Enjoy the honey-heavy dew of slumber;
Thou hast no figures, nor no fantasies,
Which busy care draws in the brains of men;
Therefore thou sleep'st so sound.
SHAKESPEARE
The Count, who had slept little during the night, rose early, and,
anxious to speak with Ludovico, went to the north apartment; but, the
outer door having been fastened, on the preceding night, he was obliged
to knock loudly for admittance. Neither the knocking, or his voice was
heard; but, considering the distance of this door from the bed-room, and
that Ludovico, wearied with watching, had probably fallen into a deep
sleep, the Count was not surprised on receiving no answer, and, leaving
the door, he went down to walk in his grounds.
It was a gray autumnal morning. The sun, rising over Provence, gave only
a feeble light, as his rays struggled through the vapours that ascended
from the sea, and floated heavily over the wood-tops, which were now
varied with many a mellow tint of autumn. The storm was passed, but the
waves were yet violently agitated, and their course was traced by long
lines of foam, while not a breeze fluttered in the sails of the vessels,
near the shore, that were weighing anchor to depart. The still gloom of
the hour was pleasing to the Count, and he pursued his way through the
woods, sunk in deep thought.
Emily also rose at an early hour, and took her customary walk along the
brow of the promontory, that overhung the Mediterranean. Her mind was
now not occupied with the occurrences of the chateau, and Valancourt
was the subject of her mournful thoughts; whom she had not yet taught
herself to consider with indifference, though her judgment constantly
reproached her for the affection, that lingered in her heart, after her
esteem for him was departed. Remembrance frequently gave her his parting
look and the tones of his voice, when he had bade her a last farewel;
and, some accidental associations now recalling these circumstances
to her fancy, with peculiar energy, she shed bitter tears to the
recollection.
Having reached the watch-tower, she seated herself on the broken steps,
and, in melancholy dejection, watched the waves, half hid in vapour,
as they came rolling towards the shore, and threw up their light spray
round the rocks below. Their hollow murmur and the obscuring mists, that
came in wreaths up the cliffs, gave a solemnity to the scene, which was
in harmony with the temper of her mind, and she sat, given up to
the remembrance of past times, till this became too painful, and
she abruptly quitted the place. On passing the little gate of the
watch-tower, she observed letters, engraved on the stone postern, which
she paused to examine, and, though they appeared to have been rudely
cut with a pen-knife, the characters were familiar to her; at length,
recognizing the hand-writing of Valancourt, she read, with trembling
anxiety the following lines, entitled