of Rousillon, with the Pyrenees, and a wide extent of the luxuriant

province of Languedoc, now blushing with the ripened vintage, which the

peasants were beginning to gather. St. Aubert and Emily saw the busy

groups, caught the joyous song, that was wafted on the breeze, and

anticipated, with apparent pleasure, their next day's journey over this

gay region. He designed, however, still to wind along the sea-shore.

To return home immediately was partly his wish, but from this he was

withheld by a desire to lengthen the pleasure, which the journey gave

his daughter, and to try the effect of the sea air on his own disorder.

On the following day, therefore, they recommenced their journey through

Languedoc, winding the shores of the Mediterranean; the Pyrenees still

forming the magnificent back-ground of their prospects, while on their

right was the ocean, and, on their left, wide extended plains melting

into the blue horizon. St. Aubert was pleased, and conversed much with

Emily, yet his cheerfulness was sometimes artificial, and sometimes a

shade of melancholy would steal upon his countenance, and betray him.

This was soon chased away by Emily's smile; who smiled, however, with an

aching heart, for she saw that his misfortunes preyed upon his mind, and

upon his enfeebled frame.

It was evening when they reached a small village of Upper Languedoc,

where they meant to pass the night, but the place could not afford

them beds; for here, too, it was the time of the vintage, and they

were obliged to proceed to the next post. The languor of illness and of

fatigue, which returned upon St. Aubert, required immediate repose,

and the evening was now far advanced; but from necessity there was no

appeal, and he ordered Michael to proceed.

The rich plains of Languedoc, which exhibited all the glories of the

vintage, with the gaieties of a French festival, no longer awakened St.

Aubert to pleasure, whose condition formed a mournful contrast to the

hilarity and youthful beauty which surrounded him. As his languid eyes

moved over the scene, he considered, that they would soon, perhaps, be

closed for ever on this world. 'Those distant and sublime mountains,'

said he secretly, as he gazed on a chain of the Pyrenees that stretched

towards the west, 'these luxuriant plains, this blue vault, the cheerful

light of day, will be shut from my eyes! The song of the peasant, the

cheering voice of man--will no longer sound for me!'