The Mysteries of Udolpho

He paused a moment, while Emily attempted to conceal the tears, which

came to her eyes. She would have said, 'You speak now, as you were wont

to do,' but she checked herself.--'Forgive me, Emily,' said he, 'all the

sufferings I have occasioned you, and, sometimes, when you think of the

wretched Valancourt, remember, that his only consolation would be to

believe, that you are no longer unhappy by his folly.' The tears now

fell fast upon her cheek, and he was relapsing into the phrensy of

despair, when Emily endeavoured to recall her fortitude and to terminate

an interview, which only seemed to increase the distress of both.

Perceiving her tears and that she was rising to go, Valancourt

struggled, once more, to overcome his own feelings and to sooth hers.

'The remembrance of this sorrow,' said he, 'shall in future be my

protection. O! never again will example, or temptation have power to

seduce me to evil, exalted as I shall be by the recollection of your

grief for me.'

Emily was somewhat comforted by this assurance. 'We are now parting for

ever,' said she; 'but, if my happiness is dear to you, you will always

remember, that nothing can contribute to it more, than to believe, that

you have recovered your own esteem.' Valancourt took her hand;--his eyes

were covered with tears, and the farewell he would have spoken was lost

in sighs. After a few moments, Emily said, with difficulty and emotion,

'Farewell, Valancourt, may you be happy!' She repeated her 'farewell,'

and attempted to withdraw her hand, but he still held it and bathed

it with his tears. '

Why prolong these moments?' said Emily, in a voice

scarcely audible, 'they are too painful to us both.' 'This is too--too

much,' exclaimed Valancourt, resigning her hand and throwing himself

into a chair, where he covered his face with his hands and was overcome,

for some moments, by convulsive sighs. After a long pause, during which

Emily wept in silence, and Valancourt seemed struggling with his grief,

she again rose to take leave of him. Then, endeavouring to recover his

composure, 'I am again afflicting you,' said he, 'but let the anguish I

suffer plead for me.'

He then added, in a solemn voice, which frequently

trembled with the agitation of his heart, 'Farewell, Emily, you will

always be the only object of my tenderness. Sometimes you will think of

the unhappy Valancourt, and it will be with pity, though it may not be

with esteem. O! what is the whole world to me, without you--without your

esteem!' He checked himself--'I am falling again into the error I have

just lamented. I must not intrude longer upon your patience, or I shall

relapse into despair.'