y went up an avenue to the right, to which he pointed. St.
Aubert was going to speak, but the peasant wished him good night, and
walked on.

The carriage now moved towards the avenue, which was guarded by a gate,
and Michael having dismounted to open it, they entered between rows of
ancient oak and chesnut, whose intermingled branches formed a lofty arch
above. There was something so gloomy and desolate in the appearance of
this avenue, and its lonely silence, that Emily almost shuddered as
she passed along; and, recollecting the manner in which the peasant had
mentioned the chateau, she gave a mysterious meaning to his words, such
as she had not suspected when he uttered them. These apprehensions,
however, she tried to check, considering that they were probably the
effect of a melancholy imagination, which her father's situation, and
a consideration of her own circumstances, had made sensible to every
impression.

They passed slowly on, for they were now almost in darkness, which,
together with the unevenness of the ground, and the frequent roots of
old trees, that shot up above the soil, made it necessary to proceed
with caution. On a sudden Michael stopped the carriage; and, as St.
Aubert looked from the window to enquire the cause, he perceived a
figure at some distance moving up the avenue. The dusk would not permit
him to distinguish what it was, but he bade Michael go on.

'This seems a wild place,' said Michael; 'there is no house hereabout,
don't your honour think we had better turn back?'

'Go a little farther, and if we see no house then, we will return to the
road,' replied St. Aubert.

Michael proceeded with reluctance, and the extreme slowness of his pace
made St. Aubert look again from the window to hasten him, when again he
saw the same figure. He was somewhat startled: probably the gloominess
of the spot made him more liable to alarm than usual; however this
might be, he now stopped Michael, and bade him call to the person in the
avenue.

'Please your honour, he may be a robber,' said Michael. 'It does not
please me,' replied St. Aubert, who could not forbear smiling at the
simplicity of his phrase, 'and we will, therefore, return to the road,
for I see no probability of meeting here with what we seek.'

Michael turned about immediately, and was retracing his way with
alacrity, when a voice was heard from among the trees on the left. It
was not the voice of command, or distress, but a deep hollo