The Mysteries of Udolpho

She hastily put the papers from her; but the words, which had

roused equally her curiosity and terror, she could not dismiss from her

thoughts. So powerfully had they affected her, that she even could not

resolve to destroy the papers immediately; and the more she dwelt on the

circumstance, the more it inflamed her imagination. Urged by the most

forcible, and apparently the most necessary, curiosity to enquire

farther, concerning the terrible and mysterious subject, to which she

had seen an allusion, she began to lament her promise to destroy the

papers. For a moment, she even doubted, whether it could justly be

obeyed, in contradiction to such reasons as there appeared to be for

further information. But the delusion was momentary.

'I have given a solemn promise,' said she, 'to observe a solemn

injunction, and it is not my business to argue, but to obey. Let me

hasten to remove the temptation, that would destroy my innocence, and

embitter my life with the consciousness of irremediable guilt, while I

have strength to reject it.'

Thus re-animated with a sense of her duty, she completed the triumph

of her integrity over temptation, more forcible than any she had ever

known, and consigned the papers to the flames. Her eyes watched them as

they slowly consumed, she shuddered at the recollection of the sentence

she had just seen, and at the certainty, that the only opportunity of

explaining it was then passing away for ever.

It was long after this, that she recollected the purse; and as she was

depositing it, unopened, in a cabinet, perceiving that it contained

something of a size larger than coin, she examined it. 'His hand

deposited them here,' said she, as she kissed some pieces of the coin,

and wetted them with her tears, 'his hand--which is now dust!' At the

bottom of the purse was a small packet, having taken out which, and

unfolded paper after paper, she found to be an ivory case, containing

the miniature of a--lady! She started--'The same,' said she, 'my father

wept over!' On examining the countenance she could recollect no person

that it resembled. It was of uncommon beauty, and was characterized

by an expression of sweetness, shaded with sorrow, and tempered by

resignation.

St. Aubert had given no directions concerning this picture, nor had even

named it; she, therefore, thought herself justified in preserving

it. More than once remembering his manner, when he had spoken of the

Marchioness of Villeroi, she felt inclined to believe that this was her

resemblance; yet there appeared no reason why he should have preserved a

picture of that lady, or, having preserved it, why he should lament over

it in a manner so striking and affecting as she had witnessed on the

night preceding his departure.