Silent and embarrassed, she returned to the fire, while Valancourt, with

increasing agitation, paced the room, as if he wished, yet feared, to

speak, and Theresa expressed without restraint her joy and wonder upon

seeing him.

'Dear heart! sir,' said she, 'I never was so surprised and overjoyed in

my life. We were in great tribulation before you came, for we thought

you was dead, and were talking, and lamenting about you, just when you

knocked at the door. My young mistress there was crying, fit to break

her heart--' Emily looked with much displeasure at Theresa, but, before she could

speak, Valancourt, unable to repress the emotion, which Theresa's

imprudent discovery occasioned, exclaimed, 'O my Emily! am I then

still dear to you! Did you, indeed, honour me with a thought--a tear? O

heavens! you weep--you weep now!'

'Theresa, sir,' said Emily, with a reserved air, and trying to conquer

her tears, 'has reason to remember you with gratitude, and she was

concerned, because she had not lately heard of you. Allow me to thank

you for the kindness you have shewn her, and to say, that, since I am

now upon the spot, she must not be further indebted to you.''

'Emily,' said Valancourt, no longer master of his emotions, 'is it thus

you meet him, whom once you meant to honour with your hand--thus you

meet him, who has loved you--suffered for you?--Yet what do I say?

Pardon me, pardon me, mademoiselle St. Aubert, I know not what I utter.

I have no longer any claim upon your remembrance--I have forfeited every

pretension to your esteem, your love. Yes! let me not forget, that I

once possessed your affections, though to know that I have lost them,

is my severest affliction. Affliction--do I call it!--that is a term of

mildness.' 'Dear heart!' said Theresa, preventing Emily from replying, 'talk of

once having her affections! Why, my dear young lady loves you now,

better than she does any body in the whole world, though she pretends to

deny it.' 'This is insupportable!' said Emily; 'Theresa, you know not what you

say. Sir, if you respect my tranquillity, you will spare me from the

continuance of this distress.'

'I do respect your tranquillity too much, voluntarily to interrupt it,'

replied Valancourt, in whose bosom pride now contended with tenderness;

'and will not be a voluntary intruder. I would have entreated a few

moments attention--yet I know not for what purpose. You have ceased to

esteem me, and to recount to you my sufferings will degrade me more,

without exciting even your pity. Yet I have been, O Emily! I am indeed

very wretched!' added Valancourt, in a voice, that softened from

solemnity into grief. 'What! is my dear young master going out in all this rain!' said

Theresa. 'No, he shall not stir a step. Dear! dear! to see how

gentlefolks can afford to throw away their happiness! Now, if you were

poor people, there would be none of this. To talk of unworthiness,

and not caring about one another, when I know there are not such a

kind-hearted lady and gentleman in the whole province, nor any that love

one another half so well, if the truth was spoken!'




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