The Mysteries of Udolpho

The gloom of the hour, perhaps, made her sensible to some degree of

fear, which she might not otherwise have felt; for, only a few minutes

before, she had seen Mons. Bonnac pass. The steps were quick and

bounding, and, in the next moment, the door of the chamber opened, and a

person entered, whose features were veiled in the obscurity of

twilight; but his voice could not be concealed, for it was the voice

of Valancourt! At the sound, never heard by Emily, without emotion, she

started, in terror, astonishment and doubtful pleasure, and had scarcely

beheld him at her feet, when she sunk into a seat, overcome by the

various emotions, that contended at her heart, and almost insensible to

that voice, whose earnest and trembling calls seemed as if endeavouring

to save her. Valancourt, as he hung over Emily, deplored his own rash

impatience, in having thus surprised her: for when he had arrived at

the chateau, too anxious to await the return of the Count, who, he

understood, was in the grounds, he went himself to seek him, when, as

he passed the tower, he was struck by the sound of Emily's voice, and

immediately ascended. It was a considerable time before she revived, but, when her

recollection returned, she repulsed his attentions, with an air of

reserve, and enquired, with as much displeasure as it was possible she

could feel in these first moments of his appearance, the occasion of his

visit.

'Ah Emily!' said Valancourt, 'that air, those words--alas! I have, then,

little to hope--when you ceased to esteem me, you ceased also to love

me!' 'Most true, sir,' replied Emily, endeavouring to command her trembling

voice; 'and if you had valued my esteem, you would not have given me

this new occasion for uneasiness.'

Valancourt's countenance changed suddenly from the anxieties of doubt to

an expression of surprise and dismay: he was silent a moment, and then

said, 'I had been taught to hope for a very different reception! Is

it, then, true, Emily, that I have lost your regard forever? am I to

believe, that, though your esteem for me may return--your affection

never can? Can the Count have meditated the cruelty, which now tortures

me with a second death?'

The voice, in which he spoke this, alarmed Emily as much as his words

surprised her, and, with trembling impatience, she begged that he would

explain them. 'Can any explanation be necessary?' said Valancourt, 'do you not know

how cruelly my conduct has been misrepresented? that the actions of

which you once believed me guilty (and, O Emily! how could you so

degrade me in your opinion, even for a moment!) those actions--I hold in

as much contempt and abhorrence as yourself? Are you, indeed, ignorant,

that Count de Villefort has detected the slanders, that have robbed me

of all I hold dear on earth, and has invited me hither to justify to

you my former conduct? It is surely impossible you can be uninformed of

these circumstances, and I am again torturing myself with a false hope!'