The Mysteries of Udolpho

The silence of Emily confirmed this supposition; for the deep twilight

would not allow Valancourt to distinguish the astonishment and doubting

joy, that fixed her features. For a moment, she continued unable to

speak; then a profound sigh seemed to give some relief to her spirits,

and she said, 'Valancourt! I was, till this moment, ignorant of all the circumstances

you have mentioned; the emotion I now suffer may assure you of the truth

of this, and, that, though I had ceased to esteem, I had not taught

myself entirely to forget you.'

'This moment,' said Valancourt, in a low voice, and leaning for support

against the window--'this moment brings with it a conviction that

overpowers me!--I am dear to you then--still dear to you, my Emily!'

'Is it necessary that I should tell you so?' she replied, 'is it

necessary, that I should say--these are the first moments of joy I have

known, since your departure, and that they repay me for all those of

pain I have suffered in the interval?'

Valancourt sighed deeply, and was unable to reply; but, as he pressed

her hand to his lips, the tears, that fell over it, spoke a language,

which could not be mistaken, and to which words were inadequate.

Emily, somewhat tranquillized, proposed returning to the chateau,

and then, for the first time, recollected that the Count had invited

Valancourt thither to explain his conduct, and that no explanation had

yet been given. But, while she acknowledged this, her heart would

not allow her to dwell, for a moment, on the possibility of his

unworthiness; his look, his voice, his manner, all spoke the noble

sincerity, which had formerly distinguished him; and she again permitted

herself to indulge the emotions of a joy, more surprising and powerful,

than she had ever before experienced.

Neither Emily, or Valancourt, were conscious how they reached the

chateau, whither they might have been transferred by the spell of a

fairy, for any thing they could remember; and it was not, till they had

reached the great hall, that either of them recollected there were other

persons in the world besides themselves. The Count then came forth

with surprise, and with the joyfulness of pure benevolence, to welcome

Valancourt, and to entreat his forgiveness of the injustice he had done

him; soon after which, Mons. Bonnac joined this happy group, in which he

and Valancourt were mutually rejoiced to meet.

When the first congratulations were over, and the general joy became

somewhat more tranquil, the Count withdrew with Valancourt to the

library, where a long conversation passed between them, in which

the latter so clearly justified himself of the criminal parts of the

conduct, imputed to him, and so candidly confessed and so feelingly

lamented the follies, which he had committed, that the Count was

confirmed in his belief of all he had hoped; and, while he perceived so

many noble virtues in Valancourt, and that experience had taught him

to detest the follies, which before he had only not admired, he did not

scruple to believe, that he would pass through life with the dignity of

a wise and good man, or to entrust to his care the future happiness of

Emily St. Aubert, for whom he felt the solicitude of a parent.