d upon the hills. St. Aubert had set out thus early,
not only that he might enjoy the first appearance of sunrise, but that
he might inhale the first pure breath of morning, which above all things
is refreshing to the spirits of the invalid. In these regions it was
particularly so, where an abundance of wild flowers and aromatic herbs
breathed forth their essence on the air.

The dawn, which softened the scenery with its peculiar grey tint, now
dispersed, and Emily watched the progress of the day, first trembling on
the tops of the highest cliffs, then touching them with splendid light,
while their sides and the vale below were still wrapt in dewy mist.
Meanwhile, the sullen grey of the eastern clouds began to blush, then to
redden, and then to glow with a thousand colours, till the golden light
darted over all the air, touched the lower points of the mountain's
brow, and glanced in long sloping beams upon the valley and its stream.
All nature seemed to have awakened from death into life; the spirit of
St. Aubert was renovated. His heart was full; he wept, and his thoughts
ascended to the Great Creator.

Emily wished to trip along the turf, so green and bright with dew, and
to taste the full delight of that liberty, which the izard seemed to
enjoy as he bounded along the brow of the cliffs; while Valancourt often
stopped to speak with the travellers, and with social feeling to point
out to them the peculiar objects of his admiration. St. Aubert was
pleased with him: 'Here is the real ingenuousness and ardour of youth,'
said he to himself; 'this young man has never been at Paris.'

He was sorry when they came to the spot where the roads parted, and his
heart took a more affectionate leave of him than is usual after so short
an acquaintance. Valancourt talked long by the side of the carriage;
seemed more than once to be going, but still lingered, and appeared to
search anxiously for topics of conversation to account for his delay. At
length he took leave. As he went, St. Aubert observed him look with an
earnest and pensive eye at Emily, who bowed to him with a countenance
full of timid sweetness, while the carriage drove on. St. Aubert, for
whatever reason, soon after looked from the window, and saw Valancourt
standing upon the bank of the road, resting on his pike with folded
arms, and following the carriage with his eyes. He waved his hand, and
Valancourt, seeming to awake from his reverie, returned the salute, and
st