them to the contrary. A few nights after, however, my wife herself heard the same sounds, and was as much surprised as I was, and Father Denis frightened her sadly by saying, that it was music come to warn her of her child’s death, and that music often came to houses where there was a dying person.” 

 Emily, on hearing this, shrunk with a superstitious dread entirely new to her, and could scarcely conceal her agitation from St. Aubert. 

 “But the boy lived, monsieur, in spite of Father Denis.” 

 “Father Denis!” said St. Aubert, who had listened to ‘narrative old age’ with patient attention, “are we near a convent, then?” 

 “Yes, sir; the convent of St. Clair stands at no great distance, on the sea shore yonder.” 

 “Ah!” said St. Aubert, as if struck with some sudden remembrance, “the convent of St. Clair!” Emily observed the clouds of grief, mingled with a faint expression of horror, gathering on his brow; his countenance became fixed, and, touched as it now was by the silver whiteness of the moonlight, he resembled one of those marble statues of a monument, which seem to bend, in hopeless sorrow, over the ashes of the dead, shown 

 by the blunted light That the dim moon through painted casements lends. THE EMIGRANTS. 

 “But, my dear sir,” said Emily, anxious to dissipate his thoughts, “you forget that repose is necessary to you. If our kind host will give me leave, I will prepare your bed, for I know how you like it to be made.” St. Aubert, recollecting himself, and smiling affectionately, desired she would not add to her fatigue by that attention; and La Voisin, whose consideration for his guest had been suspended by the interests which his own narrative had recalled, now started from his seat, and, apologising for not having called Agnes from the green, hurried out of the room. 

 In a few moments he returned with his daughter, a young woman of pleasing countenance, and Emily learned from her, what she had not before suspected, that, for their accommodation, it was necessary part of La Voisin’s family should leave their beds; she lamented this circumstance, but Agnes, by her reply, fully proved that she inherited, at least, a share of her father’s courteous hospitality. It was settled, that some of her children and Michael should sleep in the neighbouring cottage. 

 “If I am better, tomorrow, my dear,” said St. Aubert when Emily returned to him, “I mean to set 

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