d friend,' said St. Aubert, while his voice trembled, 'I hope you
will long live surrounded by them.'

'Ah, sir! at my age I must not expect that!' replied the old man, and he
paused: 'I can scarcely wish it,' he resumed, 'for I trust that whenever
I die I shall go to heaven, where my poor wife is gone before me. I can
sometimes almost fancy I see her of a still moon-light night, walking
among these shades she loved so well. Do you believe, monsieur, that
we shall be permitted to revisit the earth, after we have quitted the
body?'

Emily could no longer stifle the anguish of her heart; her tears fell
fast upon her father's hand, which she yet held. He made an effort to
speak, and at length said in a low voice, 'I hope we shall be permitted
to look down on those we have left on the earth, but I can only hope it.
Futurity is much veiled from our eyes, and faith and hope are our only
guides concerning it. We are not enjoined to believe, that disembodied
spirits watch over the friends they have loved, but we may innocently
hope it. It is a hope which I will never resign,' continued he, while
he wiped the tears from his daughter's eyes, 'it will sweeten the bitter
moments of death!' Tears fell slowly on his cheeks; La Voisin wept too,
and there was a pause of silence. Then, La Voisin, renewing the subject,
said, 'But you believe, sir, that we shall meet in another world the
relations we have loved in this; I must believe this.' 'Then do
believe it,' replied St. Aubert, 'severe, indeed, would be the pangs of
separation, if we believed it to be eternal. Look up, my dear Emily,
we shall meet again!' He lifted his eyes towards heaven, and a gleam
of moon-light, which fell upon his countenance, discovered peace and
resignation, stealing on the lines of sorrow.

La Voisin felt that he had pursued the subject too far, and he dropped
it, saying, 'We are in darkness, I forgot to bring a light.'

'No,' said St. Aubert, 'this is a light I love. Sit down, my good
friend. Emily, my love, I find myself better than I have been all day;
this air refreshes me. I can enjoy this tranquil hour, and that music,
which floats so sweetly at a distance. Let me see you smile. Who touches
that guitar so tastefully? are there two instruments, or is it an echo I
hear?'

'It is an echo, monsieur, I fancy. That guitar is often heard at night,
when all is still, but nobody knows who touches it, and it is sometimes
accompanied by a voice so sweet, and