They passed slowly on, for they were now almost in darkness, which,
together with the unevenness of the ground, and the frequent roots of
old trees, that shot up above the soil, made it necessary to proceed
with caution. On a sudden Michael stopped the carriage; and, as St.
Aubert looked from the window to enquire the cause, he perceived a
figure at some distance moving up the avenue. The dusk would not permit
him to distinguish what it was, but he bade Michael go on. “This seems a wild place,” said Michael; “there is no house hereabout,
don’t your honour think we had better turn back?”

“Go a little farther, and if we see no house then, we will return to
the road,” replied St. Aubert. Michael proceeded with reluctance, and the extreme slowness of his pace
made St. Aubert look again from the window to hasten him, when again he
saw the same figure. He was somewhat startled: probably the gloominess
of the spot made him more liable to alarm than usual; however this
might be, he now stopped Michael, and bade him call to the person in
the avenue. “Please your honour, he may be a robber,” said Michael. “It does not
please me,” replied St. Aubert, who could not forbear smiling at the
simplicity of his phrase, “and we will, therefore, return to the road,
for I see no probability of meeting here with what we seek.”

Michael turned about immediately, and was retracing his way with
alacrity, when a voice was heard from among the trees on the left. It
was not the voice of command, or distress, but a deep hollow tone,
which seemed to be scarcely human. The man whipped his mules till they
went as fast as possible, regardless of the darkness, the broken
ground, and the necks of the whole party, nor once stopped till he
reached the gate, which opened from the avenue into the high-road,
where he went into a more moderate pace. “I am very ill,” said St. Aubert, taking his daughter’s hand. “You are
worse, then, sir!” said Emily, extremely alarmed by his manner, “you
are worse, and here is no assistance. Good God! what is to be done!” He
leaned his head on her shoulder, while she endeavoured to support him
with her arm, and Michael was again ordered to stop. When the rattling
of the wheels had ceased, music was heard on their air; it was to Emily
the voice of Hope. “Oh! we are near some human habitation!” said she,
“help may soon be had.”

She listened anxiously; the sounds were distant, and seemed to come
from a remote part of the woods that bordered the road; and, as she
looked towards the spot whence they issued, she perceived in the faint
moonlight something like a château. It was difficult, however, to reach
this; St. Aubert was now too ill to bear the motion of the carriage;
Michael could not quit his mules; and Emily, who still supported her
father, feared to leave him, and also feared to venture alone to such a
distance, she knew not whither, or to whom. Something, however, it was
necessary to determine upon immediately; St. Aubert, therefore, told
Michael to proceed slowly; but they had not gone far, when he fainted,
and the carriage was again stopped. He lay quite senseless.—“My dear,
dear father!” cried Emily in great agony, who began to fear that he was
dying, “speak, if it is only one word to let me hear the sound of your
voice!” But no voice spoke in reply. In the agony of terror she bade
Michael bring water from the rivulet, that flowed along the road; and,
having received some in the man’s hat, with trembling hands she
sprinkled it over her father’s face, which, as the moon’s rays now fell
upon it, seemed to bear the impression of death. Every emotion of
selfish fear now gave way to a stronger influence, and, committing St.
Aubert to the care of Michael, who refused to go far from his mules,
she stepped from the carriage in search of the château she had seen at
a distance. It was a still moonlight night, and the music, which yet
sounded on the air, directed her steps from the high road, up a shadowy
lane, that led to the woods. Her mind was for some time so entirely
occupied by anxiety and terror for her father, that she felt none for
herself, till the deepening gloom of the overhanging foliage, which now
wholly excluded the moonlight, and the wildness of the place, recalled
her to a sense of her adventurous situation. The music had ceased, and
she had no guide but chance. For a moment she paused in terrified
perplexity, till a sense of her father’s condition again overcoming
every consideration for herself, she proceeded. The lane terminated in
the woods, but she looked round in vain for a house, or a human being,
and as vainly listened for a sound to guide her. She hurried on,
however, not knowing whither, avoiding the recesses of the woods, and
endeavouring to keep along their margin, till a rude kind of avenue,
which opened upon a moonlight spot, arrested her attention. The
wildness of this avenue brought to her recollection the one leading to
the turreted château, and she was inclined to believe, that this was a
part of the same domain, and probably led to the same point. While she
hesitated, whether to follow it or not, a sound of many voices in loud
merriment burst upon her ear. It seemed not the laugh of cheerfulness,
but of riot, and she stood appalled. While she paused, she heard a
distant voice, calling from the way she had come, and not doubting but
it was that of Michael, her first impulse was to hasten back; but a
second thought changed her purpose; she believed that nothing less than
the last extremity could have prevailed with Michael to quit his mules,
and fearing that her father was now dying, she rushed forward, with a
feeble hope of obtaining assistance from the people in the woods. Her
heart beat with fearful expectation, as she drew near the spot whence
the voices issued, and she often startled when her steps disturbed the
fallen leaves. The sounds led her towards the moonlight glade she had
before noticed; at a little distance from which she stopped, and saw,
between the boles of the trees, a small circular level of green turf,
surrounded by the woods, on which appeared a group of figures. On
drawing nearer, she distinguished these, by their dress, to be
peasants, and perceived several cottages scattered round the edge of
the woods, which waved loftily over this spot. While she gazed, and
endeavoured to overcome the apprehensions that withheld her steps,
several peasant girls came out of a cottage; music instantly struck up,
and the dance began. It was the joyous music of the vintage—the same
she had before heard upon the air. Her heart, occupied with terror for
her father, could not feel the contrast, which this gay scene offered
to her own distress; she stepped hastily forward towards a group of
elder peasants, who were seated at the door of a cottage, and, having
explained her situation, entreated their assistance.