CHAPTER II
Come, weep with me;--past hope, past cure, past help! ROMEO AND JULIET
Valancourt, meanwhile, suffered the tortures of remorse and despair.The sight of Emily had renewed all the ardour, with which he first lovedher, and which had suffered a temporary abatement from absence and thepassing scenes of busy life. When, on the receipt of her letter, he setout for Languedoc, he then knew, that his own folly had involved him inruin, and it was no part of his design to conceal this from her. Buthe lamented only the delay which his ill-conduct must give to theirmarriage, and did not foresee, that the information could induce her tobreak their connection forever. While the prospect of this separationoverwhelmed his mind, before stung with self-reproach, he awaited theirsecond interview, in a state little short of distraction, yet was stillinclined to hope, that his pleadings might prevail upon her not to exactit. In the morning, he sent to know at what hour she would see him;and his note arrived, when she was with the Count, who had sought anopportunity of again conversing with her of Valancourt; for he perceivedthe extreme distress of her mind, and feared, more than ever, that herfortitude would desert her. Emily having dismissed the messenger, theCount returned to the subject of their late conversation, urging hisfear of Valancourt's entreaties, and again pointing out to her thelengthened misery, that must ensue, if she should refuse to encountersome present uneasiness. His repeated arguments could, indeed, alonehave protected her from the affection she still felt for Valancourt, andshe resolved to be governed by them.
The hour of interview, at length, arrived. Emily went to it, at least,with composure of manner, but Valancourt was so much agitated, thathe could not speak, for several minutes, and his first words werealternately those of lamentation, entreaty, and self-reproach.Afterward, he said, 'Emily, I have loved you--I do love you, better thanmy life; but I am ruined by my own conduct. Yet I would seek to entangleyou in a connection, that must be miserable for you, rather than subjectmyself to the punishment, which is my due, the loss of you. I am awretch, but I will be a villain no longer.--I will not endeavour toshake your resolution by the pleadings of a selfish passion. I resignyou, Emily, and will endeavour to find consolation in considering, that,though I am miserable, you, at least, may be happy. The merit of thesacrifice is, indeed, not my own, for I should never have attainedstrength of mind to surrender you, if your prudence had not demandedit.'
He paused a moment, while Emily attempted to conceal the tears, whichcame to her eyes. She would have said, 'You speak now, as you were wontto do,' but she checked herself.--'Forgive me, Emily,' said he, 'all thesufferings I have occasioned you, and, sometimes, when you think of thewretched Valancourt, remember, that his only consolation would be tobelieve, that you are no longer unhappy by his folly.' The tears nowfell fast upon her cheek, and he was relapsing into the phrensy ofdespair, when Emily endeavoured to recall her fortitude and to terminatean interview, which only seemed to increase the distress of both.Perceiving her tears and that she was rising to go, Valancourtstruggled, once more, to overcome his own feelings and to sooth hers.'The remembrance of this sorrow,' said he, 'shall in future be myprotection. O! never again will example, or temptation have power toseduce me to evil, exalted as I shall be by the recollection of yourgrief for me.'
Emily was somewhat comforted by this assurance. 'We are now parting forever,' said she; 'but, if my happiness is dear to you, you will alwaysremember, that nothing can contribute to it more, than to believe, thatyou have recovered your own esteem.' Valancourt took her hand;--his eyeswere covered with tears, and the farewell he would have spoken was lostin sighs. After a few moments, Emily said, with difficulty and emotion,'Farewell, Valancourt, may you be happy!' She repeated her 'farewell,'and attempted to withdraw her hand, but he still held it and bathedit with his tears. 'Why prolong these moments?' said Emily, in a voicescarcely audible, 'they are too painful to us both.' 'This is too--toomuch,' exclaimed Valancourt, resigning her hand and throwing himselfinto a chair, where he covered his face with his hands and was overcome,for some moments, by convulsive sighs. After a long pause, during whichEmily wept in silence, and Valancourt seemed struggling with his grief,she again rose to take leave of him. Then, endeavouring to recover hiscomposure, 'I am again afflicting you,' said he, 'but let the anguish Isuffer plead for me.' He then added, in a solemn voice, which frequentlytrembled with the agitation of his heart, 'Farewell, Emily, you willalways be the only object of my tenderness. Sometimes you will think ofthe unhappy Valancourt, and it will be with pity, though it may not bewith esteem. O! what is the whole world to me, without you--without youresteem!' He checked himself--'I am falling again into the error I havejust lamented. I must not intrude longer upon your patience, or I shallrelapse into despair.'
He once more bade Emily adieu, pressed her hand to his lips, looked ather, for the last time, and hurried out of the room.
Emily remained in the chair, where he had left her, oppressed witha pain at her heart, which scarcely permitted her to breathe, andlistening to his departing steps, sinking fainter and fainter, ashe crossed the hall. She was, at length, roused by the voice of theCountess in the garden, and, her attention being then awakened, thefirst object, which struck her sight, was the vacant chair, whereValancourt had sat. The tears, which had been, for some time, repressedby the kind of astonishment, that followed his departure, now came toher relief, and she was, at length, sufficiently composed to return toher own room.