o the torture of those feelings, which its power had
suspended--not annihilated,--to the tortures of compassion, remorse, and
conscience. Then, we awaken as from a dream, and perceive a new
world around us--we gaze in astonishment, and horror--but the deed
is committed; not all the powers of heaven and earth united can
undo it--and the spectres of conscience will not fly! What are
riches--grandeur--health itself, to the luxury of a pure conscience, the
health of the soul;--and what the sufferings of poverty, disappointment,
despair--to the anguish of an afflicted one! O! how long is it since
I knew that luxury! I believed, that I had suffered the most agonizing
pangs of human nature, in love, jealousy, and despair--but these pangs
were ease, compared with the stings of conscience, which I have since
endured. I tasted too what was called the sweet of revenge--but it was
transient, it expired even with the object, that provoked it. Remember,
sister, that the passions are the seeds of vices as well as of virtues,
from which either may spring, accordingly as they are nurtured. Unhappy
they who have never been taught the art to govern them!'

'Alas! unhappy!' said the abbess, 'and ill-informed of our holy
religion!' Emily listened to Agnes, in silent awe, while she still
examined the miniature, and became confirmed in her opinion of its
strong resemblance to the portrait at Udolpho. 'This face is familiar to
me,' said she, wishing to lead the nun to an explanation, yet fearing to
discover too abruptly her knowledge of Udolpho.

'You are mistaken,' replied Agnes, 'you certainly never saw that picture
before.'

'No,' replied Emily, 'but I have seen one extremely like it.'
'Impossible,' said Agnes, who may now be called the Lady Laurentini.

'It was in the castle of Udolpho,' continued Emily, looking stedfastly
at her.

'Of Udolpho!' exclaimed Laurentini, 'of Udolpho in Italy!' 'The same,'
replied Emily.

'You know me then,' said Laurentini, 'and you are the daughter of the
Marchioness.' Emily was somewhat surprised at this abrupt assertion. 'I
am the daughter of the late Mons. St. Aubert,' said she; 'and the lady
you name is an utter stranger to me.'

'At least you believe so,' rejoined Laurentini.

Emily asked what reasons there could be to believe otherwise.

'The family likeness, that you bear her,' said the nun. 'The
Marchioness, it is known, was attached to a gentleman of Gascony, at the
time when she accepted