se on the ground run round the horses.

'Don't cry so, ma'amselle,' said Theresa, 'it breaks my heart to see
you.' The dog now came running to Emily, then returned to the carriage,
and then back again to her, whining and discontented. 'Poor rogue!' said
Theresa, 'thou hast lost thy master, thou mayst well cry! But come, my
dear young lady, be comforted. What shall I get to refresh you?' Emily
gave her hand to the old servant, and tried to restrain her grief,
while she made some kind enquiries concerning her health. But she still
lingered in the walk which led to the chateau, for within was no
person to meet her with the kiss of affection; her own heart no longer
palpitated with impatient joy to meet again the well-known smile, and
she dreaded to see objects, which would recall the full remembrance of
her former happiness. She moved slowly towards the door, paused, went
on, and paused again. How silent, how forsaken, how forlorn did the
chateau appear! Trembling to enter it, yet blaming herself for delaying
what she could not avoid, she, at length, passed into the hall; crossed
it with a hurried step, as if afraid to look round, and opened the door
of that room, which she was wont to call her own. The gloom of evening
gave solemnity to its silent and deserted air. The chairs, the tables,
every article of furniture, so familiar to her in happier times,
spoke eloquently to her heart. She seated herself, without immediately
observing it, in a window, which opened upon the garden, and where St.
Aubert had often sat with her, watching the sun retire from the rich and
extensive prospect, that appeared beyond the groves.

Having indulged her tears for some time, she became more composed; and,
when Theresa, after seeing the baggage deposited in her lady's room,
again appeared, she had so far recovered her spirits, as to be able to
converse with her.

'I have made up the green bed for you, ma'amselle,' said Theresa, as she
set the coffee upon the table. 'I thought you would like it better than
your own now; but I little thought this day month, that you would come
back alone. A-well-a-day! the news almost broke my heart, when it did
come. Who would have believed, that my poor master, when he went
from home, would never return again!' Emily hid her face with her
handkerchief, and waved her hand.

'Do taste the coffee,' said Theresa. 'My dear young lady, be
comforted--we must all die. My dear master is a saint above.' Emily
took