The Mysteries of Udolpho

After a long pause, turning towards her and taking her hand,

he said, in a softened voice, 'Emily, can you bear that we should

part--can you resolve to give up an heart, that loves you like mine--an

heart, which, though it has erred--widely erred, is not irretrievable

from error, as, you well know, it never can be retrievable from love?'

Emily made no reply, but with her tears. 'Can you,' continued he, 'can

you forget all our former days of happiness and confidence--when I had

not a thought, that I might wish to conceal from you--when I had no

taste--no pleasures, in which you did not participate?'

'O do not lead me to the remembrance of those days,' said Emily, 'unless

you can teach me to forget the present; I do not mean to reproach you;

if I did, I should be spared these tears; but why will you render your

present sufferings more conspicuous, by contrasting them with your

former virtues?' 'Those virtues,' said Valancourt, 'might, perhaps, again be mine, if

your affection, which nurtured them, was unchanged;--but I fear, indeed,

I see, that you can no longer love me; else the happy hours, which we

have passed together, would plead for me, and you could not look

back upon them unmoved. Yet, why should I torture myself with the

remembrance--why do I linger here? Am I not ruined--would it not be

madness to involve you in my misfortunes, even if your heart was still

my own? I will not distress you further. Yet, before I go,' added he,

in a solemn voice, 'let me repeat, that, whatever may be my

destiny--whatever I may be doomed to suffer, I must always love

you--most fondly love you! I am going, Emily, I am going to leave

you--to leave you, forever!' As he spoke the last words, his voice

trembled, and he threw himself again into the chair, from which he had

risen.

Emily was utterly unable to leave the room, or to say farewell.

All impression of his criminal conduct and almost of his follies was

obliterated from her mind, and she was sensible only of pity and grief.

'My fortitude is gone,' said Valancourt at length; 'I can no longer

even struggle to recall it. I cannot now leave you--I cannot bid you

an eternal farewell; say, at least, that you will see me once again.'

Emily's heart was somewhat relieved by the request, and she endeavoured

to believe, that she ought not to refuse it. Yet she was embarrassed

by recollecting, that she was a visitor in the house of the Count, who

could not be pleased by the return of Valancourt. Other considerations,

however, soon overcame this, and she granted his request, on the

condition, that he would neither think of the Count, as his enemy, nor

Du Pont as his rival. He then left her, with a heart, so much lightened

by this short respite, that he almost lost every former sense of

misfortune.