however, the vision he had seen haunted his
mind; he became more wretched than before, and the only solace of his
sorrow was to return in the silence of the night; to follow the paths
which he believed her steps had pressed, during the day; and, to watch
round the habitation where she reposed. It was in one of these mournful
wanderings, that he had received by the fire of the gardener, who
mistook him for a robber, a wound in his arm, which had detained him
at Tholouse till very lately, under the hands of a surgeon. There,
regardless of himself and careless of his friends, whose late unkindness
had urged him to believe, that they were indifferent as to his fate,
he remained, without informing them of his situation; and now, being
sufficiently recovered to bear travelling, he had taken La Vallee in
his way to Estuviere, the Count's residence, partly for the purpose of
hearing of Emily, and of being again near her, and partly for that of
enquiring into the situation of poor old Theresa, who, he had reason to
suppose, had been deprived of her stipend, small as it was, and which
enquiry had brought him to her cottage, when Emily happened to be there.

This unexpected interview, which had at once shewn him the tenderness of
her love and the strength of her resolution, renewed all the acuteness
of the despair, that had attended their former separation, and which
no effort of reason could teach him, in these moments, to subdue. Her
image, her look, the tones of her voice, all dwelt on his fancy, as
powerfully as they had late appeared to his senses, and banished from
his heart every emotion, except those of love and despair.

Before the evening concluded, he returned to Theresa's cottage, that
he might hear her talk of Emily, and be in the place, where she had so
lately been. The joy, felt and expressed by that faithful servant, was
quickly changed to sorrow, when she observed, at one moment, his wild
and phrensied look, and, at another, the dark melancholy, that overhung
him.

After he had listened, and for a considerable time, to all she had to
relate, concerning Emily, he gave Theresa nearly all the money he
had about him, though she repeatedly refused it, declaring, that her
mistress had amply supplied her wants; and then, drawing a ring of value
from his finger, he delivered it her with a solemn charge to present
it to Emily, of whom he entreated, as a last favour, that she would
preserve it for his sake, and sometimes