view of the hand-writing recalled so many painful
recollections, that she found herself unable to go through the first she
had opened, and sat musing, with her cheek resting on her arm, and tears
stealing from her eyes, when old Dorothee entered the room to inform
her, that dinner would be ready, an hour before the usual time. Emily
started on perceiving her, and hastily put up the papers, but not before
Dorothee had observed both her agitation and her tears.

'Ah, ma'amselle!' said she, 'you, who are so young,--have you reason for
sorrow?'

Emily tried to smile, but was unable to speak.

'Alas! dear young lady, when you come to my age, you will not weep at
trifles; and surely you have nothing serious, to grieve you.'

'No, Dorothee, nothing of any consequence,' replied Emily. Dorothee, now
stooping to pick up something, that had dropped from among the papers,
suddenly exclaimed, 'Holy Mary! what is it I see?' and then, trembling,
sat down in a chair, that stood by the table.

'What is it you do see?' said Emily, alarmed by her manner, and looking
round the room.

'It is herself,' said Dorothee, 'her very self! just as she looked a
little before she died!'

Emily, still more alarmed, began now to fear, that Dorothee was seized
with sudden phrensy, but entreated her to explain herself.

'That picture!' said she, 'where did you find it, lady? it is my blessed
mistress herself!'

She laid on the table the miniature, which Emily had long ago found
among the papers her father had enjoined her to destroy, and over
which she had once seen him shed such tender and affecting tears; and,
recollecting all the various circumstances of his conduct, that had long
perplexed her, her emotions increased to an excess, which deprived her
of all power to ask the questions she trembled to have answered, and she
could only enquire, whether Dorothee was certain the picture resembled
the late marchioness.

'O, ma'amselle!' said she, 'how came it to strike me so, the instant I
saw it, if it was not my lady's likeness? Ah!' added she, taking up the
miniature, 'these are her own blue eyes--looking so sweet and so mild;
and there is her very look, such as I have often seen it, when she had
sat thinking for a long while, and then, the tears would often steal
down her cheeks--but she never would complain! It was that look so meek,
as it were, and resigned, that used to break my heart and make me love
her so!'

'Dorothee!' said Emily s