The Mysteries of Udolpho

Do not afflict me with this excess of grief; rather teach me by

your example to bear my own.' He stopped again, and Emily, the more she

endeavoured to restrain her emotion, found it the less possible to do

so. St. Aubert, who now spoke with pain, resumed the subject. 'That closet,

my dear,--when you return home, go to it; and, beneath the board I have

described, you will find a packet of written papers. Attend to me now,

for the promise you have given particularly relates to what I shall

direct. These papers you must burn--and, solemnly I command you, WITHOUT

EXAMINING THEM.'

Emily's surprise, for a moment, overcame her grief, and she ventured to

ask, why this must be? St. Aubert replied, that, if it had been right

for him to explain his reasons, her late promise would have been

unnecessarily exacted. 'It is sufficient for you, my love, to have a

deep sense of the importance of observing me in this instance.' St.

Aubert proceeded. 'Under that board you will also find about two hundred

louis d'ors, wrapped in a silk purse; indeed, it was to secure whatever

money might be in the chateau, that this secret place was contrived,

at a time when the province was over-run by troops of men, who took

advantage of the tumults, and became plunderers.

'But I have yet another promise to receive from you, which is--that

you will never, whatever may be your future circumstances, SELL the

chateau.' St. Aubert even enjoined her, whenever she might marry, to

make it an article in the contract, that the chateau should always

be hers. He then gave her a more minute account of his present

circumstances than he had yet done, adding, 'The two hundred louis, with

what money you will now find in my purse, is all the ready money I have

to leave you. I have told you how I am circumstanced with M. Motteville,

at Paris. Ah, my child! I leave you poor--but not destitute,' he added,

after a long pause. Emily could make no reply to any thing he now said,

but knelt at the bed-side, with her face upon the quilt, weeping over

the hand she held there.

After this conversation, the mind of St. Aubert appeared to be much more

at ease; but, exhausted by the effort of speaking, he sunk into a kind

of doze, and Emily continued to watch and weep beside him, till a gentle

tap at the chamber-door roused her. It was La Voisin, come to say, that

a confessor from the neighbouring convent was below, ready to attend St.

Aubert. Emily would not suffer her father to be disturbed, but desired,

that the priest might not leave the cottage. When St. Aubert awoke from

this doze, his senses were confused, and it was some moments before he

recovered them sufficiently to know, that it was Emily who sat beside

him.