The Mysteries of Udolpho [320]
them too well; but prove, at least, that your candour is deserving of the confidence I give it, when I ask you, whether you are conscious of being the same estimable Valancourt--whom I once loved.'
'Once loved!' cried he,--'the same--the same!' He paused in extreme emotion, and then added, in a voice at once solemn, and dejected,-- 'No--I am not the same!--I am lost--I am no longer worthy of you!'
He again concealed his face. Emily was too much affected by this honest confession to reply immediately, and, while she struggled to overcome the pleadings of her heart, and to act with the decisive firmness, which was necessary for her future peace, she perceived all the danger of trusting long to her resolution, in the presence of Valancourt, and was anxious to conclude an interview, that tortured them both; yet, when she considered, that this was probably their last meeting, her fortitude sunk at once, and she experienced only emotions of tenderness and of despondency.
Valancourt, meanwhile, lost in emotions of remorse and grief, which he had neither the power, or the will to express, sat insensible almost of the presence of Emily, his features still concealed, and his breast agitated by convulsive sighs.
'Spare me the necessity,' said Emily, recollecting her fortitude, 'spare me the necessity of mentioning those circumstances of your conduct, which oblige me to break our connection forever.--We must part, I now see you for the last time.'
'Impossible!' cried Valancourt, roused from his deep silence, 'You cannot mean what you say!--you cannot mean to throw me from you forever!'
'We must part,' repeated Emily, with emphasis,--'and that forever! Your own conduct has made this necessary.'
'This is the Count's determination,' said he haughtily, 'not yours, and I shall enquire by what authority he interferes between us.' He now rose, and walked about the room in great emotion.
'Let me save you from this error,' said Emily, not less agitated--'it is my determination, and, if you reflect a moment on your late conduct, you will perceive, that my future peace requires it.'
'Your future peace requires, that we should part--part forever!' said Valancourt, 'How little did I ever expect to hear you say so!'
'And how little did I expect, that it would be necessary for me to say so!' rejoined Emily, while her voice softened into tenderness, and her tears flowed again.--'That you--you, Valancourt, would ever fall from my esteem!'
He was silent a moment, as if overwhelmed by the consciousness of no longer deserving this esteem, as well as the certainty of having lost it, and then, with impassioned grief, lamented the criminality of his late conduct and the misery to which it had reduced him, till, overcome by a recollection of the past and a conviction of the future, he burst into tears, and uttered only deep and broken sighs.
The remorse he had expressed, and the distress he suffered could not be witnessed by Emily with indifference, and, had she not called to her recollection all the circumstances, of which Count De Villefort had informed her, and all he had said of the danger of confiding in repentance, formed under the influence of passion, she might perhaps have trusted to the assurances of her heart, and have forgotten his misconduct in the tenderness, which that repentance excited.
Valancourt, returning to the chair beside her, at length, said, in a calm voice, ''Tis true, I am fallen--fallen from my own esteem! but could you, Emily, so soon, so suddenly resign, if you had not before ceased to love me, or, if your conduct was not governed by the designs, I will say, the selfish designs of another person! Would you not otherwise be willing to hope for my reformation--and could you bear, by estranging me from you, to abandon me to misery--to myself!'--Emily wept aloud.--'No, Emily--no--you would not do this, if you still loved me. You would find your own happiness in saving mine.'
'There are too many probabilities against that hope,' said Emily,
'Once loved!' cried he,--'the same--the same!' He paused in extreme emotion, and then added, in a voice at once solemn, and dejected,-- 'No--I am not the same!--I am lost--I am no longer worthy of you!'
He again concealed his face. Emily was too much affected by this honest confession to reply immediately, and, while she struggled to overcome the pleadings of her heart, and to act with the decisive firmness, which was necessary for her future peace, she perceived all the danger of trusting long to her resolution, in the presence of Valancourt, and was anxious to conclude an interview, that tortured them both; yet, when she considered, that this was probably their last meeting, her fortitude sunk at once, and she experienced only emotions of tenderness and of despondency.
Valancourt, meanwhile, lost in emotions of remorse and grief, which he had neither the power, or the will to express, sat insensible almost of the presence of Emily, his features still concealed, and his breast agitated by convulsive sighs.
'Spare me the necessity,' said Emily, recollecting her fortitude, 'spare me the necessity of mentioning those circumstances of your conduct, which oblige me to break our connection forever.--We must part, I now see you for the last time.'
'Impossible!' cried Valancourt, roused from his deep silence, 'You cannot mean what you say!--you cannot mean to throw me from you forever!'
'We must part,' repeated Emily, with emphasis,--'and that forever! Your own conduct has made this necessary.'
'This is the Count's determination,' said he haughtily, 'not yours, and I shall enquire by what authority he interferes between us.' He now rose, and walked about the room in great emotion.
'Let me save you from this error,' said Emily, not less agitated--'it is my determination, and, if you reflect a moment on your late conduct, you will perceive, that my future peace requires it.'
'Your future peace requires, that we should part--part forever!' said Valancourt, 'How little did I ever expect to hear you say so!'
'And how little did I expect, that it would be necessary for me to say so!' rejoined Emily, while her voice softened into tenderness, and her tears flowed again.--'That you--you, Valancourt, would ever fall from my esteem!'
He was silent a moment, as if overwhelmed by the consciousness of no longer deserving this esteem, as well as the certainty of having lost it, and then, with impassioned grief, lamented the criminality of his late conduct and the misery to which it had reduced him, till, overcome by a recollection of the past and a conviction of the future, he burst into tears, and uttered only deep and broken sighs.
The remorse he had expressed, and the distress he suffered could not be witnessed by Emily with indifference, and, had she not called to her recollection all the circumstances, of which Count De Villefort had informed her, and all he had said of the danger of confiding in repentance, formed under the influence of passion, she might perhaps have trusted to the assurances of her heart, and have forgotten his misconduct in the tenderness, which that repentance excited.
Valancourt, returning to the chair beside her, at length, said, in a calm voice, ''Tis true, I am fallen--fallen from my own esteem! but could you, Emily, so soon, so suddenly resign, if you had not before ceased to love me, or, if your conduct was not governed by the designs, I will say, the selfish designs of another person! Would you not otherwise be willing to hope for my reformation--and could you bear, by estranging me from you, to abandon me to misery--to myself!'--Emily wept aloud.--'No, Emily--no--you would not do this, if you still loved me. You would find your own happiness in saving mine.'
'There are too many probabilities against that hope,' said Emily,