The Mysteries of Udolpho

In this perturbed state she passed some hours, and, when she was

summoned to dinner, she entreated permission to remain in her own

apartment; but Madame Montoni was alone, and the request was refused.

Emily and her aunt said little during the repast; the one occupied

by her griefs, the other engrossed by the disappointment, which the

unexpected absence of Montoni occasioned; for not only was her vanity

piqued by the neglect, but her jealousy alarmed by what she considered

as a mysterious engagement. When the cloth was drawn and they were

alone, Emily renewed the mention of Valancourt; but her aunt, neither

softened to pity, or awakened to remorse, became enraged, that her will

should be opposed, and the authority of Montoni questioned, though this

was done by Emily with her usual gentleness, who, after a long, and

torturing conversation, retired in tears.

As she crossed the hall, a person entered it by the great door, whom, as

her eyes hastily glanced that way, she imagined to be Montoni, and she

was passing on with quicker steps, when she heard the well-known voice

of Valancourt. 'Emily, O! my Emily!' cried he in a tone faltering with impatience,

while she turned, and, as he advanced, was alarmed at the expression of

his countenance and the eager desperation of his air. 'In tears, Emily!

I would speak with you,' said he, 'I have much to say; conduct me to

where we may converse. But you tremble--you are ill! Let me lead you to

a seat.'

He observed the open door of an apartment, and hastily took her hand

to lead her thither; but she attempted to withdraw it, and said, with a

languid smile, 'I am better already; if you wish to see my aunt she

is in the dining-parlour.' 'I must speak with YOU, my Emily,' replied

Valancourt, 'Good God! is it already come to this? Are you indeed so

willing to resign me?' But this is an improper place--I am overheard.

Let me entreat your attention, if only for a few minutes.'--'When you

have seen my aunt,' said Emily. 'I was wretched enough when I came

hither,' exclaimed Valancourt, 'do not increase my misery by this

coldness--this cruel refusal.'

The despondency, with which he spoke this, affected her almost to tears,

but she persisted in refusing to hear him, till he had conversed with

Madame Montoni. 'Where is her husband, where, then, is Montoni?' said

Valancourt, in an altered tone: 'it is he, to whom I must speak.'

Emily, terrified for the consequence of the indignation, that flashed

in his eyes, tremblingly assured him, that Montoni was not at home,

and entreated he would endeavour to moderate his resentment. At the

tremulous accents of her voice, his eyes softened instantly from

wildness into tenderness. 'You are ill, Emily,' said he, 'they will

destroy us both! Forgive me, that I dared to doubt your affection.'