woods?” cried Michael. 

 “The château in the woods!” exclaimed the peasant—“Do you mean that with the turret, yonder?” 

 “I don’t know as for the turret, as you call it,” said Michael, “I mean that white piece of a building, that we see at a distance there, among the trees.” 

 “Yes, that is the turret; why, who are you, that you are going thither?” said the man with surprise. 

 St. Aubert, on hearing this odd question, and observing the peculiar tone in which it was delivered, looked out from the carriage. “We are travellers,” said he, “who are in search of a house of accommodation for the night; is there any hereabout?” 

 “None, Monsieur, unless you have a mind to try your luck yonder,” replied the peasant, pointing to the woods, “but I would not advise you to go there.” 

 “To whom does the château belong?” 

 “I scarcely know myself, Monsieur.” 

 “It is uninhabited, then?”—“No, not uninhabited; the steward and housekeeper are there, I believe.” 

 On hearing this, St. Aubert determined to proceed to the château, and risk the refusal of being accommodated for the night; he therefore desired the countryman would show Michael the way, and bade him expect reward for his trouble. The man was for a moment silent, and then said, that he was going on other business, but that the road could not be missed, if they went up an avenue to the right, to which he pointed. St. Aubert was going to speak, but the peasant wished him good night, and walked on. 

 The carriage now moved towards the avenue, which was guarded by a gate, and Michael having dismounted to open it, they entered between rows of ancient oak and chesnut, whose intermingled branches formed a lofty arch above. There was something so gloomy and desolate in the appearance of this avenue, and its lonely silence, that Emily almost shuddered as she passed along; and, recollecting the manner in which the peasant had mentioned the château, she gave a mysterious meaning to his words, such as she had not suspected when he uttered them. These apprehensions, however, she tried to check, considering that they were probably the effect of a melancholy imagination, which her father’s situation, and a consideration of her own circumstances, had made sensible to every impression. 

 They 

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