ut I find myself
quite unequal to the art. Alas! I would, at this moment, conceal it from
you, but that it would be most cruel to deceive you. It cannot be
long before we must part; let us talk of it, that our thoughts and our
prayers may prepare us to bear it.' His voice faltered, while Emily,
still weeping, pressed his hand close to her heart, which swelled with a
convulsive sigh, but she could not look up.

'Let me not waste these moments,' said St. Aubert, recovering himself,
'I have much to say. There is a circumstance of solemn consequence,
which I have to mention, and a solemn promise to obtain from you; when
this is done I shall be easier. You have observed, my dear, how anxious
I am to reach home, but know not all my reasons for this. Listen to what
I am going to say.--Yet stay--before I say more give me this promise, a
promise made to your dying father!'--St. Aubert was interrupted; Emily,
struck by his last words, as if for the first time, with a conviction of
his immediate danger, raised her head; her tears stopped, and, gazing
at him for a moment with an expression of unutterable anguish, a slight
convulsion seized her, and she sunk senseless in her chair. St.
Aubert's cries brought La Voisin and his daughter to the room, and
they administered every means in their power to restore her, but, for a
considerable time, without effect. When she recovered, St. Aubert was so
exhausted by the scene he had witnessed, that it was many minutes
before he had strength to speak; he was, however, somewhat revived by
a cordial, which Emily gave him; and, being again alone with her, he
exerted himself to tranquilize her spirits, and to offer her all the
comfort of which her situation admitted. She threw herself into his
arms, wept on his neck, and grief made her so insensible to all he said,
that he ceased to offer the alleviations, which he himself could not, at
this moment, feel, and mingled his silent tears with hers. Recalled, at
length, to a sense of duty, she tried to spare her father from a farther
view of her suffering; and, quitting his embrace, dried her tears,
and said something, which she meant for consolation. 'My dear Emily,'
replied St. Aubert, 'my dear child, we must look up with humble
confidence to that Being, who has protected and comforted us in every
danger, and in every affliction we have known; to whose eye every moment
of our lives has been exposed; he will not, he does not, forsake us now;
I feel hi