When they had been some time ascending, St.Aubert complained of weariness, and they stopped to rest upon a little green summit, where the trees opened, and admitted the moon-light.

He sat down upon the turf, between Emily and Valancourt.
The bell had now ceased, and the deep repose of the scene was undisturbed by any sound, for the low dull murmur of some distant torrents might be said to sooth, rather than to interrupt, the silence.
Before them, extended the valley they had quitted; its rocks, and woods to the left, just silvered by the rays, formed a contrast to the deep shadow, that involved the opposite cliffs, whose fringed summits only were tipped with light; while the distant perspective of the valley was lost in the yellow mist of moon-light.

The travellers sat for some time wrapt in the complacency which such scenes inspire.
'These scenes,' said Valancourt, at length, 'soften the heart, like the notes of sweet music, and inspire that delicious melancholy which no person, who had felt it once, would resign for the gayest pleasures.
They waken our best and purest feelings, disposing us to benevolence, pity, and friendship.

Those whom I love--I always seem to love more in such an hour as this.' His voice trembled, and he paused.
St.Aubert was silent; Emily perceived a warm tear fall upon the hand he held; she knew the object of his thoughts; hers too had, for some time, been occupied by the remembrance of her mother.

He seemed by an effort to rouse himself.