The Mysteries of Udolpho · Chapter 13 (4/4)

Emily only sighed, while Valancourt proceeded to remonstrate and to entreat with all the energy that love and apprehension could inspire. But, as his imagination magnified to her the possible evils she was going to meet, the mists of her own fancy began to dissipate, and allowed her to distinguish the exaggerated images, which imposed on his reason. She considered, that there was no proof of Montoni being the person, whom the stranger had meant; that, even if he was so, the Italian had noticed his character and broken fortunes merely from report; and that, though the countenance of Montoni seemed to give probability to a part of the rumour, it was not by such circumstances that an implicit belief of it could be justified. These considerations would probably not have arisen so distinctly to her mind, at this time, had not the terrors of Valancourt presented to her such obvious exaggerations of her danger, as incited her to distrust the fallacies of passion. But, while she endeavoured in the gentlest manner to convince him of his error, she plunged him into a new one. His voice and countenance changed to an expression of dark despair. “Emily!” said he, “this, this moment is the bitterest that is yet come to me. You do not⁠—cannot love me!⁠—It would be impossible for you to reason thus coolly, thus deliberately, if you did. I, I am torn with anguish at the prospect of our separation, and of the evils that may await you in consequence of it; I would encounter any hazards to prevent it⁠—to save you. No! Emily, no!⁠—you cannot love me.”

“We have now little time to waste in exclamation, or assertion,” said Emily, endeavouring to conceal her emotion: “if you are yet to learn how dear you are, and ever must be, to my heart, no assurances of mine can give you conviction.”

The last words faltered on her lips, and her tears flowed fast. These words and tears brought, once more, and with instantaneous force, conviction of her love to Valancourt. He could only exclaim, “Emily! Emily!” and weep over the hand he pressed to his lips; but she, after some moments, again roused herself from the indulgence of sorrow, and said, “I must leave you; it is late, and my absence from the château may be discovered. Think of me⁠—love me⁠—when I am far away; the belief of this will be my comfort!”

“Think of you!⁠—love you!” exclaimed Valancourt.

“Try to moderate these transports,” said Emily, “for my sake, try.”

“For your sake!”

“Yes, for my sake,” replied Emily, in a tremulous voice, “I cannot leave you thus!”

“Then do not leave me!” said Valancourt, with quickness. “Why should we part, or part for longer than till tomorrow?”

“I am, indeed I am, unequal to these moments,” replied Emily, “you tear my heart, but I never can consent to this hasty, imprudent proposal!”

“If we could command our time, my Emily, it should not be thus hasty; we must submit to circumstances.”

“We must indeed! I have already told you all my heart⁠—my spirits are gone. You allowed the force of my objections, till your tenderness called up vague terrors, which have given us both unnecessary anguish. Spare me! do not oblige me to repeat the reasons I have already urged.”

“Spare you!” cried Valancourt, “I am a wretch⁠—a very wretch, that have felt only for myself!⁠—I! who ought to have shown the fortitude of a man, who ought to have supported you, I have increased your sufferings by the conduct of a child! Forgive me, Emily! think of the distraction of my mind now that I am about to part with all that is dear to me⁠—and forgive me! When you are gone, I shall recollect with bitter remorse what I have made you suffer, and shall wish in vain that I could see you, if only for a moment, that I might sooth your grief.”

Tears again interrupted his voice, and Emily wept with him. “I will show myself more worthy of your love,” said Valancourt, at length; “I will not prolong these moments. My Emily⁠—my own Emily! never forget me! God knows when we shall meet again! I resign you to his care.⁠—O God!⁠—O God!⁠—protect and bless her!”

He pressed her hand to his heart. Emily sunk almost lifeless on his bosom, and neither wept, nor spoke. Valancourt, now commanding his own distress, tried to comfort and reassure her, but she appeared totally unaffected by what he said, and a sigh, which she uttered, now and then, was all that proved she had not fainted.

He supported her slowly towards the château, weeping and speaking to her; but she answered only in sighs, till, having reached the gate, that terminated the avenue, she seemed to have recovered her consciousness, and, looking round, perceived how near they were to the château. “We must part here,” said she, stopping, “Why prolong these moments? Teach me the fortitude I have forgot.”

Valancourt struggled to assume a composed air. “Farewell, my love!” said he, in a voice of solemn tenderness⁠—“trust me we shall meet again⁠—meet for each other⁠—meet to part no more!” His voice faltered, but, recovering it, he proceeded in a firmer tone. “You know not what I shall suffer, till I hear from you; I shall omit no opportunity of conveying to you my letters, yet I tremble to think how few may occur. And trust me, love, for your dear sake, I will try to bear this absence with fortitude. O how little I have shown tonight!”

“Farewell!” said Emily faintly. “When you are gone, I shall think of many things I would have said to you.” “And I of many⁠—many!” said Valancourt; “I never left you yet, that I did not immediately remember some question, or some entreaty, or some circumstance, concerning my love, that I earnestly wished to mention, and feel wretched because I could not. O Emily! this countenance, on which I now gaze⁠—will, in a moment, be gone from my eyes, and not all the efforts of fancy will be able to recall it with exactness. O! what an infinite difference between this moment and the next!⁠—now, I am in your presence, can behold you! then, all will be a dreary blank⁠—and I shall be a wanderer, exiled from my only home!”

Valancourt again pressed her to his heart, and held her there in silence, weeping. Tears once again calmed her oppressed mind. They again bade each other farewell, lingered a moment, and then parted. Valancourt seemed to force himself from the spot; he passed hastily up the avenue, and Emily, as she moved slowly towards the château, heard his distant steps. She listened to the sounds, as they sunk fainter and fainter, till the melancholy stillness of night alone remained; and then hurried to her chamber, to seek repose, which, alas! was fled from her wretchedness.