t Valancourt, and the Count, having led her to a chair,
immediately withdrew.

Emily remained with her eyes fixed on the floor, under such oppression
of heart, that she could not speak, and with difficulty breathed; while
Valancourt threw himself into a chair beside her, and, sighing heavily,
continued silent, when, had she raised her eyes, she would have
perceived the violent emotions, with which he was agitated.

At length, in a tremulous voice, he said, 'I have solicited to see you
this evening, that I might, at least, be spared the further torture of
suspense, which your altered manner had occasioned me, and which the
hints I have just received from the Count have in part explained. I
perceive I have enemies, Emily, who envied me my late happiness, and
who have been busy in searching out the means to destroy it: I perceive,
too, that time and absence have weakened the affection you once felt for
me, and that you can now easily be taught to forget me.'

His last words faltered, and Emily, less able to speak than before,
continued silent.

'O what a meeting is this!' exclaimed Valancourt, starting from his
seat, and pacing the room with hurried steps, 'what a meeting is this,
after our long--long separation!' Again he sat down, and, after the
struggle of a moment, he added in a firm but despairing tone, 'This is
too much--I cannot bear it! Emily, will you not speak to me?'

He covered his face with his hand, as if to conceal his emotion, and
took Emily's, which she did not withdraw. Her tears could no longer
be restrained; and, when he raised his eyes and perceived that she was
weeping, all his tenderness returned, and a gleam of hope appeared to
cross his mind, for he exclaimed, 'O! you do pity me, then, you do love
me! Yes, you are still my own Emily--let me believe those tears, that
tell me so!'

Emily now made an effort to recover her firmness, and, hastily drying
them, 'Yes,' said she, 'I do pity you--I weep for you--but, ought I to
think of you with affection? You may remember, that yester-evening I
said, I had still sufficient confidence in your candour to believe,
that, when I should request an explanation of your words, you would give
it. This explanation is now unnecessary, I understand them too well; but
prove, at least, that your candour is deserving of the confidence I
give it, when I ask you, whether you are conscious of being the same
estimable Valancourt--whom I once loved.'

'Once loved!' crie