ad but lately received letters from him,
that had soothed for a while all her anxieties? It now seemed to her
oppressed mind, that she had taken leave of him for ever, and that the
countries, which separated them, would never more be re-traced by her.
She looked upon Count Morano with horror, as in some degree the cause
of this; but apart from him, a conviction, if such that may be called,
which arises from no proof, and which she knew not how to account for,
seized her mind--that she should never see Valancourt again. Though she
knew, that neither Morano's solicitations, nor Montoni's commands
had lawful power to enforce her obedience, she regarded both with a
superstitious dread, that they would finally prevail.

Lost in this melancholy reverie, and shedding frequent tears, Emily was
at length roused by Montoni, and she followed him to the cabin, where
refreshments were spread, and her aunt was seated alone. The countenance
of Madame Montoni was inflamed with resentment, that appeared to be
the consequence of some conversation she had held with her husband, who
regarded her with a kind of sullen disdain, and both preserved, for some
time, a haughty silence. Montoni then spoke to Emily of Mons. Quesnel:
'You will not, I hope, persist in disclaiming your knowledge of the
subject of my letter to him?'

'I had hoped, sir, that it was no longer necessary for me to disclaim
it,' said Emily, 'I had hoped, from your silence, that you was convinced
of your error.'

'You have hoped impossibilities then,' replied Montoni; 'I might as
reasonably have expected to find sincerity and uniformity of conduct in
one of your sex, as you to convict me of error in this affair.'

Emily blushed, and was silent; she now perceived too clearly, that she
had hoped an impossibility, for, where no mistake had been committed no
conviction could follow; and it was evident, that Montoni's conduct had
not been the consequence of mistake, but of design.

Anxious to escape from conversation, which was both afflicting and
humiliating to her, she soon returned to the deck, and resumed her
station near the stern, without apprehension of cold, for no vapour rose
from the water, and the air was dry and tranquil; here, at least, the
benevolence of nature allowed her the quiet which Montoni had denied her
elsewhere. It was now past midnight. The stars shed a kind of twilight,
that served to shew the dark outline of the shores on either hand, and
the grey