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 characterised 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. 

 Emily still gazed on the countenance, examining its features, but she knew not where to detect the charm that captivated her attention, and inspired sentiments of such love and pity. Dark brown hair played carelessly along the open forehead; the nose was rather inclined to aquiline; the lips spoke in a smile, but it was a melancholy one; the eyes were blue, and were directed upwards with an expression of peculiar meekness, while the soft cloud of the brow spoke of the fine sensibility of the temper. 

 Emily was roused from the musing mood into which the picture had thrown her, by the closing of the garden gate; and, on turning her eyes to the window, she saw Valancourt coming towards the château. Her spirits agitated by the subjects that had lately occupied her mind, she felt unprepared to see him, and remained a few moments in the chamber to recover herself. 

 When she met him in the parlour, she was struck with the change that appeared in his air and countenance since they had parted in Rousillon, which twilight and the distress she suffered on the preceding evening had prevented her from observing. But dejection and languor disappeared, for a moment, in the smile that now enlightened his countenance, on perceiving her. “You see,” said he, “I have availed myself of the permission with which you honoured me—of bidding you farewell, whom I had the happiness of meeting only yesterday.” 

 Emily smiled faintly, and, anxious to say something, asked if he had been long in Gascony. “A few days only,” replied Valancourt, while a blush passed over his cheek. “I engaged in a long ramble after I had the misfortune of parting with the friends who had made my wanderings 

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