The man was not killed,—I dare say; but if he was, his
comrades carried him off: for, when Jean went in the morning, to look
for the body, it was gone, and nothing to be seen but a track of blood
on the ground. Jean followed it, that he might find out where the man
got into the garden, but it was lost in the grass, and—”

Annette was interrupted: for Emily’s spirits died away, and she would
have fallen to the ground, if the girl had not caught her, and
supported her to a bench, close to them. When, after a long absence, her senses returned, Emily desired to be
led to her apartment; and, though she trembled with anxiety to enquire
further on the subject of her alarm, she found herself too ill at
present, to dare the intelligence which it was possible she might
receive of Valancourt. Having dismissed Annette, that she might weep
and think at liberty, she endeavoured to recollect the exact air of the
person, whom she had seen on the terrace, and still her fancy gave her
the figure of Valancourt. She had, indeed, scarcely a doubt, that it
was he whom she had seen, and at whom the gardener had fired: for the
manner of the latter person, as described by Annette, was not that of a
robber; nor did it appear probable, that a robber would have come
alone, to break into a house so spacious as this. When Emily thought herself sufficiently recovered, to listen to what
Jean might have to relate, she sent for him; but he could inform her of
no circumstance, that might lead to a knowledge of the person, who had
been shot, or of the consequence of the wound; and, after severely
reprimanding him, for having fired with bullets, and ordering diligent
enquiry to be made in the neighbourhood for the discovery of the
wounded person, she dismissed him, and herself remained in the same
state of terrible suspense. All the tenderness she had ever felt for
Valancourt, was recalled by the sense of his danger; and the more she
considered the subject, the more her conviction strengthened, that it
was he, who had visited the gardens, for the purpose of soothing the
misery of disappointed affection, amidst the scenes of his former
happiness. “Dear madam,” said Annette, when she returned, “I never saw you so
affected before! I dare say the man is not killed.”

Emily shuddered, and lamented bitterly the rashness of the gardener in
having fired. “I knew you would be angry enough about that, madam, or I should have
told you before; and he knew so too; for, says he, ‘Annette, say
nothing about this to my lady. She lies on the other side of the house,
so did not hear the gun, perhaps; but she would be angry with me, if
she knew, seeing there is blood. But then,’ says he, ‘how is one to
keep the garden clear, if one is afraid to fire at a robber, when one
sees him?’”

“No more of this,” said Emily, “pray leave me.”

Annette obeyed, and Emily returned to the agonizing considerations,
that had assailed her before, but which she, at length, endeavoured to
sooth by a new remark. If the stranger was Valancourt, it was certain
he had come alone, and it appeared, therefore, that he had been able to
quit the gardens, without assistance; a circumstance which did not seem
probable, had his wound been dangerous. With this consideration, she
endeavoured to support herself, during the enquiries, that were making
by her servants in the neighbourhood; but day after day came, and still
closed in uncertainty, concerning this affair: and Emily, suffering in
silence, at length, drooped, and sunk under the pressure of her
anxiety. She was attacked by a slow fever, and when she yielded to the
persuasion of Annette to send for medical advice, the physicians
prescribed little beside air, gentle exercise and amusement: but how
was this last to be obtained? She, however, endeavoured to abstract her
thoughts from the subject of her anxiety, by employing them in
promoting that happiness in others, which she had lost herself; and,
when the evening was fine, she usually took an airing, including in her
ride the cottages of some of her tenants, on whose condition she made
such observations, as often enabled her, unasked, to fulfil their
wishes. Her indisposition and the business she engaged in, relative to this
estate, had already protracted her stay at Thoulouse, beyond the period
she had formerly fixed for her departure to La Vallée; and now she was
unwilling to leave the only place, where it seemed possible, that
certainty could be obtained on the subject of her distress. But the
time was come, when her presence was necessary at La Vallée, a letter
from the Lady Blanche now informing her, that the Count and herself,
being then at the château of the Baron St. Foix, purposed to visit her
at La Vallée, on their way home, as soon as they should be informed of
her arrival there. Blanche added, that they made this visit, with the
hope of inducing her to return with them to Château-le-Blanc. Emily, having replied to the letter of her friend, and said that she
should be at La Vallée in a few days, made hasty preparations for the
journey; and, in thus leaving Thoulouse, endeavoured to support herself
with a belief, that, if any fatal accident had happened to Valancourt,
she must in this interval have heard of it. On the evening before her departure, she went to take leave of the
terrace and the pavilion. The day had been sultry, but a light shower,
that fell just before sunset, had cooled the air, and given that soft
verdure to the woods and pastures, which is so refreshing to the eye;
while the rain drops, still trembling on the shrubs, glittered in the
last yellow gleam, that lighted up the scene, and the air was filled
with fragrance, exhaled by the late shower, from herbs and flowers and
from the earth itself. But the lovely prospect, which Emily beheld from
the terrace, was no longer viewed by her with delight; she sighed
deeply as her eye wandered over it, and her spirits were in a state of
such dejection, that she could not think of her approaching return to
La Vallée, without tears, and seemed to mourn again the death of her
father, as if it had been an event of yesterday.