The Mysteries of Udolpho

One painful scene yet awaited her, for she determined to visit again her

father's grave; and that she might not be interrupted, or observed in

the indulgence of her melancholy tenderness, she deferred her visit,

till every inhabitant of the convent, except the nun who promised

to bring her the key of the church, should be retired to rest. Emily

remained in her chamber, till she heard the convent bell strike twelve,

when the nun came, as she had appointed, with the key of a private door,

that opened into the church, and they descended together the narrow

winding stair-case, that led thither.

The nun offered to accompany Emily

to the grave, adding, 'It is melancholy to go alone at this hour;' but

the former, thanking her for the consideration, could not consent to

have any witness of her sorrow; and the sister, having unlocked the

door, gave her the lamp. 'You will remember, sister,' said she, 'that in

the east aisle, which you must pass, is a newly opened grave; hold the

light to the ground, that you may not stumble over the loose earth.'

Emily, thanking her again, took the lamp, and, stepping into the church,

sister Mariette departed. But Emily paused a moment at the door;

a sudden fear came over her, and she returned to the foot of the

stair-case, where, as she heard the steps of the nun ascending, and,

while she held up the lamp, saw her black veil waving over the spiral

balusters, she was tempted to call her back. While she hesitated, the

veil disappeared, and, in the next moment, ashamed of her fears, she

returned to the church.

The cold air of the aisles chilled her, and

their deep silence and extent, feebly shone upon by the moon-light, that

streamed through a distant gothic window, would at any other time have

awed her into superstition; now, grief occupied all her attention. She

scarcely heard the whispering echoes of her own steps, or thought of the

open grave, till she found herself almost on its brink. A friar of the

convent had been buried there on the preceding evening, and, as she had

sat alone in her chamber at twilight, she heard, at distance, the monks

chanting the requiem for his soul. This brought freshly to her memory

the circumstances of her father's death; and, as the voices, mingling

with a low querulous peal of the organ, swelled faintly, gloomy and

affecting visions had arisen upon her mind. Now she remembered them,

and, turning aside to avoid the broken ground, these recollections made

her pass on with quicker steps to the grave of St. Aubert, when in the

moon-light, that fell athwart a remote part of the aisle, she thought

she saw a shadow gliding between the pillars. She stopped to listen,

and, not hearing any footstep, believed that her fancy had deceived her,

and, no longer apprehensive of being observed, proceeded. St. Aubert was

buried beneath a plain marble, bearing little more than his name and the

date of his birth and death, near the foot of the stately monument of

the Villerois.