The Mysteries of Udolpho

Then, fresh tears

Stood on her cheek, as doth the honey-dew

Upon a gather'd lily almost wither'd

SHAKESPEARE

After the late discoveries, Emily was distinguished at the chateau by

the Count and his family, as a relative of the house of Villeroi, and

received, if possible, more friendly attention, than had yet been shewn

her. Count De Villefort's surprise at the delay of an answer to his letter,

which had been directed to Valancourt, at Estuviere, was mingled with

satisfaction for the prudence, which had saved Emily from a share of the

anxiety he now suffered, though, when he saw her still drooping under

the effect of his former error, all his resolution was necessary to

restrain him from relating the truth, that would afford her a momentary

relief.

The approaching nuptials of the Lady Blanche now divided his

attention with this subject of his anxiety, for the inhabitants of the

chateau were already busied in preparations for that event, and the

arrival of Mons. St. Foix was daily expected. In the gaiety, which

surrounded her, Emily vainly tried to participate, her spirits being

depressed by the late discoveries, and by the anxiety concerning the

fate of Valancourt, that had been occasioned by the description of his

manner, when he had delivered the ring. She seemed to perceive in it

the gloomy wildness of despair; and, when she considered to what that

despair might have urged him, her heart sunk with terror and grief.

The state of suspense, as to his safety, to which she believed herself

condemned, till she should return to La Vallee, appeared insupportable,

and, in such moments, she could not even struggle to assume the

composure, that had left her mind, but would often abruptly quit the

company she was with, and endeavour to sooth her spirits in the deep

solitudes of the woods, that overbrowed the shore. Here, the faint roar

of foaming waves, that beat below, and the sullen murmur of the wind

among the branches around, were circumstances in unison with the temper

of her mind; and she would sit on a cliff, or on the broken steps of

her favourite watch-tower, observing the changing colours of the evening

clouds, and the gloom of twilight draw over the sea, till the white tops

of billows, riding towards the shore, could scarcely be discerned amidst

the darkened waters.

The lines, engraved by Valancourt on this tower,

she frequently repeated with melancholy enthusiasm, and then would

endeavour to check the recollections and the grief they occasioned, and

to turn her thoughts to indifferent subjects.

One evening, having wandered with her lute to this her favourite spot,

she entered the ruined tower, and ascended a winding staircase, that

led to a small chamber, which was less decayed than the rest of the

building, and whence she had often gazed, with admiration, on the wide

prospect of sea and land, that extended below. The sun was now setting

on that tract of the Pyrenees, which divided Languedoc from Rousillon,

and, placing herself opposite to a small grated window, which, like the

wood-tops beneath, and the waves lower still, gleamed with the red glow

of the west, she touched the chords of her lute in solemn symphony, and

then accompanied it with her voice, in one of the simple and affecting

airs, to which, in happier days, Valancourt had often listened in

rapture, and which she now adapted to the following lines.