They retired early to their chamber on the night before their departure;
but Emily had a few books and other things to collect, and the clock had
struck twelve before she had finished, or had remembered that some of
her drawing instruments, which she meant to take with her, were in the
parlour below. As she went to fetch these, she passed her father's
room, and, perceiving the door half open, concluded that he was in his
study--for, since the death of Madame St. Aubert, it had been frequently
his custom to rise from his restless bed, and go thither to compose his
mind. When she was below stairs she looked into this room, but without
finding him; and as she returned to her chamber, she tapped at his door,
and receiving no answer, stepped softly in, to be certain whether he was
there. The room was dark, but a light glimmered through some panes of glass
that were placed in the upper part of a closet-door. Emily believed her
father to be in the closet, and, surprised that he was up at so late
an hour, apprehended he was unwell, and was going to enquire; but,
considering that her sudden appearance at this hour might alarm him,
she removed her light to the stair-case, and then stepped softly to the
closet. On looking through the panes of glass, she saw him seated at a
small table, with papers before him, some of which he was reading with
deep attention and interest, during which he often wept and sobbed
aloud. Emily, who had come to the door to learn whether her father was
ill, was now detained there by a mixture of curiosity and tenderness.
She could not witness his sorrow, without being anxious to know the
subject of; and she therefore continued to observe him in silence,
concluding that those papers were letters of her late mother. Presently
he knelt down, and with a look so solemn as she had seldom seen him
assume, and which was mingled with a certain wild expression, that
partook more of horror than of any other character, he prayed silently
for a considerable time.
When he rose, a ghastly paleness was on his countenance. Emily was
hastily retiring; but she saw him turn again to the papers, and she
stopped. He took from among them a small case, and from thence a
miniature picture. The rays of light fell strongly upon it, and she
perceived it to be that of a lady, but not of her mother.
St. Aubert gazed earnestly and tenderly upon his portrait, put it to his
lips, and then to his heart, and sighed with a convulsive force. Emily
could scarcely believe what she saw to be real. She never knew till now
that he had a picture of any other lady than her mother, much less
that he had one which he evidently valued so highly; but having looked
repeatedly, to be certain that it was not the resemblance of Madame St.
Aubert, she became entirely convinced that it was designed for that of
some other person. At length St. Aubert returned the picture to its case; and Emily,
recollecting that she was intruding upon his private sorrows, softly
withdrew from the chamber.