, enabled them to
distinguish some towers rising above the tops of the woods. Still
following the note of the bell, they entered the shade of those woods,
lighted only by the moonbeams, that glided down between the leaves,
and threw a tremulous uncertain gleam upon the steep track they were
winding. The gloom and the silence that prevailed, except when the bell
returned upon the air, together with the wildness of the surrounding
scene, struck Emily with a degree of fear, which, however, the voice and
conversation of Valancourt somewhat repressed. When they had been some
time ascending, St. Aubert complained of weariness, and they stopped to
rest upon a little green summit, where the trees opened, and admitted
the moon-light. He sat down upon the turf, between Emily and Valancourt.
The bell had now ceased, and the deep repose of the scene was
undisturbed by any sound, for the low dull murmur of some distant
torrents might be said to sooth, rather than to interrupt, the silence.

Before them, extended the valley they had quitted; its rocks, and woods
to the left, just silvered by the rays, formed a contrast to the deep
shadow, that involved the opposite cliffs, whose fringed summits only
were tipped with light; while the distant perspective of the valley was
lost in the yellow mist of moon-light. The travellers sat for some time
wrapt in the complacency which such scenes inspire.

'These scenes,' said Valancourt, at length, 'soften the heart, like the
notes of sweet music, and inspire that delicious melancholy which no
person, who had felt it once, would resign for the gayest pleasures.
They waken our best and purest feelings, disposing us to benevolence,
pity, and friendship. Those whom I love--I always seem to love more in
such an hour as this.' His voice trembled, and he paused.

St. Aubert was silent; Emily perceived a warm tear fall upon the hand he
held; she knew the object of his thoughts; hers too had, for some time,
been occupied by the remembrance of her mother. He seemed by an effort
to rouse himself. 'Yes,' said he, with an half-suppressed sigh, 'the
memory of those we love--of times for ever past! in such an hour as this
steals upon the mind, like a strain of distant music in the stillness
of night;--all tender and harmonious as this landscape, sleeping in the
mellow moon-light.' After the pause of a moment, St. Aubert added, 'I
have always fancied, that I thought with more clearness, and precision,
at such