The Mysteries of Udolpho

Having passed through the green-house, her courage for a moment forsook

her, when she opened the door of the library; and, perhaps, the shade,

which evening and the foliage of the trees near the windows threw across

the room, heightened the solemnity of her feelings on entering that

apartment, where every thing spoke of her father. There was an arm

chair, in which he used to sit; she shrunk when she observed it, for

she had so often seen him seated there, and the idea of him rose so

distinctly to her mind, that she almost fancied she saw him before her.

But she checked the illusions of a distempered imagination, though she

could not subdue a certain degree of awe, which now mingled with her

emotions. She walked slowly to the chair, and seated herself in it;

there was a reading-desk before it, on which lay a book open, as it

had been left by her father. It was some moments before she recovered

courage enough to examine it; and, when she looked at the open page,

she immediately recollected, that St. Aubert, on the evening before his

departure from the chateau, had read to her some passages from this

his favourite author.

The circumstance now affected her extremely; she

looked at the page, wept, and looked again. To her the book appeared

sacred and invaluable, and she would not have moved it, or closed the

page, which he had left open, for the treasures of the Indies. Still

she sat before the desk, and could not resolve to quit it, though the

increasing gloom, and the profound silence of the apartment, revived

a degree of painful awe. Her thoughts dwelt on the probable state of

departed spirits, and she remembered the affecting conversation, which

had passed between St. Aubert and La Voisin, on the night preceding his

death. As she mused she saw the door slowly open, and a rustling sound in a

remote part of the room startled her. Through the dusk she thought she

perceived something move. The subject she had been considering, and the

present tone of her spirits, which made her imagination respond to

every impression of her senses, gave her a sudden terror of something

supernatural. She sat for a moment motionless, and then, her dissipated

reason returning, 'What should I fear?' said she. 'If the spirits of

those we love ever return to us, it is in kindness.'

The silence, which again reigned, made her ashamed of her late fears,

and she believed, that her imagination had deluded her, or that she had

heard one of those unaccountable noises, which sometimes occur in old

houses. The same sound, however, returned; and, distinguishing something

moving towards her, and in the next instant press beside her into the

chair, she shrieked; but her fleeting senses were instantly recalled,

on perceiving that it was Manchon who sat by her, and who now licked her

hands affectionately.