Think what my poor master would have said, if he could see you.

I am sure, when my dear lady died, no gentleman could take it more to heart than he did, yet you know he seldom shed a tear.' 'Pray, Theresa, cease,' said Emily, wishing to interrupt this ill-judged, but well-meaning harangue; Theresa's loquacity, however, was not to be silenced so easily.

'And when you used to grieve so,' she added, 'he often told you how wrong it was--for that my mistress was happy.

And, if she was happy, I am sure he is so too; for the prayers of the poor, they say, reach heaven.' During this speech, Emily had walked silently into the chateau, and Theresa lighted her across the hall into the common sitting parlour, where she had laid the cloth, with one solitary knife and fork, for supper.

Emily was in the room before she perceived that it was not her own apartment, but she checked the emotion which inclined her to leave it, and seated herself quietly by the little supper table.