The Mysteries of Udolpho

Her reflections increased her anguish, while she was compelled to

acknowledge, that the fortitude she had formerly exerted, if it had

not conducted her to happiness, had saved her from irretrievable

misfortune--from Valancourt himself! But in these moments she could not

congratulate herself on the prudence, that had saved her; she could only

lament, with bitterest anguish, the circumstances, which had conspired

to betray Valancourt into a course of life so different from that,

which the virtues, the tastes, and the pursuits of his early years had

promised; but she still loved him too well to believe, that his

heart was even now depraved, though his conduct had been criminal. An

observation, which had fallen from M. St. Aubert more than once, now

occurred to her.

'This young man,' said he, speaking of Valancourt, 'has

never been at Paris;' a remark, that had surprised her at the time

it was uttered, but which she now understood, and she exclaimed

sorrowfully, 'O Valancourt! if such a friend as my father had been with

you at Paris--your noble, ingenuous nature would not have fallen!'

The sun was now set, and, recalling her thoughts from their melancholy

subject, she continued her walk; for the pensive shade of twilight was

pleasing to her, and the nightingales from the surrounding groves began

to answer each other in the long-drawn, plaintive note, which always

touched her heart; while all the fragrance of the flowery thickets, that

bounded the terrace, was awakened by the cool evening air, which floated

so lightly among their leaves, that they scarcely trembled as it passed.

Emily came, at length, to the steps of the pavilion, that terminated

the terrace, and where her last interview with Valancourt, before her

departure from Tholouse, had so unexpectedly taken place. The door was

now shut, and she trembled, while she hesitated whether to open it; but

her wish to see again a place, which had been the chief scene of her

former happiness, at length overcoming her reluctance to encounter the

painful regret it would renew, she entered. The room was obscured by a

melancholy shade; but through the open lattices, darkened by the

hanging foliage of the vines, appeared the dusky landscape, the Garonne

reflecting the evening light, and the west still glowing. A chair was

placed near one of the balconies, as if some person had been sitting

there, but the other furniture of the pavilion remained exactly as

usual, and Emily thought it looked as if it had not once been moved

since she set out for Italy.

The silent and deserted air of the place

added solemnity to her emotions, for she heard only the low whisper

of the breeze, as it shook the leaves of the vines, and the very faint

murmur of the Garonne. She seated herself in a chair, near the lattice, and yielded to the

sadness of her heart, while she recollected the circumstances of her

parting interview with Valancourt, on this spot. It was here too, that

she had passed some of the happiest hours of her life with him, when

her aunt favoured the connection, for here she had often sat and worked,

while he conversed, or read; and she now well remembered with what

discriminating judgment, with what tempered energy, he used to repeat

some of the sublimest passages of their favourite authors; how often he

would pause to admire with her their excellence, and with what tender

delight he would listen to her remarks, and correct her taste.