She wished anxiously to know,
whether Bertrand and Dorina had spoken of Montoni, or of his designs,
concerning herself, in the presence of Maddelina, but disdained to
tempt the innocent girl to a conduct so mean, as that of betraying the
private conversations of her parents. When she was departing, Emily
requested, that she would come to her room as often as she dared,
without offending her mother, and Maddelina, after promising that she
would do so, stole softly back again to her own chamber. Thus several days passed, during which Emily remained in her own room,
Maddelina attending her only at her repast, whose gentle countenance
and manners soothed her more than any circumstance she had known for
many months. Of her pleasant embowered chamber she now became fond, and
began to experience in it those feelings of security, which we
naturally attach to home. In this interval also, her mind, having been
undisturbed by any new circumstance of disgust, or alarm, recovered its
tone sufficiently to permit her the enjoyment of her books, among which
she found some unfinished sketches of landscapes, several blank sheets
of paper, with her drawing instruments, and she was thus enabled to
amuse herself with selecting some of the lovely features of the
prospect, that her window commanded, and combining them in scenes, to
which her tasteful fancy gave a last grace. In these little sketches
she generally placed interesting groups, characteristic of the scenery
they animated, and often contrived to tell, with perspicuity, some
simple and affecting story, when, as a tear fell over the pictured
griefs, which her imagination drew, she would forget, for a moment, her
real sufferings. Thus innocently she beguiled the heavy hours of
misfortune, and, with meek patience, awaited the events of futurity. A beautiful evening, that had succeeded to a sultry day, at length
induced Emily to walk, though she knew that Bertrand must attend her,
and, with Maddelina for her companion, she left the cottage, followed
by Bertrand, who allowed her to choose her own way. The hour was cool
and silent, and she could not look upon the country around her without
delight. How lovely, too, appeared the brilliant blue that coloured all
the upper region of the air, and, thence fading downward, was lost in
the saffron glow of the horizon! Nor less so were the varied shades and
warm colouring of the Apennines, as the evening sun threw his slanting
rays athwart their broken surface. Emily followed the course of the
stream, under the shades, that overhung its grassy margin. On the
opposite banks, the pastures were animated with herds of cattle of a
beautiful cream-colour; and, beyond, were groves of lemon and orange,
with fruit glowing on the branches, frequent almost as the leaves,
which partly concealed it. She pursued her way towards the sea, which
reflected the warm glow of sunset, while the cliffs, that rose over its
edge, were tinted with the last rays. The valley was terminated on the
right by a lofty promontory, whose summit, impending over the waves,
was crowned with a ruined tower, now serving for the purpose of a
beacon, whose shattered battlements and the extended wings of some
sea-fowl, that circled near it, were still illumined by the upward
beams of the sun, though his disk was now sunk beneath the horizon;
while the lower part of the ruin, the cliff on which it stood and the
waves at its foot, were shaded with the first tints of twilight. Having reached this headland, Emily gazed with solemn pleasure on the
cliffs, that extended on either hand along the sequestered shores, some
crowned with groves of pine, and others exhibiting only barren
precipices of greyish marble, except where the crags were tufted with
myrtle and other aromatic shrubs. The sea slept in a perfect calm; its
waves, dying in murmurs on the shores, flowed with the gentlest
undulation, while its clear surface reflected in softened beauty the
vermeil tints of the west. Emily, as she looked upon the ocean, thought
of France and of past times, and she wished, Oh! how ardently, and
vainly—wished! that its waves would bear her to her distant native
home! “Ah! that vessel,” said she, “that vessel, which glides along so
stately, with its tall sails reflected in the water is, perhaps, bound
for France! Happy—happy bark!” She continued to gaze upon it, with warm
emotion, till the grey of twilight obscured the distance, and veiled it
from her view. The melancholy sound of the waves at her feet assisted
the tenderness, that occasioned her tears, and this was the only sound,
that broke upon the hour, till, having followed the windings of the
beach, for some time, a chorus of voices passed her on the air. She
paused a moment, wishing to hear more, yet fearing to be seen, and, for
the first time, looked back to Bertrand, as her protector, who was
following, at a short distance, in company with some other person. Reassured by this circumstance, she advanced towards the sounds, which
seemed to arise from behind a high promontory, that projected athwart
the beach. There was now a sudden pause in the music, and then one
female voice was heard to sing in a kind of chant. Emily quickened her
steps, and, winding round the rock, saw, within the sweeping bay,
beyond, which was hung with woods from the borders of the beach to the
very summit of the cliffs, two groups of peasants, one seated beneath
the shades, and the other standing on the edge of the sea, round the
girl, who was singing, and who held in her hand a chaplet of flowers,
which she seemed about to drop into the waves. Emily, listening with surprise and attention, distinguished the
following invocation delivered in the pure and elegant tongue of
Tuscany, and accompanied by a few pastoral instruments. TO A SEA-NYMPH

O nymph! who loves to float on the green wave,
When Neptune sleeps beneath the moonlight hour,
Lull’d by the music’s melancholy pow’r,
O nymph, arise from out thy pearly cave! For Hesper beams amid the twilight shade,
And soon shall Cynthia tremble o’er the tide,
Gleam on these cliffs, that bound the ocean’s pride,
And lonely silence all the air pervade. Then, let thy tender voice at distance swell,
And steal along this solitary shore,
Sink on the breeze, till dying—heard no more—
Thou wak’st the sudden magic of thy shell. While the long coast in echo sweet replies,
Thy soothing strains the pensive heart beguile,
And bid the visions of the future smile,
O nymph! from out thy pearly cave—arise! (Chorus)—_Arise!_
(Semi-chorus)—_Arise!_


The last words being repeated by the surrounding group, the garland of
flowers was thrown into the waves, and the chorus, sinking gradually
into a chant, died away in silence. “What can this mean, Maddelina?” said Emily, awakening from the
pleasing trance, into which the music had lulled her.