AT the mention of her return home, she burst into convulsive grief, and St Aubert himself wept with her. After some moments, he composed himself. “My dear child,” said he, “be comforted. When I am gone, you will not be forsaken — I leave you only in the more immediate care of that Providence, which has never yet forsaken me. Do not afflict me with this excess of grief; rather teach me by your example to bear my own.” He stopped again, and Emily, the more she endeavoured to restrain her emotion, found it the less possible to do so.

St Aubert, who now spoke with pain, resumed the subject. “That closet, my dear, — when you return home, go to it; and, beneath the board I have described, you will find a packet of written papers. Attend to me now, for the promise you have given particularly relates to what I shall direct. These papers you must burn — and, solemnly I command you, without examining them.”