Having indulged her tears for some time, she became more composed; and,
when Theresa, after seeing the baggage deposited in her lady's room,
again appeared, she had so far recovered her spirits, as to be able to
converse with her.
'I have made up the green bed for you, ma'amselle,' said Theresa, as she
set the coffee upon the table. 'I thought you would like it better than
your own now; but I little thought this day month, that you would come
back alone. A-well-a-day! the news almost broke my heart, when it did
come. Who would have believed, that my poor master, when he went
from home, would never return again!' Emily hid her face with her
handkerchief, and waved her hand.
'Do taste the coffee,' said Theresa. 'My dear young lady, be
comforted--we must all die. My dear master is a saint above.' Emily
took the handkerchief from her face, and raised her eyes full of tears
towards heaven; soon after she dried them, and, in a calm, but tremulous
voice, began to enquire concerning some of her late father's pensioners.
'Alas-a-day!' said Theresa, as she poured out the coffee, and handed
it to her mistress, 'all that could come, have been here every day to
enquire after you and my master.' She then proceeded to tell, that
some were dead whom they had left well; and others, who were ill, had
recovered. 'And see, ma'amselle,' added Theresa, 'there is old Mary
coming up the garden now; she has looked every day these three years as
if she would die, yet she is alive still. She has seen the chaise at the
door, and knows you are come home.'
The sight of this poor old woman would have been too much for Emily, and
she begged Theresa would go and tell her, that she was too ill to see
any person that night. 'To-morrow I shall be better, perhaps; but give
her this token of my remembrance.'
Emily sat for some time, given up to sorrow. Not an object, on which her
eye glanced, but awakened some remembrance, that led immediately to the
subject of her grief. Her favourite plants, which St. Aubert had taught
her to nurse; the little drawings, that adorned the room, which his
taste had instructed her to execute; the books, that he had selected
for her use, and which they had read together; her musical instruments,
whose sounds he loved so well, and which he sometimes awakened
himself--every object gave new force to sorrow. At length, she roused
herself from this melancholy indulgence, and, summoning all her
resolution, stepped forward to go into those forlorn rooms, which,
though she dreaded to enter, she knew would yet more powerfully affect
her, if she delayed to visit them.