The Mysteries of Udolpho

'Pray, Theresa, cease,' said Emily, wishing to interrupt this

ill-judged, but well-meaning harangue; Theresa's loquacity, however,

was not to be silenced so easily. 'And when you used to grieve so,' she

added, 'he often told you how wrong it was--for that my mistress was

happy. And, if she was happy, I am sure he is so too; for the prayers of

the poor, they say, reach heaven.' During this speech, Emily had walked

silently into the chateau, and Theresa lighted her across the hall

into the common sitting parlour, where she had laid the cloth, with one

solitary knife and fork, for supper. Emily was in the room before she

perceived that it was not her own apartment, but she checked the emotion

which inclined her to leave it, and seated herself quietly by the little

supper table. Her father's hat hung upon the opposite wall; while she

gazed at it, a faintness came over her. Theresa looked at her, and then

at the object, on which her eyes were settled, and went to remove it;

but Emily waved her hand--'No,' said she, 'let it remain. I am going

to my chamber.' 'Nay, ma'amselle, supper is ready.' 'I cannot take it,'

replied Emily, 'I will go to my room, and try to sleep. Tomorrow I shall

be better.'

'This is poor doings!' said Theresa. 'Dear lady! do take some food! I

have dressed a pheasant, and a fine one it is. Old Monsieur Barreaux

sent it this morning, for I saw him yesterday, and told him you were

coming. And I know nobody that seemed more concerned, when he heard the

sad news, then he.' 'Did he?' said Emily, in a tender voice, while she felt her poor heart

warmed for a moment by a ray of sympathy.

At length, her spirits were entirely overcome, and she retired to her

room.