hen, St. Foix having complained of extreme
faintness, they stopped to give him refreshment, and, that the men, who
bore him, might rest. Ludovico had brought from the fort some flasks of
rich Spanish wine, which now proved a reviving cordial not only to
St. Foix but to the whole party, though to him it gave only temporary
relief, for it fed the fever, that burned in his veins, and he could
neither disguise in his countenance the anguish he suffered, or suppress
the wish, that he was arrived at the inn, where they had designed to
pass the preceding night.

While they thus reposed themselves under the shade of the dark green
pines, the Count desired Ludovico to explain shortly, by what means he
had disappeared from the north apartment, how he came into the hands of
the banditti, and how he had contributed so essentially to serve him and
his family, for to him he justly attributed their present deliverance.
Ludovico was going to obey him, when suddenly they heard the echo of
a pistol-shot, from the way they had passed, and they rose in alarm,
hastily to pursue their route.

CHAPTER XIII

Ah why did Fate his steps decoy
In stormy paths to roam,
Remote from all congenial joy!
BEATTIE

Emily, mean while, was still suffering anxiety as to the fate of
Valancourt; but Theresa, having, at length, found a person, whom she
could entrust on her errand to the steward, informed her, that the
messenger would return on the following day; and Emily promised to be at
the cottage, Theresa being too lame to attend her.

In the evening, therefore, Emily set out alone for the cottage, with a
melancholy foreboding, concerning Valancourt, while, perhaps, the gloom
of the hour might contribute to depress her spirits. It was a grey
autumnal evening towards the close of the season; heavy mists partially
obscured the mountains, and a chilling breeze, that sighed among the
beech woods, strewed her path with some of their last yellow leaves.
These, circling in the blast and foretelling the death of the year,
gave an image of desolation to her mind, and, in her fancy, seemed to
announce the death of Valancourt. Of this she had, indeed, more than
once so strong a presentiment, that she was on the point of returning
home, feeling herself unequal to an encounter with the certainty she
anticipated, but, contending with her emotions, she so far commanded
them, as to be able to proceed.

While she walked mournfully on, gazing on the