which can anfwer no good purpofe. Va lancourt, farewell !"

"You are not going?" faid he wildly, interrupting her "You will not leave me. thus-you will not abandon me even before my mind has fuggefted any poffibility of compromise between the last indulgence of my despair and the endurance of my lofs!" Emily was terrified by the fternnefs of his look, and said, in a foothing voice, "You have yourself acknowledged, that it is neceffary we should part;-if you wish, that I fhould believe you love me, you will repeat the acknowledgment."-"Nevernever," cried he-" I was distracted when I made it. O! Emily-this is too much;though you are not deceived as to my faults, you must be deluded into this exafperation against them. The Count is the barrier between us; but he fhall not long remain fo."

"You are, indeed, distracted," faid Emily, "the Count is not your enemy; on the contrary, he is my friend, and that might,

་

Dus

might, in fome degree, induce you to con--
fider him as yours."-" Your friend!" said
Valancourt, haftily, "how long has he
been your friend, that he can so easily make
you forget your lover? Was it he, who re-
commended to your favour the Monfieur
Du Pont, who, you fay, accompanied you.
from Italy, and who, I fay, has ftolen your
affections? But I have no right to question.
you; you are your own mistress.
Pont, perhaps, may not long triumph over
my fallen fortunes! Emily, more frightened
than before by the frantic looks of Valan-
court, faid, in a tone. fcarcely audible,,
"For heaven's fake be reasonable-be com- -
pofed. Monfieur Du Pont is not your rival,
nor is the Count his advocate. You have
no rival; nor, except yourself, an enemy..
My heart is wrung with anguish, which must
increase while your frantic behaviour fhews
me, more than ever, that you are no longer
the Valancourt I have been accustomed to
love."

He made no reply, but fat with his arms
B 6:

refted

refted on the table and his face concealed by his hands; while Emily ftood, filent and trembling, wretched for herself and dreading to leave him in this ftate of mind,

"O excess of mifery !" he fuddenly exclaimed," that I can never lament my fufferings, without accufing myself, nor remember you, without recollecting the folly and the vice, by which I have loft you! Why was I forced to Paris, and why did I yield to allurements, which were to make me defpicable for ever! O! why cannot I look back, without interruption, to those days of innocence and peace, the days of our early love!"-The recollection feemto melt his heart, and the phrenfy of defpair yielded to tears. After a long pause, turning towards her and taking her hand, he faid, in a foftened voice, "Emily, can you bear that we should part-can you refolve to give up an heart, that loves you like mine—an heart, which, though it has erred-widely erred is not irretrievable from error, as you well know, it never can

be

be retrievable from love?" Emily made no "Can you,

reply, but with her tears.

99

continued he, "can you forget all our former days of happiness and confidencewhen I had not a thought, that I might wish to conceal from you-when I had no tafte-no pleasures, in which you did not participate?"

"O do not lead me to the remembrance of those days," faid Emily, "unless you can teach me to be infenfible to the present. I do not mean to reproach you; if I did, I fhould be fpared these tears; but why will you render your present fufferings more confpicuous, by contrafting them with former virtues ?"

your

"Thofe virtues," faid Valancourt, might, perhaps, again be mine, if your affection, which nurtured them, was unchanged; but I fear, indeed, I see, that you can no longer love me; elfe the happy hours, which we have paffed together, would plead for me, and you could not look back upon them unmoved. Yet, why fhould I

torture

torture myself with the remembrance-why here? Am I not ruined

in

do I linger here? would it not be madness to involve you my misfortunes, even if your heart was still my own? I will not diftrefs you further. Yet, before I go," added he, in a folemn voice," let me repeat, that, whatever may be my destiny-whatever I may be doomed to fuffer, I must always love you-most. fondly love you! I am going, Emily, I am going to leave you to leave you, forever!"> As he fpoke the last words, his voice trembled, and he threw himself again into the chair, from which he had rifen. Emily, was utterly unable to leave the room, or to fay farewell. All impreffion of his criminal conduct and almost of his follies was obliterated from her mind, and she was fen fible only of pity and grief.

"My fortitude is gone," faid Valancourt at length; "I can no longer even struggle to recall it. I cannot now leave you-I cannot bid you an eternal farewell; fay, at: leaft, that you will fee me once again."

Emily's