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The Mysteries of Udolpho

Chapter I.11
I leave that flowery path for eye
Of childhood, where I sported many a day,
Warbling and sauntering carelessly along;
Where every face was innocent and gay,
Each vale romantic, tuneful every tongue,
Sweet, wild, and artless all.
At an early hour, the carriage, which was to take Emily and Madame Cheron to Tholouse,
appeared at the door of the chateau, and Madame was already in the breakfast-room,
when her niece entered it. The repast was silent and melancholy on the part of Emily; and
Madame Cheron, whose vanity was piqued on observing her dejection, reproved her in a
manner that did not contribute to remove it. It was with much reluctance, that Emily's
request to take with her the dog, which had been a favourite of her father, was granted.
Her aunt, impatient to be gone, ordered the carriage to draw up; and, while she passed to
the hall door, Emily gave another look into the library, and another farewell glance over
the garden, and then followed. Old Theresa stood at the door to take leave of her young
lady. 'God for ever keep you, ma'amselle!' said she, while Emily gave her hand in silence,
and could answer only with a pressure of her hand, and a forced smile.
At the gate, which led out of the grounds, several of her father's pensioners were
assembled to bid her farewell, to whom she would have spoken, if her aunt would have
suffered the driver to stop; and, having distributed to them almost all the money she had
about her, she sunk back in the carriage, yielding to the melancholy of her heart. Soon
after, she caught, between the steep banks of the road, another view of the chateau,
peeping from among the high trees, and surrounded by green slopes and tufted groves,
the Garonne winding its way beneath their shades, sometimes lost among the vineyards,
and then rising in greater majesty in the distant pastures. The towering precipices of the
Pyrenees, that rose to the south, gave Emily a thousand interesting recollections of her
late journey; and these objects of her former enthusiastic admiration, now excited only
sorrow and regret. Having gazed on the chateau and its lovely scenery, till the banks
again closed upon them, her mind became too much occupied by mournful reflections, to
permit her to attend to the conversation, which Madame Cheron had begun on some
trivial topic, so that they soon travelled in profound silence.
Valancourt, mean while, was returned to Estuviere, his heart occupied with the image of
Emily; sometimes indulging in reveries of future happiness, but more frequently
shrinking with dread of the opposition he might encounter from her family. He was the
younger son of an ancient family of Gascony; and, having lost his parents at an early
period of his life, the care of his education and of his small portion had devolved to his
brother, the Count de Duvarney, his senior by nearly twenty years. Valancourt had been