“Do not provoke me,” said her aunt; “you do know it, confess the truth immediately. I insist upon your confessing the truth instantly.”
Emily was silent, and turned to leave the room, but Madame called her back. “O you are guilty, then,” said she, “you do know the hand.” “If you were before in doubt of this, madam,” replied Emily calmly, “why did you accuse me of having told a falsehood.” Madame Cheron did not blush; but her niece did, a moment after, when she heard the name of Valancourt. It was not, however, with the consciousness of deserving reproof, for, if she ever had seen his hand-writing, the present characters did not bring it to her recollection.
“It is useless to deny it,” said Madame Cheron, “I see in your countenance, that you are no stranger to this letter; and, I dare say
