her a more
perfect view of the countenance she had so frequently in absence
endeavoured to recollect, and she perceived, with some regret, that
it was not the same as when last she saw it. There was all its wonted
intelligence and fire; but it had lost much of the simplicity, and
somewhat of the open benevolence, that used to characterise it. Still,
however, it was an interesting countenance; but Emily thought she
perceived, at intervals, anxiety contract, and melancholy fix the
features of Valancourt; sometimes, too, he fell into a momentary musing,
and then appeared anxious to dissipate thought; while, at others, as he
fixed his eyes on Emily, a kind of sudden distraction seemed to
cross his mind. In her he perceived the same goodness and beautiful
simplicity, that had charmed him, on their first acquaintance. The bloom
of her countenance was somewhat faded, but all its sweetness remained,
and it was rendered more interesting, than ever, by the faint expression
of melancholy, that sometimes mingled with her smile.

At his request, she related the most important circumstances, that
had occurred to her, since she left France, and emotions of pity and
indignation alternately prevailed in his mind, when he heard how much
she had suffered from the villany of Montoni. More than once, when she
was speaking of his conduct, of which the guilt was rather softened,
than exaggerated, by her representation, he started from his seat,
and walked away, apparently overcome as much by self accusation as by
resentment. Her sufferings alone were mentioned in the few words, which
he could address to her, and he listened not to the account, which she
was careful to give as distinctly as possible, of the present loss of
Madame Montoni's estates, and of the little reason there was to expect
their restoration. At length, Valancourt remained lost in thought, and
then some secret cause seemed to overcome him with anguish. Again he
abruptly left her. When he returned, she perceived, that he had been
weeping, and tenderly begged, that he would compose himself. 'My
sufferings are all passed now,' said she, 'for I have escaped from the
tyranny of Montoni, and I see you well--let me also see you happy.'

Valancourt was more agitated, than before. 'I am unworthy of you,
Emily,' said he, 'I am unworthy of you;'--words, by his manner of
uttering which Emily was then more shocked than by their import. She
fixed on him a mournful and enquiring eye. 'Do