er her the light veil, in which she usually walked, she
silently passed into the garden, and, hastening towards the distant
groves, was glad to breathe once more the air of liberty, and to sigh
unobserved. The deep repose of the scene, the rich scents, that floated
on the breeze, the grandeur of the wide horizon and of the clear
blue arch, soothed and gradually elevated her mind to that sublime
complacency, which renders the vexations of this world so insignificant
and mean in our eyes, that we wonder they have had power for a moment to
disturb us. Emily forgot Madame Cheron and all the circumstances of
her conduct, while her thoughts ascended to the contemplation of those
unnumbered worlds, that lie scattered in the depths of aether, thousands
of them hid from human eyes, and almost beyond the flight of human
fancy. As her imagination soared through the regions of space, and
aspired to that Great First Cause, which pervades and governs all being,
the idea of her father scarcely ever left her; but it was a pleasing
idea, since she resigned him to God in the full confidence of a pure and
holy faith. She pursued her way through the groves to the terrace,
often pausing as memory awakened the pang of affection, and as reason
anticipated the exile, into which she was going.

And now the moon was high over the woods, touching their summits with
yellow light, and darting between the foliage long level beams; while on
the rapid Garonne below the trembling radiance was faintly obscured by
the lightest vapour. Emily long watched the playing lustre, listened to
the soothing murmur of the current, and the yet lighter sounds of the
air, as it stirred, at intervals, the lofty palm-trees. 'How delightful
is the sweet breath of these groves,' said she. 'This lovely scene!--how
often shall I remember and regret it, when I am far away. Alas!
what events may occur before I see it again! O, peaceful, happy
shades!--scenes of my infant delights, of parental tenderness now lost
for ever!--why must I leave ye!--In your retreats I should still find
safety and repose. Sweet hours of my childhood--I am now to leave even
your last memorials! No objects, that would revive your impressions,
will remain for me!'

Then drying her tears and looking up, her thoughts rose again to the
sublime subject she had contemplated; the same divine complacency stole
over her heart, and, hushing its throbs, inspired hope and confidence
and resignation to the will