The Mysteries of Udolpho

A second letter from M. Quesnel announced the arrival of himself and

his lady at the Villa Miarenti; stated several circumstances of his

good fortune, respecting the affair that had brought him into Italy; and

concluded with an earnest request to see Montoni, his wife and niece, at

his new estate.

Emily received, about the same period, a much more interesting letter,

and which soothed for a while every anxiety of her heart. Valancourt,

hoping she might be still at Venice, had trusted a letter to the

ordinary post, that told her of his health, and of his unceasing and

anxious affection. He had lingered at Tholouse for some time after her

departure, that he might indulge the melancholy pleasure of wandering

through the scenes where he had been accustomed to behold her, and had

thence gone to his brother's chateau, which was in the neighbourhood of

La Vallee. Having mentioned this, he added, 'If the duty of attending

my regiment did not require my departure, I know not when I should have

resolution enough to quit the neighbourhood of a place which is endeared

by the remembrance of you. The vicinity to La Vallee has alone detained

me thus long at Estuviere: I frequently ride thither early in the

morning, that I may wander, at leisure, through the day, among scenes,

which were once your home, where I have been accustomed to see you, and

to hear you converse.

I have renewed my acquaintance with the good old

Theresa, who rejoiced to see me, that she might talk of you: I need

not say how much this circumstance attached me to her, or how eagerly

I listened to her upon her favourite subject. You will guess the motive

that first induced me to make myself known to Theresa: it was, indeed,

no other than that of gaining admittance into the chateau and gardens,

which my Emily had so lately inhabited: here, then, I wander, and meet

your image under every shade: but chiefly I love to sit beneath the

spreading branches of your favourite plane, where once, Emily, we sat

together; where I first ventured to tell you, that I loved. O Emily!

the remembrance of those moments overcomes me--I sit lost in reverie--I

endeavour to see you dimly through my tears, in all the heaven of

peace and innocence, such as you then appeared to me; to hear again the

accents of that voice, which then thrilled my heart with tenderness and

hope. I lean on the wall of the terrace, where we together watched the

rapid current of the Garonne below, while I described the wild scenery

about its source, but thought only of you. O Emily! are these moments

passed for ever--will they never more return?'