Come, weep with me;--past hope, past cure, past help!
ROMEO AND JULIET V
alancourt, meanwhile, suffered the tortures of remorse and despair.
The sight of Emily had renewed all the ardour, with which he first loved
her, and which had suffered a temporary abatement from absence and the
passing scenes of busy life. When, on the receipt of her letter, he set
out for Languedoc, he then knew, that his own folly had involved him in
ruin, and it was no part of his design to conceal this from her.
But he lamented only the delay which his ill-conduct must give to their
marriage, and did not foresee, that the information could induce her to
break their connection forever. While the prospect of this separation
overwhelmed his mind, before stung with self-reproach, he awaited their
second interview, in a state little short of distraction, yet was still
inclined to hope, that his pleadings might prevail upon her not to exact
it.
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 an
opportunity of again conversing with her of Valancourt; for he perceived
the extreme distress of her mind, and feared, more than ever, that her
fortitude would desert her. Emily having dismissed the messenger, the
Count returned to the subject of their late conversation, urging his
fear of Valancourt's entreaties, and again pointing out to her the
lengthened misery, that must ensue, if she should refuse to encounter
some present uneasiness. His repeated arguments could, indeed, alone
have protected her from the affection she still felt for Valancourt, and
she 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, that
he could not speak, for several minutes, and his first words were
alternately those of lamentation, entreaty, and self-reproach.
Afterward, he said, 'Emily, I have loved you--I do love you, better than
my life; but I am ruined by my own conduct. Yet I would seek to entangle
you in a connection, that must be miserable for you, rather than subject
myself to the punishment, which is my due, the loss of you. I am a
wretch, but I will be a villain no longer.--I will not endeavour to
shake your resolution by the pleadings of a selfish passion. I resign
you, Emily, and will endeavour to find consolation in considering, that,
though I am miserable, you, at least, may be happy. The merit of the
sacrifice is, indeed, not my own, for I should never have attained
strength of mind to surrender you, if your prudence had not demanded
it.'